cloak settles.
The First straightens, steps forward.
A second later, not quite two, another figure, identically dressed, lands behind it. Gestures are copied, they land, straighten, step forward, following their leader as the next one lands.
Fourteen times, the sequence repeats, exact, as if time was stuttering, caught in a loop. With each one, the cracks in the stones expand.
They walk together through empty streets, following the trail of destruction.
The First stops by an ash pile, slowly scattering in the breeze. It shakes its head, the others behind mirroring the gesture, then moves on.
Above them, three sky-ships wait.
None of the figures carry weapons, though all wear protective clothing, covered from head to toe in lightweight armour, featureless. This adds to the illusion that they are identical. However, there are differences in height, weight, gender and age. In other circumstances they would dress differently too, perhaps favouring the clothes and mannerisms of their original selves. But when the First calls them, awakening the sleeping essence in their bodies, their masks of humanity fall away, irrelevant.
Several times they pause on their journey, distracted by the shape of a broken building, or a bed half hanging through a ceiling. Sometimes the First stops by a body to close its eyes, sometimes it stops to open them. For not everyone has died in the combat: a few hover, hearts fluttering on the brink. On these occasions one of the group comes, scooping up wounded soldiers as if they were dolls made of leaves. Prizes in hand, they fall back, returning to the sky-ships.
When the First reaches the Crawler Tanks, only three of the group still follow empty-handed.
The Sonorous military back away long before the First arrives, allowing it to pass by unimpeded. An officer awaits the infernal, trying hard to hide his nerves, unaware that such deception is impossibe. The First reads souls rather than tone of voice or facial expressions. All of the officer’s feelings are laid bare before the First’s gaze.
‘Welcome to Sonorous. I’m Captain Ujim, and, on behalf of the council, I want to thank-you for your quick response. I’ve been authorised to give you every support. The enemy is well armed and well trained.’ He is suddenly aware how small he appears, reflected in the First’s faceplate. His throat dries, his voice shrinks. ‘They used the terrain against us, so we haven’t been able to bring our Tanks to bear. And they have knights, at least fifty of them by our reckoning.
‘Still, now that you’re here, our combined strength should be more than enough. We’re ready to attack on your order.’
The First stares into the captain. Behind it, three heads shake. ‘In my dealings with your … people over the years, I am always surprised how eager you are to kill each other.’
The First moves past the captain, leaving the protection of the Crawler Tanks behind.
‘Wait,’ stammers the captain as the identical figures walk by in single file. ‘What are you going to do? What are our orders?’
The fourth figure pauses as it passes. ‘I am going to do what you should have done from the beginning … I am going to make them an offer.’
‘Someone’s coming out, sir. Is that him? Is that the First?’
Genner squints through the spyhole in the makeshift shelter. ‘It’s not a him, private, it’s an infernal. And, yes, it’s the First.’
‘I’ve got him, it, in my sights now. Should I take the shot?’
‘Not yet. Keep ready but no-one fires until I say so.’ Genner turns to his troops. He sees fear in them, mixed with eagerness. Many of the knights have lost sisters and brothers to the First, many of the squires have grown up on bitter stories. ‘If we get the chance to rid the world of the First, we’ll take it. But remember, our primary mission is to protect the bearer, keep the sword safe, and take it to the Breach. We cannot let it fall into enemy hands. I want options.’
The First straightens, steps forward.
A second later, not quite two, another figure, identically dressed, lands behind it. Gestures are copied, they land, straighten, step forward, following their leader as the next one lands.
Fourteen times, the sequence repeats, exact, as if time was stuttering, caught in a loop. With each one, the cracks in the stones expand.
They walk together through empty streets, following the trail of destruction.
The First stops by an ash pile, slowly scattering in the breeze. It shakes its head, the others behind mirroring the gesture, then moves on.
Above them, three sky-ships wait.
None of the figures carry weapons, though all wear protective clothing, covered from head to toe in lightweight armour, featureless. This adds to the illusion that they are identical. However, there are differences in height, weight, gender and age. In other circumstances they would dress differently too, perhaps favouring the clothes and mannerisms of their original selves. But when the First calls them, awakening the sleeping essence in their bodies, their masks of humanity fall away, irrelevant.
Several times they pause on their journey, distracted by the shape of a broken building, or a bed half hanging through a ceiling. Sometimes the First stops by a body to close its eyes, sometimes it stops to open them. For not everyone has died in the combat: a few hover, hearts fluttering on the brink. On these occasions one of the group comes, scooping up wounded soldiers as if they were dolls made of leaves. Prizes in hand, they fall back, returning to the sky-ships.
When the First reaches the Crawler Tanks, only three of the group still follow empty-handed.
The Sonorous military back away long before the First arrives, allowing it to pass by unimpeded. An officer awaits the infernal, trying hard to hide his nerves, unaware that such deception is impossibe. The First reads souls rather than tone of voice or facial expressions. All of the officer’s feelings are laid bare before the First’s gaze.
‘Welcome to Sonorous. I’m Captain Ujim, and, on behalf of the council, I want to thank-you for your quick response. I’ve been authorised to give you every support. The enemy is well armed and well trained.’ He is suddenly aware how small he appears, reflected in the First’s faceplate. His throat dries, his voice shrinks. ‘They used the terrain against us, so we haven’t been able to bring our Tanks to bear. And they have knights, at least fifty of them by our reckoning.
‘Still, now that you’re here, our combined strength should be more than enough. We’re ready to attack on your order.’
The First stares into the captain. Behind it, three heads shake. ‘In my dealings with your … people over the years, I am always surprised how eager you are to kill each other.’
The First moves past the captain, leaving the protection of the Crawler Tanks behind.
‘Wait,’ stammers the captain as the identical figures walk by in single file. ‘What are you going to do? What are our orders?’
The fourth figure pauses as it passes. ‘I am going to do what you should have done from the beginning … I am going to make them an offer.’
‘Someone’s coming out, sir. Is that him? Is that the First?’
Genner squints through the spyhole in the makeshift shelter. ‘It’s not a him, private, it’s an infernal. And, yes, it’s the First.’
‘I’ve got him, it, in my sights now. Should I take the shot?’
‘Not yet. Keep ready but no-one fires until I say so.’ Genner turns to his troops. He sees fear in them, mixed with eagerness. Many of the knights have lost sisters and brothers to the First, many of the squires have grown up on bitter stories. ‘If we get the chance to rid the world of the First, we’ll take it. But remember, our primary mission is to protect the bearer, keep the sword safe, and take it to the Breach. We cannot let it fall into enemy hands. I want options.’
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