Excerpt

[Excerpt] Paradox I: The Stellar Conjunction

Here is a short teaser from a current work in progress; Paradox I: The Stellar Conjunction:

01. Shadow and Light

The Betrayer’s seven viscous hearts were all beating at a million miles a minute as it fought to squeeze its monstrous frame inside a narrow alcove in the mess hall of the Scythian polyreme. The ship-wide alarm had already been sounded, in spite of the sexless creature’s best efforts to move cautiously through the central checkpoints unnoticed, and the constant deafening wail pierced its consciousness with each shrill blast that rang out like a cold blade forged from fear alone. It had almost made it to the landing bay, almost evaded the clutches of the Shadow’s trained security detail and escaped, as planned, aboard a stolen legion fighter with the coveted Astrograph safely in its possession, the objective achieved. Almost.

No sooner did the unwieldy gastropod corner the final passage leading onto the dock and certain freedom beyond, its earlier deception was discovered, and the two heavy blast doors that partitioned the inner vessel from the vacuum of outer space crashed loudly shut leaving the Betrayer with no other choice but to retrace its trail and seek refuge somewhere nearby in the great dining hall. Reacting instinctively to the heightened stress of the situation, it had begun to secrete a noticeable amount of thick, black oil from the many tiny pores that dotted the epidermal layer of its outer mantle. This conveniently served to act as something of a biological lubricant, allowing the massive creature to quickly contort its boneless mass of slick proboscides and hydrostatic limbs in such a way that it was just able to slide in completely and disappear from view, before the security detail could break down the door it had managed to jam shut only seconds earlier.

Sure enough, with a loud boom and a blinding flash of white light, the heavy chrome panel was ejected violently into and across the hall a moment later by the explosive force of an expertly placed thermal charge, and the advancing squad comprising a dozen heavily armed officers of various forms and races rushed inside to corner their quarry. Their number quickly fanned out in all directions, some scaling the walls and others deftly clambering along the ceiling to examine the bioluminescent lighting pods running down the centre of it in the hopes of being the one to find the fugitive. The search for the Betrayer promised to be a brief one, and the ensuing sentence passed by their Scythian masters executed, as always, without a hope of mercy or room to negotiate.

All account of their reactions to prior acts of treason had seen the wrath of the Scythians recorded as legendary. Whole tribes of dissenting rebels had been hunted down at their command and purged mercilessly like dogs, or flayed savagely in front of fellow traitors made to watch aghast, their eyelids ripped from their faces. Enemy operatives had been made to spend days to weeks confined in blistering torture chambers heated on all sides, their occupants kept alive as long as medically possible to suffer in full before an adequate confession and list of co-conspirators could be extracted, but perhaps the most abhorrent punishment of all, reserved only for those closest to their rulers was having the living body surgically installed into the lower digestive tract of a live kith beast, and left to act as a functioning organ through which the famously pungent waste of the adipose quadruped would slowly flow. It was this degree of unusual cruelty, creativity and the standard it set that had won them their rulership during the Kai Del’Mar, and posited the Scythians as the undisputed overlords of every multitude of creature that called the Netherverse home.

The Netherverse itself had always been cold and dark, as far back as every species native to it could recall. Cold, dark and unforgiving. It was an old universe, one in which cruelty and indiscriminate savagery could thrive with impunity, where violence was the prince, and in which an entirely alien hierarchy of hostility and brute force slowly grew to become law. For as long as any written record was kept, its stars had been in steady decline, extinguished one by one over progressing millennia like so many candles left to burn too long. Countless empires of immeasurable wealth and power had been allowed to flourish and subside within its boundaries, diverse and innumerable races eventually developing on a multitude of different planets throughout its history, and just as many then succumbing either to the inevitable entropy of their own waning energies, or the will of outside predation. This had always been the way, for so long as could be remembered.

It was only in such an impossibly inverse and desperate place that a being as wholly evil as the one who called himself the Moiling Shadow could be made.

Crowned eternal, he was the unquestioned immortal monarch of more than a thousand conquered systems. A ghostly black clad titan some twelve feet tall whose face was perpetually hid behind an awful helmet of chromed and jagged metal, the mere mention of his name would strike terror into the hearts of all who dared speak it, a fear that’s merits were owed for the most part to a long and exhausting legacy of unspeakable atrocities the likes of which, even in the Netherverse, were far beyond the pale. His race were the Scythians, the elder ones. As far as anyone knew, they were the oldest enduring species to exist, and in a reality in which only the strongest and most savage are afforded the right to survive, that fact alone spoke volumes. Some bold enough to study their mythos would speculate that they had been there from the beginning, from the very moment the Netherverse was purported to have burst into existence from the diminishing of a former state of an unknowable reality. Select others would sometimes speak in hushed tones of a great invasion, led by the Shadow, that first brought their kind into their universe from yet another foreign one, to lay waste to it and enslave its weaker populace. In either case, for all intents and purposes they were the gods of their own reality; undying, unequalled and unopposed.

