New Enemies, Page 2

  Chapter 2

  The sun rose on the third day of Anger of Lun avoiding his home. He had spent the first day fleeing, his whips firing him between the trees with little trace of his passage. To ensure his safety, he backtracked, creating false trails for interested Disciples to waste their time with. After hunting for food and making a weak shelter, he had slept as long as he dared, and then struck out east.

  That second day was a journey and a patrol, covering ground he had not seen in months. Here, the forest was unbroken and unmolested, the miles of gorgeous treelands safe from the Disciple roads which were less frequent as one went north: it seemed the Disciples remained on direct roads from Moenian for as long as possible before falling into those strange square patterns further south.

  He had briefly wondered what the Disciple city was like, what defences protected a city peopled with odd mechanical beings. Voice of Lun had ordered the faithful not to go that far, that only death awaited them at the Disciple's capital. Anger of Lun would never go against those orders, but he was still curious.

  Anger of Lun had walked until he collapsed that second day. The last of his energy was spent foraging for mushrooms and fruit, a cold dinner that required no fire, risked no smoke. He ate joylessly, then slept in the crook of an old tree.

  Sol found him stiff and chilled. He stood, stretched, but his muscles complained and his bones creaked. More stretches and some exercise got his blood pumping again, made him feel like he could continue.

  But what to do today? Should he hide or return to his home and vigil? The Disciples probably weren't still searching for him, but that wasn't definite. Through a misty morning, he looked at the rising sun as though it had answers: Sol only made him squint and illuminated his dark robes.

  This, he decided, was a matter of faith. Kneeling, he pressed his thumbs against the pale gems in his whips. Joy, religious and sweeping, rushed through him. He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and said, “Dark brother, equal and kind, cruel because it is what's best, what should I do?”

  The yellow gems warmed. A familiar voice that sounded like necessary pain or a vital culling whispered, “Seek out your colleague.”

  Anger of Lun gasped, his chest rising. Tears formed in his eyes. He had trouble breathing, and his weak hands shook as he nodded fiercely in response to his god.

  The gems cooled. The dark brother was gone.

  For minutes, Anger of Lun prostrated himself before Lun, thanking the dark brother for his wisdom. He sang Lun's praises, his voice cracking with emotion he could not contain, his head low and his cupped hands pointing at the ground.

  When he had eulogised enough, Anger of Lun shook himself, and went to do as commanded. He spun the whips to rouse their power, then pulled himself through the forest.

  Many of the faithful had travelled into the Moenian forest, posing as Shields until they could slip away and be assumed as killed. That was the plan Lun's Voice had built, one executed flawlessly by a dozen Lun worshippers powerful enough to disrupt the Disciples.

  Once every two months, the faithful gathered far from any Disciple road. There, they reviewed their progress and introduced any who had joined their ranks. Anger of Lun was the sixth person to arrive. He had camped at Lun's Lake, their meeting grounds, until the others found him. The first person he met was his eventual neighbour, Honour of Lun. It is she that Lun wanted him to visit.

  Honour of Lun had spent weeks showing him what was expected of him, testing his ability to wield Lunlight and correcting faults in his form. Anger of Lun didn't need to learn combat or survival growing up as he had, but he did need guidance through his first fights with the golden, godlike Disciples. During this period, he had stayed in Honour of Lun’s home, so he knew exactly where to find her.

  After a few hours, he arrived at a colossal oak tree covered in thick, luxurious leaves. Ancient and grand, it had forged enough space in the dense forest to grow into a magnificent sight, and had never let its position go. If you didn't know the signs to look for, one could easily pass this tree and never know that Honour of Lun lived within.

  Anger of Lun did not approach as a friend might: the Disciples could still be watching him. So he spent a good hour watching for any hunters, moving slowly, creating false trails. Only when satisfied that he was alone did he approach the oak's trunk, and use his whip to rapidly ascend.

  He landed on a brief porch and Honour of Lun ran out from the ramshackle hut she called home, her own whips in her hand. “Oh my... Anger, you nearly scared the blood from my veins!”

  “I am sorry, Honour of Lun,” Anger of Lun replied.

  “Sol, you did shock me. What are you doing out here?” she said, putting her hand on her hip. She was short, slight. The tight skin over her cheeks made her look hungry. Her stature and preened hair suggested weaknesses that didn't exist: she was fit, and an excellent fighter.

  “I was advised to.”

  Honour of Lun's eyes went to the whip in Anger of Lun's hand, and then she nodded, her hair tumbling around her drawn features. “Would you allow me to offer you something to eat?”

  “Yes,” Anger of Lun said.

  Honour of Lun tied her whips to her waist, then gestured for him to step inside. He secured his whips and followed her. The building, such as it was, was six feet high, and long enough to lie down in. Inside, he found Honour of Lun's sleeping robes scattered on the floor, and a cold cut of meat beside them: he had interrupted her breakfast. Still, it was good practice to react so rapidly.

  “Do you know why it was that Lun told you to come all the way out here?” Honour of Lun asked as she settled beside her breakfast. She gestured for him to sit. “And please, eat.”

  “He didn't,” Anger of Lun replied. He sat and started on his share of the breakfast, enjoying the greasiness of the flesh. It was probably partridge. “I was close when he spoke.”

  “Then I shall have to ask why it was that you were so close to my home!” Honour of Lun said joyfully, her southern accent momentarily thicker. “Why?”

  Anger of Lun swallowed. “I fought and killed three Disciples. It wasn't safe to return to my home. East was the best direction to head in. I travelled for two days, and then prayed for guidance.”

