The Wildwose, Page 2

  It seemed an insult to any Church-fearing believer that these abominations should be allowed to walk the earth. No matter, that the father lovingly and protectively draped one arm around the boy, as would any of the parents amongst this squad. Their orders were clear; find a specimen and bring it back to headquarters, dead or alive, it made no real difference.

  *****

  Eldrid had finished, there was nothing to find fault in. His son had made him proud. As he turned with his mouth open to speak the words of praise, he saw the orange flower blossom on the boy’s forehead. A look of uncomprehending surprise became stamped onto the now rigid face, and Eldrid heard a high keening noise echoing in his ears. It took him a short while to realise that he was the one making the high-pitched wailing sound, that it was his hands which reached out in vain to catch his son as his only child’s body crumpled backwards, bouncing once onto the earth, before lying still.

  Rage bubbled up from deep within him, feral and rank, straining to be released. Seeing the guilty men running towards him, he could not find it within himself to follow the peaceful teachings of his tribe. With a roar, he scooped up his staff, rolling forward over it and standing in a smooth motion to face the first of the onrushing soldiers. The man wore a cap of some sort and whirled a sword above his head. This however did not concern Eldrid.

  As the soldier’s blade scythed downwards, Eldrid raised his staff in what appeared a useless blocking motion, the Inspector, for that was what he was, grinned in evil anticipation of the sound and feel of tearing flesh. In that he was to be disappointed, as the sword met no resistance, the single piece of wood becoming two with a deft twist of Eldrid’s wrists. The now twin sticks sported a sharp straight blade, and another which had sprung out at almost right angles to the first one. This curious ‘L’-shaped weapon whistled, as Eldrid twirled it rapidly round, allowing the sword stroke to clash uselessly against the ground before him. His left leg shot backwards, his right knee bending as he struck. The point of the horizontal blade pierced the Inspector’s eyeball, the second digging deep into flesh, as Eldrid levered the offending sphere free in a welter of blood.

  He span, the weapon in his other hand flicking across the officer’s throat and relieving him of the excruciating pain he was suffering. The violence of Eldrid’s attack had stunned the Guards for a moment, but as veterans do, they quickly responded, bringing rifles to bear. Eldrid, however, had not waited for them, rolling and crashing into the first line, his blades slashing wickedly into exposed flesh. There was no wasted movement, no time spent in retrieving more sophisticated weapons, all he wanted was blood.

  Guardsmen fell. Armour became less than useless as Eldrid cut and sliced, never standing still and with a total disregard for his own safety. Men lay crying in pain, begging for a mercy that would never be forthcoming. Eldrid was not concerned for the wounded. In his mind, they could be dealt with later.

  It was only when the second wave of Church Guards appeared, a Sergeant forming them into a ragged line and sending a volley of laser fire towards the growling and snarling Eldrid, that sense finally permeated a father’s ruined mind. His boy lay in the middle of the carnage, too far for him to reach right now, and so he raced away. Behind him was the cooling corpse of his only son, although his journey to death would now be accompanied by the souls of his enemies, bound to his service at the behest of his grieving father. It was though, not enough, as the laser rounds scorched past him, Eldrid spoke his curse and his promise, before he turned and melted deeper into the forest.

  Part IV

  The office was well-appointed; high-class imported furniture graced the wood-panelled walls. A small fire crackled heartily in the grate, which had been set into a sculpted hearth that graced the far wall. Two uniformed men stood with their backs to it, warming themselves in a companionable silence. One of them, the more portly of the two, sighed and moved away from flames’ heat, out into the room.

  Major Wolis, looked down on the pitiful bundle of matted hair that had been dumped unceremoniously onto a hastily thrown groundsheet, laying in all of its rumpled functionality in the centre of his office floor. His broad face was split by a grin of triumph. He would be the toast of the Officers’ Mess this evening, the previous night’s drunken boast fulfilled. He prodded the obviously sub-human creature with his toe and then laughed heartily, along with the brutish-looking Sergeant by his side.