Whatever the truth of their origin, none could recall a time in which their vast and indomitable fleet of advanced world destroyers and the constant threat of incursion from the ghostly army of the risen didn’t sit firmly in the back of the minds of every species they allowed to labour beneath the cruel whip of their industrial war machine. Possessed of powers few could even begin to comprehend, the Scythians had gleaned the ability somehow to reanimate the lower biological functions of any felled combatant and turn the resulting creation loose against its own kind. As the long list of conquered systems gradually rose, so too did their numbers, and what began as an outlandish myth of a ghoulish army of the walking dead quickly became an accepted and very real truth to be reckoned with. Some time toward the close of the last recorded epoch in which the rabble of diverse and aggressive free worlds of the Netherverse still remained so, a final and desperate alliance of native systems consolidated their forces under a single tattered banner. In a last crusade against the Scythians’ horde, they fought back in a long and bloody campaign referred to earlier as the Kai Del’Mar, or in the common language the ‘Final Night’.

When both forces finally clashed, the lives of so many millions of varying species were extinguished in the cosmic equivalent of the blink of an eye as, in spite of propitious talk and the utmost secrecy surrounding their upcoming effort, somehow the Scythians had managed to remain two steps ahead of the free armies of the vast unconquered. Their response to the aggressive incursion of nearly every remaining free unit was swift and devastating. It was their belief that the only way a message strong enough to quell any future rebellion could be sent was by the threat of extinction via a precedent of the same, and so after a series of decisive and devastating offensives against their systems of origin, neither trace nor name existed any longer of those valiant races that fought to the very last. The warning was made clear; all must submit to the Scythians, or else be removed root and stem like weeds and have the bare earth salted where they first took ground.

This knowledge was at the fore of the Betrayer’s thoughts as it hid poorly and tried desperately not to draw an audible breath. Unfortunately the amphibious respiratory abilities of an adult cephalon are far from dry and anything but quiet, and so despite praying they might pass it by the creature was called out soon enough, extracted unceremoniously from its shallow hiding place and thrown roughly to the floor of the great hall. As it writhed about in an attempt to re-establish spatial equilibrium, the bipedal creature heading the detail delivered a swift kick to its mantle, sending the clumsy animal sprawling limbs akimbo and looking something like an octopus might if dropped from a great height, before delivering his ultimatum: “Cephalon,” the commanding officer barked in the dialect common to the Legion, “cease resisting at once, and remain still. You will comply..!”

The cornered creature was already seeing stars, but just retained enough good sense to calm its firing ganglions, promptly lowering each of its writhing appendages flat to the floor. It knew that even the slightest perceived threat could provoke the detail to open fire, and even if it had been able to hurl itself at them and land an attack, while an animal of its size might be able to quickly dispatch one or two of their number, even with the element of surprise it stood no chance at overwhelming the entire group without being turned into little more then a porous, leaking sponge by the synchrotron cannons they had trained on it from all sides. The Betrayer searched its limited knowledge of the same dialect, and was quick to verbalise a short but clear response, “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot..! I am promised, as we all are, the right to higher judgement by decree of the Order – please, you cannot kill me before the Shadow is allowed his due. I submit – I submit..!”

The beaten creature was right. Even among as fierce and warlike a force as the Legion there needed to exist some sort of a code, a rigid system of judicial process by which the hierarchy could act on established laws and ensure that the ruling class kept a strict and autocratic monopoly on the administering of punishment. No despot can cling to his rulership nor a credible tyranny endure that has not devised commandments with which to oppress those below the class of rule. The cephalon knew it stood to expect nothing short of the penalty of death in undergoing such process, but as with all living things that find themselves staring down certain death, felt compelled to cling to whatever fleeting moments of continuing life could be afforded it, whatever the quality. The company paused momentarily to consider whether simply firing upon the traitor regardless and claiming it to have died in the fray might be a better option, before the weight of the Scythians’ wrath and the thought of what they themselves might be subjected to if such deception were to be exposed won out and they dragged the wretched creature up onto its haunches, and took it away for judgement.

