Orphans of Middle Mars: Book One of the Chronicles of Middle Mars

by CJ East

  But they would notice him, he would not be ignored. Taurean wanted Kinch to give his men an honorable death to elevate their ideals of sacrifice? No, they would not see a fearful boy resigned to his fate. He would hurt them, he would hurt them all.

  The soldiers from the safety of the walls will watch a glorious death. A death which takes ten, maybe twenty Damned with him before they drag him down. It will be a death to represent all the warriors of Earth. He will ask no quarter nor give it. His death will terrify those who are nearby. It will shame those who watch from a distance - knowing they can never fight so well and face death with a warrior's courage. That will be his only goal, to kill as many Damned as possible and shame the Auri warriors watching from their perches of craven safety.

  He felt his heart racing at his plan. He will prolong their suffering by blocking the Damned from access to his mind. He too will make music like the Damned with his thoughts. He will create a barrier to the Duobus by filling his head with patterns, with complexity. He will build a woven fabric of barbed wire around the portal of his mind. He will build a defense around his mind so absorbed in complexity it will be impenetrable. His body will react to the muscle memory of his training.

  Kinch gripped his staff and began to twist his hand around it in anticipation. This insignificant gnat will give them a concert of blood to worthy of praise from his Father, Grandfather and Guild. His death will be so glorious it will be a spiteful shame upon all who witness for generations.

  Achilles

  Whatever waxy hope which had formed inside of Kinch from his contact with Amica's family was melting away. He was ready now, to give Death the price it had been cheated when he walked through the door to Middle Mars. He took a long, deep breath and exhaled until he was empty. He was ready to die.

  He recalled a memory he had stored away of the most beautiful and terrifying song he had ever heard. It was at an All Souls’ Day Tridentine Mass after the passing of his parents. The song was a Requiem, maybe by Verdi. He had only heard it once. He remembered the Latin poetry and especially the section playing in his head - Dies Irea, the Day of Wrath. The day where judgment is dispensed to the unfaithful.

  He stalked forward to the companies of soldiers ahead, as he finalized his plan. His right arm carrying his long steel weapon, his gaze fixed on a company of Damned fifty yards away. He stopped and counted: step five was now planned in his mind. The soldiers paid him no notice: step six was added in case he lived that long. He turned back to the wall: step seven if he was very lucky. The Auri soldiers were engaged in preparations as well: step eight with his last breath. Only two figures watched from the high walls of Arx. He saw Amica and Lucius clinging to each other.

  Kinch closed his eyes and began to build his defenses. He had an excellent recall of events and facts - both a gift and a curse. He crossed himself as he remembered the chorus of the Requiem. He layered it over the heavy, screeching symphony of the Damned. He felt a strange comfort around him as his music deadened their shrill screeches. He pictured a book open in his hands, the words in the old typography of a dead language on yellowed pages. The Iliad, where Achilles defeats Hector.

  Kinch began reciting the words aloud in Latin. His head hung low and his eyes glaring at the soldiers - Hector of the gleaming helm spoke first: ‘I will not run from you, as before, son of Peleus. My heart failed me as I waited for your attack, and three times round Priam’s city we ran, but now my heart tells me to stand and face you, to kill or be killed. Come let us swear an oath before the gods, for they are the best witnesses of such things. If Zeus lets me kill you and survive, then when I’ve stripped you of your glorious armour I’ll not mistreat your corpse, I’ll return your body to your people, if you will do the same for me.’

  Kinch felt another layer of protection around him. Speaking the words and the flow of the music were working in different parts of his brain. The act was compressing the space between his thoughts leaving no room for any undisciplined thought. Step one completed.

  The music moved from the invocation of God’s peace to a major lift, more menacing as the chorus foretold the coming Day of Wrath. He walked bounced forward, lowering his shoulders. He broke into a trot as the Requiem chorus began to chant louder in his ears. He voice was louder now, taking on the rhythm of running.