  Their revelry was interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of the junior aide from the previous evening. The man looked upset about something, his tight-lipped salute and his rigidly held position of attention, suggested a formally delivered rebuke might be forthcoming. Wolis bristled in response, how dare such a junior Officer behave so? Deliberately provoking the man, he prodded at what they claimed was a child, once more.

  “Sir!” snapped the Leftenant in outrage, “I must protest!”

  “Protest?” queried the Major lazily as he moved over to where a decanter, brimming with a ruby liquor, and glasses rested on a nearby table, “About what?”

  “This!” pronounced the Leftenant in outrage, pointing at the still glistening corpse, whose blood marked the protecting material, “Do you know what you have done?”

  The Major raised an eyebrow at the lack of the use of his rank and merely waited, like an expectant parent whose child has forgotten their manners. In this, though he was to be disappointed, as the Leftenant, uninvited, moved to kneel next to the small body. Almost gently, he brushed the hair away from the child’s neck, revealing a strangely designed tattoo. His exclamation of surprise was followed by a curse and once again he faced the now bemused Major.

  “You, Sir,” began the Leftenant, “have managed to do in one afternoon, what we on this planet have guarded against for generations. With this one stupid act, you have signed the death warrant of all of your men!”

  With no further comment, the Leftenant span on his heel and marched for the door, pointedly ignoring the Major.

  “I did not dismiss you!” roared the Major, slamming his glass down onto the table in anger, “You will come back here right now!” and as the Leftenant continued to ignore him, “Sergeant, arrest that man!”

  There was a slight movement on behalf of the non-com, but this was quickly halted by the sight of the laser pistol in the Leftenant’s hand. A grim smile played across Kombel’s lips, as he saw the Sergeant raise his hands in submission. With one last pointed look at the Major, he turned and continued on his way.

  “Get after him!” snarled Major Wolis, as the door closed behind the Leftenant, “Wait,” he said, moving to a communications-unit, “I have a better idea. We’ll make sure that our local aide, Leftenant Kombel, has nowhere to hide on this planet. Except maybe with the rest of his subhuman friends, eh?”

  Their laughter rang out from the office and echoed along the corridor, where a number of nervous Church Guards had seen the Leftenant stride away. They too were local men and had watched the corpse worriedly as it was dragged in. These off-worlders had heard the stories, heck in fact most planets had similar stories. The only difference was that this was the place where it had all begun, the one place in the galaxy where it paid to listen to myth and legend. Mistakes had been made once before, long ago, and the consequences had been terrible.

  Of all of the planets in the Church-blessed Protectorate, this was the one that neither the Inspectorate nor the Ecclesiarchy dared to challenge. This was the home of the Wildwose and a drunken Major and his cronies had just woken them.

  *****

  It began as a slight breeze, which tugged at Kombel’s coat-tails causing them to flap fitfully. Dark clouds were gathering over the forest, billowing outwards faster and faster as the wind increased in speed. A harsh rain came quickly, stinging his exposed flesh as it slashed downwards onto Main Street. The Leftenant peered towards the apparent centre of the rapidly encroaching storm and nodded, almost in satisfaction as he spied the boiling mass at its centre. It had begun, and there was somew
here he had to be.

  His lone figure strode purposefully away, leaning into the wind as he struggled against the wild elemental force opposing him. At last he reached a covered vehicle, the engine quickly roaring into life, its feeble lights picking out little amongst the torment’s blackness. Slowly and steadily he drove away, whilst behind him the rain turned to hail and fist-sized ice particles slammed down onto the roof of the main Command Centre.

  *****

  Major Wolis had lost his self-satisfied smile and he now stood open-mouthed, watching the storm’s fury from the safety and comfort of his office. The body still lay where it had been dumped, although the protective sheet was rolled across it, even the Major having become tired of his self-praise. He leapt backwards as a bolt of lightning struck, expending its massive energy in an overwhelming explosion of heat and sound. The monument to the Prelate had served as its grounding point and now all that was left was the twisted remains of the imitation throne at its base.