  His fellow Cultist smiled. “I am so glad that the dark brother provided me some company for today, then. It is likely to be an interesting day as a result.”

  “Yes. He wouldn't send me to you just for a chat.”

  “He might. Perhaps you need the company. Or maybe I do!”

  Anger of Lun grunted. He was fine only seeing the faithful every two months, but he could imagine others fearing the solitude and isolation, being only one moment of bad luck from death. Faith could sustain some people, but it wasn't always enough.

  “We shall finish our meal, and then we can go out on a patrol,” Honour of Lun said, patting him on the shoulder. “This is going to be like the times of old, is it not?”

  “Except I'll be the one showing you up.”

  The woman laughed. “Hopefully that is so! I would like to see how you have grown.”

  They finished their meal and moved out, careful that no one saw them leave the well-hidden home. Once they were at what Honour of Lun considered to be a safe distance – it was her decision to make, she knew her lands best – they broke into rapid swings, Honour of Lun leading the way.

  Despite her joke about needing company, Honour of Lun did not talk during the patrol. She was definite, focused utterly on the patrol. Perhaps she had not felt the need to patrol recently, and his presence had brought a new determination. Or perhaps she just wanted to finish early and catch up back at the home they had once shared. Either way, they progressed in silence.

  And this proved to be a good thing when, about ninety minutes in, they heard a sneeze. Both Cultists stopped dead, hung from the trees by their whips, and saw in each other's expression confirmation that they had heard what they thought: someone was nearby.

  Honour of Lun tilted her head back, a que
stioning look on her face. Anger of Lun nodded to agree that the sneeze had come from the south-west.

  They dropped to the forest floor and moved toward the sneeze, their weapons readied. It was possible they'd found another of the faithful, but it was more likely an advanced scout from Geos.

  Of course, it could be a human Disciple: Lun's Voice had predicted their coming. Anger of Lun felt eager to look upon a human who would willingly work for and with those monsters. If not for the prophecies, he would have thought it impossible for such a strange contradiction to exist.

  The Lun Cultists picked up the person's trail shortly. Whoever it was didn't know enough about tracking to prevent it, left footprints and broken branches in their wake. Without speaking, they both slowed their pace slightly, not needing to rush when tracking such easy prey.

  Their quarry was heading south, following the path of a Cultist road half a mile to the east. Deep footprints meant they were either heavily laden or incredibly large. Anger of Lun sniffed as he checked the trail and detected soap and fresh sweat.

  It took ten minutes to catch their target, an average-sized man resting on a patch of dewy grass, a large rucksack at his feet. Brown hair, a fledgling beard, about thirty, he was disappointingly unremarkable. They made certain he was alone before lying in the grass above him like predators.

  “Disciple or Solarist?” Anger of Lun whispered.

  “Disciple. Look at the design and crafting of that carry-back.”

  Anger of Lun hadn't given the rucksack any thought, but a strange flexible metal, made to look like fabric at first glance, made up its body, and something soft, pliant, and artificial covered the straps and back. Only the Disciples could make such a thing.

  Honour of Lun held her whips up. “Ready?”

  Anger of Lun tightened his grip on his whips, then nodded. Together, they rose and charged. The Disciple didn't notice them until four rakes of yellow death sliced along him, severing his raised hands and gutting him. He fell into a sitting position and bled out, dying with his eyes wide and a shocked look peering from a facial wound.

  The Lun Cultists looked at each other and nodded, their job well done. Anger of Lun even felt a smile rise to his lips: it really was like old times.

  “Shall we see why he avoided the Disciple roads?” he asked.

  “Yes, I think I shall be doing that, if that is good with you?”

  Anger of Lun nodded. He wanted to open that rucksack, but this was Honour of Lun's land, and so such dangers were her responsibility and duty.

  Honour of Lun knelt and brought Lunlight across her body in case some danger lurked within the item. As she slowly opened the rucksack, Anger of Lun sprinted to check the Disciple roads for any ambushes, and found them safe.

  “Are we definitely safe to be here, Anger?”

  He winced at the informal name, but said, “I believe so.”

  Honour of Lun looked confused as she peered inside. “Then come and take your look at this.”

  Anger of Lun frowned when he looked: inside were long tubes of metal, maybe four inches across. They were different colours, had markings in a language he did not recognise, and each ended in an ornamental cap and nozzle arrangement. The cap was brassy and circular, and crenulations along its shape suggested it could be turned. Below it was a set of circles of decreasing size.

  “Know you what this is?” Honour of Lun asked.

  “I don't.”

  “Should we take them or destroy them here?”

  Anger of Lun looked over at the dead human Disciple, sitting in a pool of his blood. He was a great disappointment, had died without even a struggle. “This one avoided the Disciple roads to sneak those things through Sol’s lines. They didn't want us or anyone else to notice this delivery. Whatever these things are, they’re important. We should bring them to the next gathering of the faithful at Lun's Lake.”

  “I agree,” she replied. “Can you carry some of them? Despite how they look, these metallic containers are not light in any way.”

  Anger of Lun nodded. He hefted two of the containers up and held them under his arms, finding them as heavy as Honour of Lun suggested.

  “Oh, before we go, we should take care of what we have left behind, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  Honour of Lun turned to the dead Disciple, her whips together. A burst of Lunlight fired out from their gems and engulfed the Disciple. His body was destroyed as Lun's brilliance engulfed him and the blood on the soil, leaving only the scent of burning flesh and charred earth.

  Their job done, the Lun Cultists carried whatever the Disciples had tried to smuggle. Anger of Lun stared at the strange cargo on the way, tried to figure what might be within them, but could only settle on 'nothing good'.