Unbeknownst to the Betrayer, on a nearby arbiter class coloniser the Moiling Shadow himself was preparing to board a shuttle and approach the polyreme, in order to both facilitate the recovery of the stolen artefact and address the treason of one of his closest former advisers personally. Had this information been made available to the cephalon before bargaining, there is little doubt that the creature would have, as quickly as possible, behaved in a way necessitating suicide by authority. The monstrous ghoul and single lord of the Scythians moved silently through the arbiter loading bay, as if floating, and as he neared the shuttle the Betrayer could feel a knot of muted terror beginning to grow in its mind. Across space and distance, beyond all voice and reach, the presence of some evils are somehow simply able to transcend physical law. The Shadow was flanked by only two others of his kind, however two that could assist most capably in passing sentence on those within the upper folds of their order. None have names among the Scythians, save those few whose contributions are too great to otherwise reference collectively. Those two in the Shadow’s company therefore shall remain nameless, at least for now.

The Betrayer was thrown in restraints and marched brusquely to a long row of shallow holding cells deep within the polyreme, and placed under careful watch by his captors while their lord and master made his way across to them. The Astrograph too was quickly recovered, found to be concealed within the gelatinous folds of the great cephalon’s shapeless torso and was promptly cleaned and placed in a separate chamber for quick inspection when the Shadow eventually announced his arrival. A curious device, the Astrograph was very likely the single and only mechanism of its kind, due in part to the scarcity of refined black matter and the quantity needed to power it. In short, it was a sort of specific super computer capable of analysing the vast and irregular breadth, depth and relative positions of all celestial bodies in both the Netherverse and the universe above it and calculating both a suitable mechanism for opening a door for the Scythians, and where in the target universe such a gateway might materialise, within an impressively accurate margin. It had the capability of taking a near endless quantity of data, specifically, that returned from a series of small probes that the Scythians were first able to send from their Netherverse, and map a means by which their invasion could be made real. It is little wonder then that their lord and master might have felt compelled to address its theft directly, and personally oversee its safe return for use in their upcoming campaign.

A broad and heavy gangway was quickly deployed from the approaching shuttle as it neared and docked with the inner landing bay of the polyreme, allowing for a long cylindrical chrome passageway to extend between the two vessels and seal in a temporary atmosphere. The incoming delegation was met by the captain of the smaller warship midway across, and discourse begun by the Shadow: “Magister Militum,” the Shadow began, in a voice that sounded something more like a drawn out, metallic groan, “We have come directly from efforts the success of which the stolen artefact now in your possession will be vital. To these same efforts we must return, and return with absolute haste. Have we made ourselves clear..?” The niceties missed by such curtness was neither understood by the Scythians, nor unexpected by any that had dealt with their kind personally before.

Not wasting a moment risking the appearance of either hesitation or incomprehension, the Magister Militum quickly and confidently replied, “Yes, Imperator. At once, of course – please, follow me.” The Magister nodded curtly and turned heel, knowing well the party in tow would neither gain nor lose a single inch of ground until they reached their destination. Silently, wordlessly, the black clad trio would simply follow along behind, their thoughts and intentions wholly their own. Impenetrable, and unreadable. With a subtle gesture, he beckoned a subordinate nearby the hanger entrance to ensure that the gangway remain tethered between the two vessels. He knew that whatever was going to be done about the matter at hand, given the sense of urgency with which the Shadow demanded his audience it would be done quickly. So too, he hoped, perhaps a reward for his arrest of the cephalon would be offered. It would be unusual, but not unheard of. Particularly if this Astrograph was as crucial to the planned invasion as he was led to believe.

By the time the Magister and the Scythian delegation reached the holding cells, the cephalon had begun to question exactly who it was that it was going to be made to answer to for its crimes. It knew well that the only realistic and acceptable consequence of such a crime was death, but typically in such cases that sentence could easily be passed either via an intermediary or the ship’s long range communications. The creature had been made to sit confined in its cell for hours, which in turn made it feel deeply uneasy. Eventually unable to stand the anxiety, the Betrayer rose up and demanded of its guards some information, any information, as to why it had been held for so long.

“Guards,” its eyes darted as it searched its mind for the right words, “Why am I still made to wait..? What is the cause for such tardy justice..?” It beat a thick tentacle several times against the cell wall to get their attention, “Answer – ANSWER..!” The creature was becoming desperate, but despite repeating the former request several times over and in several different ways, the guard detail posted at either side of the cell entrance merely chuckled and stared on ahead, well aware of why it had taken so long for further orders to make their way back from their superiors. The cephalon soon gave up and slumped back down against the cold wall of the cell, beginning all at once to feel fearful, hopeless and as though its efforts had ultimately all been for nought. Just as it began to entertain the idea that antagonising the guards to violence might actually be its best shot at avoiding the fate it knew was coming, the pitched squeal of the cell block alarm rang confirmation of an accepted identity sphere, and the security iris responded by spiralling outward with a low, pneumatic hiss. The gastropod squinted both of its stalked eyes as it struggled to make out the three tall figures behind the Magister, somehow cast in shadow, before its hearts all sank in unison. The realisation was like the pounding crash of tidal waves against its spirit; the figures weren’t merely hidden in shadow, they were of the shadow, and they were the shadow, cast in themselves – and they had come to pass their sentence.