  Half-blinded by the intense flash of light, Wolis blinked rapidly, trying to clear the strange shapes which floated before his eyes. At last he managed it and suddenly jumped back from the window screaming. His Sergeant rushed to his side, laser-rifle at the ready.

  “Sir?” he queried, not sure what had caused his Major’s unexpected reaction.

  “The…the face!” shrieked Wolis, burying his own face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with fear.

  “There’s nothing there now, Sir”, the Sergeant reassured him, “perhaps you were mistaken?”

  “I was not mistaken!” replied the Major angrily, his tear and snot-streaked face rising from its hiding place, “It was horrible! One of them I think.” he said indicating the bundle in the middle of the room.

  Shaking his head, the Sergeant stared out of the window. There was no way that anyone could be out there, they were three stories up and there was no terrace. Neither were there drainage pipes nor crenulated facades, designed for ostentatious display rather than security. No, the only obvious answer was that the Major had imagined it.

  Another bright flash struck, followed by an immediate roar of thunder, then darkness. Complete darkness. This time the ravening energy had struck some local power supply and now all the illumination that they had left was that of the small fire, still burning merrily in the grate. For a few breath-rasping moments there was nothing, then wall lights flickered and began to burn steadily once more.

  “No-o-o-o!” screeched the Major, pointing at the now bundle-free protective covering; the child’s body was gone. An eerie chuckle sounded and the lights began to dim again. The Sergeant heard a trickling, bubbling sound and was assailed by the smell accompanying the terrified officer’s bowel evacuation.

  “Crap!” he cursed, putting some distance between himself and the Major, whilst at the same time moving away from the window. If there was going to be a target here, he certainly did not want it to be him.

  The office door banged open and the Sergeant spun in a ready crouch, his rifle trained into the centre of the door as he watched it swing closed once more. A repetitive scratching noise could be heard and a voice whispering pleadingly. With no second thought, the Sergeant opened fire, his rounds punching their way through the wooden barrier. He heard a muffled cry, followed by a thumping noise, as if a body had fallen. The Sergeant stood, straightened his tunic and approached the door. His finger still rested on the trigger, but he was a little calmer now, more focussed.

  Taking a deep breath, he snatched open the door, the same time as he sent a spread of shots through. There was no sign of movement or light, the illumination here not having come back on. As he shuffled forwards, his foot bumped into something pliant and he fired once again, the muzzle flash highlighting the wetly glistening body which lay crumpled in front of him.

  Turning, the Sergeant propped open the now half-destroyed entrance allowing at least some light to filter through. He gasped in shock and horror, this had at one time been a Church soldier and although his rounds had taken the poor man’s life, they had done so cleanly. Someone or thing, had not been as considerate, the trooper’s face was non-existent, as though it had been peeled away. Eyes hung slackly from their sockets and a lipless mouth grinned skeletally. Fighting against an overriding need to vomit, the battle-hardened veteran backed slowly into the main room. Step by step he inched away from the soldier’s grisly remains, his eyes scanning the dim reaches of the corridor. He knew that there was something out there, just not what, and he almost buckled under the sudden wave of agoraphobia assaulting him.

  “Sir?” he called querulously, “Major, are you there?”, but silence was his only reply.

  Now inside the room, he half-turned looking for his superior officer. There was no-one there, no trace that anyone had ever been there, and the Sergeant began to shake. Without warning, the lights blacked out, glass crashed and the raging wind and hail lashed into the room. At the sound of the breaking window, the Sergeant began to fire, keeping his finger depressed until the rifle ran out of charge. Hastily he fumbled for a power cell, his fingers disobeying him as terror took its grip. Warm liquid ran down his legs, which had begun to shake uncontrollably. His breath began to steam in the now frigid air and a scream bubbled up from deep inside, bursting out involuntarily as a child’s laughter sounded in his ear.

  His scream lasted a long time, cutting through the raging storm’s own voice occasionally, yet it too, just like the Sergeant, eventually died.