  Swift-footed Achilles glared at him in reply: ‘Curse you, Hector, and don’t talk of oaths to me. Lions and men make no compacts, nor are wolves and lambs in sympathy: they are opposed, to the end. You and I are beyond friendship: nor will there be peace between us till one or the other dies and sates Ares, lord of the ox-hide shield, with his blood. Summon up your reserves of courage, be a spearman now and a warrior brave. There is no escape from me, and soon Athene will bring you down with my spear. Now pay the price for all my grief, for all my friends you’ve slaughtered with your blade.’

  Kinch broke into a full run as the adrenaline spiked through his body. He felt the cool red grass under his swift feet as the words and the music crowded his mind. He saw the look of savage surprise on the Damned. He felt a psychic force hit him like an ocean wave, but he was now a rock. The wave broke around him with no effect.

  He came closer to their line in a sprint and took a final stride. He leaped six feet into the air, his hands clasping the iron staff held high over his head. His voice was loud now.

  So saying he raised his long-shadowed spear and hurled it. But glorious Hector kept an eye on it and, crouching, dodged so the shaft flew above him, and the point buried itself in the ground behind. Yet Pallas Athene snatched it up and returned it to Achilles, too swiftly for Prince Hector to see. And Hector spoke to Peleus’ peerless son: ‘It seems you missed, godlike Achilles, despite your certainty that Zeus has doomed me. It was mere glibness of speech, mere verbal cunning, trying to unnerve me with fright, to make me lose strength and courage. You’ll get no chance to pierce my back as I flee, so, if the gods allow you, drive it through my chest as I attack, dodge my bronze spear if you can. I pray it lodges deep in your flesh! If you were dead, our greatest bane, war would be easy for us Trojans.’

  Kinch grimaced as he brought the end of his staff across the neck of the first soldier and pulled hard. It crushed the helmet and continued into the next soldier’s shoulder. The soldier could not have foreseen Kinch’s leap, he had not had the time to react, only to look up and half raise his sword. The continuing swing shattered the soldier’s left side of his body under his leather armor. Kinch landed both feet into a soldier’s chest, flattening him to the ground.

  So saying, he raised and hurled his long-shadowed spear, striking Achilles’ shield square on, though the spear simply rebounded. Hector was angered by his vain attempt with the swift shaft, and stood there in dismay, lacking a second missile. He called aloud to Deiphobus of the White Shield, calling for his long spear, but he was nowhere to be found, and Hector realized the deceit: ‘Ah, so the gods have lured me to my death. I thought Deiphobus was by my side, but he is still in the city, Athene fooled me. An evil fate’s upon me, Death is no longer far away, and him there is no escaping. Zeus, and his son, the Far-Striker, decided all this long ago, they who were once eager to defend me, and destiny now overtakes me. But let me not die without a fight, without true glory, without some deed that men unborn may hear.’

  Another wave of energy battered into Kinch as he pulled his feet below him and twisted to the side. He swung his staff low into the breaking shins of soldiers in a semicircle. An echoing chorus of judgment began to chant faster and louder. Kinch could no longer hear the discord of the Damned. He was completely immersed. Step two was complete.

  With this, he drew the sharp blade at his side, a powerful long-sword, and gathering his limbs together swooped like a high-soaring eagle that falls to earth from the dark clouds to seize a sick lamb or a cowering hare. So Hector swooped, brandishing his keen blade. Achilles ran to meet him heart filled with savage power, covering his chest with his great, skillfully worked shield, while above his gleaming
helm with its four ridges waved the golden plumes Hephaestus placed thickly at its crest. Bright as the Evening Star that floats among the midnight constellations, set there the loveliest jewel in the sky, gleamed the tip of Achilles sharp spear brandished in his right hand, as he sought to work evil on noble Hector, searching for the likeliest place to land a blow on his fair flesh.

  Kinch sprung to his feet. He kicked his bare foot into the neck of the closest standing Damned. He swung down his staff into two soldiers - trapped under the weight of a dead man - and crushed their spines. His movements were now automatic, he didn’t think, couldn’t think, about the next attack. The chorus lifted louder as Kinch pictured the Homer’s words on the page.