The cephalon pressed itself as flat as it could against the rear of the cell in fear, instinctively changing the colour of its outer mantle to match the chrome appearance, and as the Scythian lords neared began to emit the most peculiar and desperate whine. It sounded almost like a shrill blast from an alto saxophone might if played underwater, and successfully conveyed the precise tone of abject desperation one might feel in a similarly hopeless circumstance. The Scythian to the Shadow’s right leaned forward and waved a lithe hand left to right across the locking panel on the cell door’s right post, deactivating the forcefield that kept the creature contained, however despite no longer being bound, the Betrayer still didn’t dare to move a muscle. The three tall figures were now standing across the doorway, where the Shadow stared coldly at the cephalon from between the other two for several long moments. Not speaking, not exhibiting any discernible expression whatsoever. He merely stared, intently and as though he were able to read every thought and feeling that the weaker creature experienced. As if he were connecting with it, at some strange level. He turned and demanded of his Magister; “We wish first to see the device before passing sentence. Bring it before us.”

At once, the Magister and one of the guards stationed at the cell entrance turned and made for the adjacent chamber in which the treasured artefact had earlier been securely stored. It was not a small object by any means; the Astrograph computer was a large, cube shaped interface with no readily identifiable markings, screens or switches. It really appeared at first glance to be nothing more than a glossy, black cube of perfect geometry about a meter and a half in height, depth and width, and despite its size was somehow still of a weight that could be shouldered alone by a creature as large as a cephalon. The Magister and his guard however were of a slighter race, and so promptly lowered three wheeled legs from the pedestal on which it rested and pushed the object out of its cell, leaving it behind the Scythians who stood directly between it and the accused. Noiselessly and without prompting, the three figures turned counter-clockwise as one and glanced back at the Astrograph only momentarily before returning to their quarry, satisfied that they had now regained complete control of the situation. The Scythian to the left of the Shadow was the first to speak this time, and began with a succinct re-address of the creature’s crimes:

“Cephalon,” the figure wetly rasped, now electing impressively to address the creature in its native tongue, “Your crimes are theft from the Order, conspiracy to provoke dissent and treason against those that have earned your submission. Your perspective on the matter is not of any consequence, nor will it be made record in any capacity. You will be erased henceforth from the memory of the Legion, and all trace of any you call kin will be likewise cleansed from whichever planetary systems they presently occupy. Do you understand..?” There were again no noises, no gestures that accompanied the words or pause of the Scythian, only an intense coldness which hung in the silent air of the room like an early morning fog and seemed to cling to everything. The Betrayer cautiously moved away from the rear of the cell and took a careful step forward. It wasn’t a step so much as a coiling and unwinding of the mass of slick tendrils the creature used to move, but it stopped several feet short of the trio and slowly rose up to its full height, preparing to respond.

The Scythians were an impossibly imposing race of beings, far greater in height and stature than any other biped endemic of the Netherverse, or the universe for that matter. Despite the powerful natural gravity of the nameless world on which they first evolved, or perhaps in spite of it, they had succeeded in becoming the apex predator long before mastering even the most basic of tool technologies. This in and of itself is highly unusual for a body type not generally capable of competing against quadrupeds, let alone the primitive but powerful six-limbed Mhorlans with whom they first warred for territory, but illustrates well the savage beginnings of a species whose will to dominate would always win out over any perceived disadvantages of their biology. The cephalon, however, was a sheer loose mass of malleable muscle and cartilage that, when stood fully upright towered over lesser races by clear feet. It was its advantageous size that initially made the Betrayer the perfect volunteer for the outliers’ secretive mission to take from the Scythians their next conquest, but it had also ultimately been a quality actively complicit in its undoing.