  Part V

  Pain coursed through the Major’s arms, as the rough woodland floor skipped past his face. His hands had been wrenched backwards and bound to what looked like a large piece of metallic tubing. Cords also bound his feet and the jostling, jerking motion of his passage occasionally dashed his face into the grit and dirt.

  He opened his mouth to shout or rather scream his outrage and it was only then he realised that not all of this agony was limited to his shoulder blades. His whole body ached and pain lanced through him with every small movement, but his mouth, that was something different entirely. No recognisable sound came from it, rather a muffled moan, and when he tried to explore his teeth and cheeks with his tongue, he realised why. There was nothing to feel, nothing to test, or rather perhaps there was, but he would never know as the realization crashed in on him. He was now an enforced mute, nothing in his mouth responded to his brain’s frantic messages.

  Agony exploded as he was carelessly pulled through a thorn thicket and his forehead crashed into a hidden rock. Ruthlessly he was dragged forward and at last his prayers were answered as he fell into the blessed release of unconsciousness.

  *****

  When he at last awoke groaning and mewing in pain, Wolis saw that it was now daylight. The sun shone through the foliage and patterned the grassy area in front of him. Still he hung face downwards, yet he was somehow raised on high, as he could see all the open area and the creatures there, encircling him.

  Silently they watched; straggly hair hanging down over their eyes as they squatted patiently. Forgetting his inability to speak, he started to plead for his life, but the muffled noises emanating from his mouth soon convinced him to desist. Time seemed endless and it could have been mere moments, or at least half a day, before the crowd stood; the excited buzz of conversation beginning.

  Almost directly in front of him, a group of the natives parted allowing passage through to an Officer of the Guard and another of their brethren. Hope flared briefly in the Major’s eyes as he recognised the young Leftenant, but soon began to fade as the two stopped side-by-side, staring at what was Major Wolis. They embraced, the stouter native murmuring something in a deep bass voice, the Leftenant nodding in agreement. Then Kombel turned and spoke.

  “I warned you,” he said, as he unbuttoned his tunic, taking it off and laying it carefully to one side, “but would you listen? No,of course not.”

  Here he shook his head, tossing his cap next to the tunic, “You all know best, you all feel that the hairy sub-human
s are nothing, don’t you?” he stopped, patting the Major absent-mindedly on his cheek. “ What? You can’t answer me? Never mind.”

  Then his undershirt was removed, leaving his pale skin bare, his hairless body in stark contrast to the pelts which covered those of his companions. As Kombel stretched his arms above his head, in what appeared to be an elaborate form of warm-up routine, Wolis noticed the tattoos which ran down the insides of his arms. When the Leftenant turned away to speak to the crouching multitude, the Major also saw the intricate design inked alongside the Leftenant’s spine, culminating to a point just below his neck.

  “You see Major, every once in a while, we need to remind you, need to reinforce who exactly are the savages, and why we have chosen a peaceful path. Many generations ago, we realised the depths to which we could sink and vowed never to allow it to happen again.”

  The Leftenant’s skin began to darken, to shake, the tattooed pattern rippling and changing with each shudder. His whole body was moving, in an insanely peristaltic fashion, and he shivered, like an animal trying to rid itself of excess moisture.

  “Ooh,” he said, grinning at the Major who swung in a slow pendulum-like fashion, his body’s involuntary spasms betraying him, “that tickles!”

  Pausing, he stared into Wolis’ eyes and then, as if remembering where he was once again, continued with his dialogue.

  “As with most things, now and again you have to dip your toe into the shallow end, just a little. Perhaps to reinforce the need to respect dangerous things, to gently reprimand a child when they over step the mark, just like you did.” here he waved a finger in admonition at the Major, before he carried on.

  “I have spoken with the local Inspector, have reminded him of our agreements and I believe steps will be taken, to repair this unfortunate misunderstanding. However, you my dear Major need to pay some, shall we call it, parental damages. A personal atonement for your grievous error is required.