  Now, the fine bronze armor he stripped from mighty Patroclus when he killed him covered all Hector’s flesh except for one opening at the throat, where the collarbones knit neck and shoulders, and violent death may come most swiftly. There, as Hector charged at him, noble Achilles aimed his ash spear, and drove its heavy bronze blade clean through the tender neck, though without cutting the windpipe or robbing Hector of the power of speech.

  Kinch continued his plan and leapt over the ring of soldiers to the empty space between the companies. He brought down his staff into the first column of the next company. He was a diagonal bishop to their pawns. Two Damned went down under his swing. Another ineffectual force of psychic energy attacked him like a cold wave. The soldiers rushed in upon him with swords now pulled. Step three complete.

  Hector fell in the dust and Achilles shouted out in triumph: ‘While you were despoiling Patroclus, no doubt, in your folly, you thought yourself quite safe, Hector, and forgot all about me in my absence. Far from him, by the hollow ships, was a mightier man, who should have been his helper but stayed behind, and that was I, who now have brought you low. The dogs and carrion birds will tear apart your flesh, but him the Achaeans will bury.’

  A soldier lunged forward, his sword high over his head. Kinch grabbed the bar in its center and pitched it to meet the attacker’s head. He then adjusted his grip to the handle on the end. He extended it in front of him and looked into the fearful eyes of the Damned soldier standing in front of him.

  He was intoxicated by his opponent’s fear and the melodic shouts of punishment delivered. He reared back his head, pulling the staff clanking through swords in the path of a circle. Kinch then stepped forward increasing the reach of his circle and smashing the tip of his staff into the skull of the soldier.

  Then Hector of the gleaming helm replied, in a feeble voice: ‘At your feet I beg, by your parents, by your own life, don’t let the dogs devour my flesh by the hollow ships. Accept the ransom my royal father and mother will offer, stores of gold and bronze, and let them carry my body home, so the Trojans and their wives may grant me in death my portion of fire.

  The Damned backed and widened to a fearful, shrieking circle the length of Kinch’s reach. As the company thinned, the music swelled, the ghostly chanting of the Dies Irea boomed in his ear and drove his battle fury to a maddening pitch. He closed his eyes. He felt their misty souls circle, being pushed forward by a strong energy - there! He opened his eyes and saw the Dux behind the line walking towards him with malice. The fourth step completed.

  But fleet-footed Achilles glared at him in answer: ‘Don’t speak of my parents, dog. I wish the fury and the pain in me could drive me to carve and eat you raw for what you did, as surely as this is true: no living man will keep the dogs from gnawing at your skull, not if men weighed out twenty, thirty times your worth in ransom, and promised even more, not though Dardanian Priam bid them give your weight in gold, not even then will your royal mother lay you on a bier to grieve for you, the son she bore, rather shall dogs, and carrion birds, devour you utterly.’

  Kinch ran at the line before him with his staff high over his right shoulder and brought it down into the first two rows protecting the Dux. Shoulders slammed into the ground and into each other in a chaotic eddy made by the crushing splash of momentum.

  Kinch felt the washing over of splattered blood and the power of battle rage. The mental attacks by the Dux and powerful Duobus were not affecting him. It felt as if they moved through him and he through them. The physical barriers of body and soul seemed to dissolve away to the rhythm, rise and fall of the Day of Wrath.

  Then Hector of the gleaming helm spoke at the point of death: ‘I know you truly now, and see your fate, nor was it mine to sway you. The heart in your breast is iron indeed. But think, lest the gods, remembering me, turn their wrath on you, that day by the Scaean Gate when, brave as you are, Paris kills you, with Apollo’s help.’

  Kinch swung his bar down on the Dux, who parried with his sword. The heavy iron bar snapped the steel blade and cut a long gash down through his breast plate. The chorus transitioned to a fall in tempo and chanted, “Kyrie, eleison. Christe, eleison. Kyrie, eleison.”

  He jerked his staff to his side and thrust it into the Dux, the tip passing through him as a screw driver through a tin can. In a single movement Kinch spun and dipped his right shoulder under the bar. He hoisted it with all his might, hurling the Dux in a high arc over the Damned heads - twisting, falling like the dying chorus. Step five.