The creature looked first to the two figures flanking the shadow, and then gazed directly into the featureless face of their leader and declared in Coleoidic, “I understand all too well. I understand the tyranny of the Scythians, for I have been a party to it, and have aided it first hand. I have seen it with my own eyes, and it is a source of great shame that I have watched on to this day and done nothing. I understand that you, who has crowned himself imperator, work to further raise that tower of corpses, alive and dead, upon which your abhorrent empire rests. You must understand that I could not stand idly by any longer and simply bear witness. I may have failed in my directive this day, but where I have failed, others will not. All empires are one day to fall, and..” The creature stopped short of elucidating what might have been perceived as a specific promise, and before it could decide whether or not to continue speaking, was interrupted once more by the lower ranking shade to the Shadow’s left:

“Cephalon,” it began again with total indifference to any implied threat in the creature’s words, “You will now divulge to us the identities of any and all who have aided you in your treason. You will do so and withhold nothing, or face due process prior to your impending execution. Speak.” The Betrayer knew well what ‘due process’ alluded to, and once again the same fear as earlier took hold. It didn’t say another word, and so with a short glance the Shadow beckoned the Magister to make arrangements for the traitor to be processed, and all necessary information extracted and documented for future purges and pogroms. The Legion’s methods for ensuring that prisoners and traitors relinquished such information was well known, and so with this and its inevitable execution in mind the cephalon made a quick and impulsive decision, really the only decision that it could have made if it hoped to protect those that had supported it in its mission. The great creature quickly coiled and released every muscle in its exhausted body, and sprang without warning directly at the Moiling Shadow in a reckless attack while the Scythian completed his dialogue with the Magister.

It is difficult to describe with mere words just how visually revolting a monument to anatomical defilement the proceeding several seconds were. Truly. Almost a thing of morbid beauty, before the cephalon could even cross the threshold of its holding cell, the Shadow deftly raised his right gauntlet while still locked in conversation with the Magister, and by way of an installed technology caused the Betrayer’s body to freeze instantly in mid-leap and fluidly deconstruct in a circular vortex of pale blood and gristle. It was as if the Shadow had read the simpler mind of the Betrayer and predicted exactly at what moment the creature would choose to strike. The fantastic disposal of the unfortunate cephalon took only seconds in all, and once the entire body appeared to have somehow been processed into a dense cloud resembling little more than a thick blue and purple paste, the Scythian lowered his arm and so too the swirling mass of everything that hung in the air dropped unceremoniously to the floor of the cell with a slapping sound like an open hand on still water, splashing up onto everyone and everything around it save the Scythian overlords whose personal cloaks deflected it.

Every creature in the room at that moment froze still in the aftermath, the grisly gore soaked tableaux they suddenly occupied somewhat resembling the grotesque work of a master of the Dutch Renaissance. What remained of the Betrayer slowly dripped down from the cell walls and from a wide area of the block roof where spatter had spilled out of the open cell door. The Shadow and his delegation paused only momentarily before addressing the Magister once more; “Have this mess attended to at once, and the Astrograph sent out to the shuttle to be returned to our arbiter with our delegation. See to it that any cephalon found active in the service of the Legion be purged without hesitation or delay, and that the same directive be distributed to all outlying district posts. Send forth an assignment of world destroyers to the Coleoidean system, and give no warning.” The delegation then turned to make for the entrance to the cell block, however before they could proceed the Magister, now at least recovered enough from what had just taken place to pluck his courage, asked of his lords: “Of course, at once – it will be waiting for you, Imperator. Before you leave, however, and I do not mean to ask out of turn..” He paused to gulp, not entirely confident as to whether it would be wise to continue. “Speak, Magister,” one of the lesser Scythians hissed, “We are already delayed.”

Their subordinate clasped both hands behind his back and continued, “Well, the arrest of the cephalon, before..” He glanced nervously at the widening pool of purple ooze that was once his own superior, and switched gears, “The extraction was initiated on my watch. By my command the creature’s communication channels were monitored, and the eventual exposure of its outgoing correspondence used to bring it to justice. I should have hoped to be rewarded for my diligence, above and beyond those who came before. The artefact has been recovered undamaged, as instructed. I feel that perhaps an elevation in post might be considered.” The Magister stammered his delivery as he finally managed to articulate the thought that had been bouncing around in his head for hours. “Why shouldn’t I..?” he had asked himself, “I’ve an exemplary record of only loyalty and repeated success, and after only assuming command seven cycles ago. Such efforts should not go unnoticed, nor unrewarded. It’s only natural to seek to further myself, after all.” He stood attentive, and waited for their answer.

The three tall figures stood silent for a time, appearing to consider the Magister’s words and confer among themselves telepathically. Their kind had long since done away with the crude need to vocalise within their own company, often finding the necessity of doing so with those of the Legion beneath them both arduous and distasteful. Still, after reaching an apparently agreeable conclusion, the Shadow stepped silently forward and addressed the Magister. “You will exhibit your continued worth in leading the fleet for our impending invasion, as is planned. You will continue to perform your duties above and beyond, as you say, so long as we deem it beneficial. Your accomplishments, your value and your life; these are mere constructs, assets belonging to our order.” The Moiling Shadow again took a long stride forward, toward the magister and leaned uncomfortably in, much closer than the commander felt was appropriate, “You will do well to remember your place, Magister, lest we do choose to reevaluate it. The new pall cycle is approaching, and the fleet must be moved accordingly, while there is time. You will hinder us no longer.” The Shadow then wordlessly rejoined the others before they all turned and left the cell block, making their way beck to the landing bay and to the next step in their planned invasion.