  Death enfolded him, as he uttered these words, and, wailing its lot, his spirit fled from the body down to Hades, leaving youth and manhood behind. A corpse it was that noble Achilles addressed: ‘Lie there then in death, and I will face my own, whenever Zeus and the other deathless gods decide.’

  Kinch watched the lifeless body bounce upon the ground and the mindless Damned scattered at the loss of their Dux and their order. The company was dispersed. His panting keeping time with the minor chants of the chorus. He looked up to wall. All movement had stopped. Hundreds of men watched him in silence.

  He glared at them with hatred and yelled in High Latin, “This is how Earth men meet their death! A curse of scandal upon you, Men of Arx, watching from the asylum of your high walls. Learn well this lesson of valor from a boy who destroys men who would ravage your wives and children.” Kinch turned his back to the city and walked to the first company he had cut through. The Dux was regrouping and subduing the uncontrolled soldiers. Step five.

  Valley of the Shadow

  Lucius looked down from the ramparts with a hand covering his smile as Kinch chastised the warriors of Arx. Lucius expected no less from this outlander he now called Brother. The Auri soldiers had all stopped their work when the lone combatant did not die. They whispered to each other when he charged through one company, carve a hole out of the next company and then killed its Dux.

  They had watched in amazement as the boy cut through the ranks like a bull spinning through a field of wheat. His movements where fluid, but too agile and frightening. His leaps where too high and long. His bare steps too quick to be real and his strength - he crushed men’s bodies with an excessive savageness.

  The Auris had seen the impaled Dux, his life draining from him, flung high over the heads of his soldiers in contempt. When all labors on the wall had ceased, when all eyes where upon the brash boy, they witnessed the most amazing event of all. He had heaped shame upon them.

  Lucius raised his glance to their commander, Taurean. How would he suffer Kinch’s taunting? The commander was scrutinizing the bloody boy on the battle field.

  Taurean turned to Amica with deep questions on his face. She caught his eye with a familiarity and gentleness. Lucius saw their spark, they knew each other - they were affectionate!

  Taurean asked, “Is the time at hand?”

  Amica eyes beamed a smile. “His mother is of red skin.”

  A smile broke on Taurean’s face. He began a slow rolling laugh. He spun to face his troops, “The badger cub has fought well! Honor his death with your war shout.”

  The golden soldiers erupted with a shout of “Victory, honor, death!” The wall echoed with the confident, virile clamor of men convinced of triumph. The roar of the men continued on for many minutes, they were whipping t
hemselves into a frenzy. The Damned recoiled on the battlefield, looking up to the high walls of Arx.

  There was a telepathic electricity in the air. Lucius sensed Amica’s influence engaged in the battle. Her powers could help Kinch if she would use their full power. He knew she was stronger than she demonstrated. He turned to her, ready to implore her to intervene.

  Amica was looking past Lucius, focusing on Lamia. The woman’s black eyes smoldered with anger. They were communicating, he could feel their bridge crackling with intensity. Lamia and Amica were the most powerful telepaths in Arx. They avoided each other, but Amica had never acted as if she feared the dragon sorceress. They met rarely and adhered to the customs of decorum, but Lucius could feel Lamia’s animosity.

  Amica gave a nodding tilt of the head and raised her palms in deference to Lamia. She broke from the intense communication and turned back to the battlefield. Her eyes focused on Kinch. Lucius felt her gentle, but irresistible power pulling them into a communication bridge. Her mind was like a deep river, gentle with unstoppable currents in its depths.

  When Kinch joined, the fire from his emotion took Lucius aback. He had never felt a presence so charged with rage. The strange chanting of voices and stringed instruments flowed from Kinch’s inner voice. He had become something else, something angry. Lucius said nothing, feeling the power from the two forces.

  “Kinch, Lamia will be joining the battle,” Amica warned.

  “I’m guessing she is not wearing a Team Kinch jersey. How can she do any worse than the Duobus? These guys are pounding on my door as it is.”

  “She is subtle, it is not with the Damned she will attack you. Kinch, you are still raw - undisciplined in your power. As I told you before, this is a crucial time for you. Do not chose the way of rage and wrath. That is her path and she knows it well, you cannot use her skills and survive.”