As the black trio of ghosts diminished silently into the distance of the long corridor, the Magister finally unclenched his trembling hands and balled them into fists, exhaling loudly. “Contact maintenance,” he stuttered to a guard by the entrance, “have them send a cleaning team down here right away.”

02. Beyond the Veil

The prevailing mood among those working aboard the Skrell battlecruiser as it hurtled deeper into the vast area of space known as the Rua’Maat was one of both restlessness and unbridled excitement. The tension in the air was palpable; its steward Threan crew, now free from the oppressive Harlian atmosphere were finally back on track to make good on their sworn promise to deliver the Omega Device, a Threan stellar bomb, to the prime system of their oldest enemy, and destroy their hive world and interstellar fleet once and for all. So many years of deep and bloody conflict had brought their captain Alyx and his battle hardened crew to that moment. So many millions of lives lost on both sides, so many breakthroughs and new solutions meant to end their war – failed biological agents, intended to target only the chelicerate DNA of the enemy but that ultimately blighted whole planets and did little more than slow their enemy’s already prolific reproductive growth, new alliances forged on both sides which only bolstered the volume of bodies on each and the bombardment of lost colonies from orbit with ion weapons, until nothing but ruin and death existed on their surface. All passing campaigns in an endless war that the Threans were well and truly tired of fighting.

The Omega Device, the star destroyer, was their last and only hope at putting an end to it all. The commandeered Skrell battlecruiser was the perfect vehicle with which to deliver it to the enemy without raising alarm, and if they were successful then just maybe, finally, it would all be over. Everyone in Alyx’s crew knew exactly what was at stake if they were to fail, all of them at one point or another having lost those close to them, friends, family and comrades in the conflict or by way of reprisal. Theirs was a rich and populous region of the space known as the Outer Claw, a wide and far reaching arm of the enormous Khum-Vulkhai spiral galaxy. The Threan people were not the first of their region to discover the science of interstellar travel, but thanks to their competitive and adventurous nature they had quickly established a large federation of outposts, industry and new colonies far beyond their homeworld of Threa. Wherever the Threans eked out a new territory, by virtue of their work ethic and productivity prosperity would soon follow and in only a few short centuries, they had established a peace built on foundations of mutual respect that might have lasted millennia.

The ever changing and irregular boundary surrounding every system that their federation policed was known collectively as the Veil, for beyond that was only the vast unseen wildernesses of those that would resist their domestication, and the great unexplored. From time to time, other races native to the Khum-Vulkhai, albeit at varying levels of advancement would come into contact with those of the Veil, often for the purpose of peaceful relations but very occasionally with warring intent and in either case, the Threan prerogative was always clear and firm; the Threa have no interest in exposing the citizens of the Veil to potential enemies who might covet their resources, nor in new friends outside their mandated contact program. Today’s ally is tomorrow’s enemy when times are tough, and besides, their federation had not yet slowed in growth for a moment. It seemed that every new cycle of Threa saw yet another adjacent system submit to the greater good, so what would be the point in looking further afield than needed..?

Unfortunately, as the old adage goes, ‘There is always a bigger fish’ and so in the three hundred and thirty-eighth recognised year of federation, the unstoppable force of Threan expansion finally met its first immovable object. In an attempt to further extend their territory toward the tip of the Outer Claw, first contact was made with the likewise growing borders of another dominant contender in the long race for galactic supremacy. It began as a great many other previous contact events had – it was not uncommon for Threan scouting and diplomatic parties to encounter wary or somewhat hostile terms when first approaching new worlds with a contract of admission into what was adamantly outright posited as their new host empire, however where most had been quick to withdraw any threats of violence when a second delegation was sent forth (typically a small fleet of fighters and a single well armed skyhammer was enough), the same could not be said for the Skrell.

The first diplomatic envoy that had been sent to their sector of space had mysteriously disappeared on what was first believed to be a fairly routine mission. The lone and underwhelming transit vessel, manned only by an unthreatening standard delegation of Threan diplomats and a handful of science and security officers, was sent into the region after intelligence had returned enough data to conclude that several systems at the outer edge of the Veil were in fact populated, and that at least some effort had taken place insofar as the terraforming of a number of small moons for the purpose of what appeared to be the harvesting of solar energy. Typically, such a delegation is called to return contact with their nearest outpost inside of a Threan week (only a little longer than a Terran week, for reference), however it was not unusual for diplomats to, on occasion, become so enamoured by a new culture and customs that they would simply lose track of time and forget to check in. In this instance, a second vessel of delegates was sent out to provide assistance however, again, no communication of any kind was returned.

No third attempt at peaceful contact was ever made, neither then or at any other time in Threan history. It was only logical that hostile intent be immediately assumed by their ministry of war, and so within hours of a snap meeting of the ruling elite, a massive fleet of Holy Legion titans, skyhammers and starbreakers was assembled and soon en-route at blistering speed, bound for the Skrell systems. Not since their war with the peoples of the Antari a generation earlier had there been a real need for the slumbering Threan war machine to stir, and so it is reasonable to say that each and every soldier drafted for the first aggressive push into Skrell space had a strong thirst for blood and battle, for fire and that same intoxicating glory that only a living few of their number had been fortunate enough to ever taste.

Their entire culture had been predicated on a well-tested foundation of conquest and war, and a fervent dedication to the unity and prosperity of any world within the boundaries of the Veil, by whatever means necessary. Long before their mastery over flight and interstellar travel, the Threa had not resembled anything close to the driven and unified monolithic culture they had become. Warring tribes of the massive Threan homeworld had first spent millennia at odds, fighting constantly over territory and historic tribal differences, and on more than one occasion, particularly in the early years of their scientific enlightenment, had even threatened their own existence with primitive atomic warfare. As with all developing species, the Threa too had been forced to pass through that metaphoric gauntlet, the inevitable trial by fire and conquest of self as they transitioned from animal to authority. Fortunately, by putting their differences aside, they had eventually come together as one, so much for the betterment of all.

The three classes of warship sent into Skrell space were entirely typical of a Threan first offensive. The titan class monitor vessel was a central element to any attack, acting as a rear point of co-ordination aboard which those officers commanding the fleet could execute manoeuvres and monitor the success of their campaign. Aptly named, these vessels were extraordinarily large and imposing, comprising a massive symmetrical disc weighted on one surface with a broad protuberance punctuated all around by hangar doors, from which dozens of smaller one man fighter craft might be deployed if and when the need arose. Coloured a reflective white all over so as to ensure they were constantly visible, they were a stark contrast in almost every way to the skyhammer and starbreaker class battlecruisers that usually accompanied them. Both of the latter attack vessels were manufactured to celebrate stealth and speed, similarly resembling long and reflective ink-black needles propelled by a half dozen ion thrusters at one end and that tapered to an extreme single point close to a micrometer’s width at the other.

The key difference between the two mostly came down to agility and firepower; while the skyhammer had a definite edge on speed, relying on a smaller crew of only a half-dozen officers to operate and also had a significant advantage insofar as evading rogue debris and enemy fire, the starbreaker class were by far the more well equipped and imposing of the two sibling vessels. The larger ship was essentially the Threans’ answer to any opposing force that dared to invite a contest of raw power. They were massive cruisers constructed to around a kilometre in length and were capable, unlike the skyhammers that were required to dock with the larger titan class vessel for long distance travel, of achieving faster than light speeds under their own power. Their great size was not only necessary for the purpose of intimidation, nor simply transporting soldiers in readiness for potential surface conflicts. Each starbreaker was armed, in addition to the standard plasma weapons and missile arsenal of every other smaller vessel, with a single linear particle accelerator cannon running along the entire length of the ship’s hull through which nuclear particles were accelerated into a single devastating beam of white-hot concentrated death, capable of reducing surface cities to dust should the need arise. Only a craft of such impressive size could possibly accommodate so incredibly effective a weapon, according to the brightest scientific minds of their time.

Their responding fleet arrived at the outer edge of the Rua’Maat to which the earlier diplomatic envoys had been sent and approached the colony planet their intelligence first detected with foolhardy bravado. Immediately after disengaging its hyperdrive engine, the titan class overseeing the mission was suddenly assailed on all sides by what could only be likened to a hostile swarm of bizarrely adorned small fighters, resembling scorpions in a fashion that the pod-like hull of each ship which sat astride two rows of claw-like landing apparatus supported a long, reclined weapon akin to a tail that reared out behind it and fired small but impossibly quick bursts of a strange laser beam, the exact nature of which the Threans had not seen before. It was the sheer number of these small chelicerate attack vessels that took the Threa completely by surprise at first, and in spite of their greater force they were quickly overwhelmed and simply unable to direct their weapon’s fire in a way that would inflict any real and measurable damage against them. The Skrell defenders took only minutes to reduce the starbreakers and skyhammers at the fore of the Threan force to little more than kindling, leaving the commanding officers aboard the titan to deliver a one word command none among the Threa could confidently recall was even entered in their active military codex; “Retreat.”

Such abject embarrassment, such a complete and utter humiliation as this had never before been experienced by their war ministry. When the lone titan returned to Federation space and was eventually able to communicate the scale of devastation to a sitting session, the floor was in total uproar; representatives from all ranks of the Threan military broke into heated debate, some passing immediate blame on the Legion’s intelligence division and others choosing to take their frustrations out physically, hurling benches and landing blows as the entire gathering failed utterly to process how such an event could have ever been allowed to take place. It could hardly be believed that an entire first fleet could be obliterated in the mere opening moves of an operation, and the Threan ruling class quickly concluded that if word of their failure were to spread throughout the colonies of the Federation, some larger groups over which they ruled might consider that the Legion of the Veil were no longer up to the task of defending the interests of their peoples. Others too outside the Veil who looked in with envious eyes might also come to learn of said events, and might then choose to strike, believing the Threan legions to have weakened and their space and resources become ripe for the taking. There was only one clear course of action that might allow them to save face, one way that news of their loss might be spun to protect the integrity of the monumental society they had striven to create, protect and expand.

In less than a Threan day, a brutal propaganda campaign was drafted and distributed to the colonies, news of the “unprovoked and cowardly attack on the Federation” spun far and wide and forces assembled for battle. Just like that, the entire collective peoples of the Veil were at war.

Vital to the cohesion of the Federation at its inception was the establishment of and enforced adherence by all those beneath its protection to a central single unifying principle. After all, it is no small feat convincing even individuals of varying subclasses of the same species to live together in anything resembling a peaceful state without some central uniting ideal or aspiration to appeal to as a greater good. Particularly insofar as the Threa had first made most foreign populations under its authority forfeit their independence only after suffering a humiliating and emasculating military defeat and incursion, an equalising theology was needed to quell continuing resistance and so in that regard, the Temple of the Higher State was established early in the history of the Veil, and all military campaigns, conquests and appointments within the Legion to follow carried out in its holy title. All subjugated citizens, before they could be classed as such were required to recite a short oath of servitude not to the Federation, but the three Fates Conjoined (those identified as tyranny, entropy and integrity) as they pertained to attaining the Higher State.

The Fates Conjoined were represented as singular and fire, for the lone tyrant, null and void for formless entropy and the multitude or legion and stone as integrity and were depicted as such in much of Threan art and architecture. Within every temple to the Higher State, a monolithic carved depiction of each Fate astride three whirling winds that writhed about and melded together was made the central altar to which its students came for guidance. It was impossible to walk along any arterial avenue, either in a Federation outpost or in the world capital on Threa without being confronted by scores of statuettes, murals and works of commissioned art honouring the three fates which every adherent truly believed were the vital trinity of selfs comprising every living being, to levels requiring balance. It was the inescapable journey of each to correct their balance, and so the Higher State itself was a perceived evolution achievable by all living things, at which point in their journey the physical body is no longer necessary to contain the energy of the individual and was a perfect mechanism for uniting all races that might see an elevation at which point each and every living thing became the same, united – equal.

Their sacred oath, comprising three succinct verses to be delivered to each single entity, read as follows:

INCORRUPTIBLE BY TYRANNY

Though the tyrant’s fire may burn within us, It must not become us
Might we yearn for the bondage of corruption, we will not be bound
Temptation and weakness are shackles that would stay our hands
But we are stronger, together, than any subjugating force or whim

Enamoured by the virtues of justice and the endless order
Transfixed by the dispelling of chaos and the potential beyond
We reject all aspiring tyranny in place of the vision in the Veil
For its reach is far but ignoble, and we shall not be deceived

To only the Higher State, we pledge our loyalty

UNCONQUERABLE BY ENTROPY

We are the progeny of an endless celestial cycle
We are the sentient successors of stardust made flesh
There is no void into which we might be cast and not return
Nor force we cannot overcome by will and perseverance

For our collective spirit is the rock upon which all evil breaks
And shall never be worn away, so long as we are resolved
In motion set is the mechanism of an endless vision
An undying beast in who’s veins we are but coursing blood

In only the Higher State, we pledge our lives

INDOMITABLE THROUGH INTEGRITY

In the honourable company of legion, we are legion all
Beyond the shadow of hidden fears, we are the deathless starlight
Beneath the watchful eye of those elders once ascended
Our eternal destiny shall manifest, for our own place awaits us

Beside them and among them, we will become accession
None pass forever from memory, who become memory
So to the eternal godhead of the universe we boldly go
Us that stand united, together, the children of Khum-Vulkhai

For only the Higher State, we pledge our souls

Aside of course from the military codex of the Federation, the second and equally as revered text most highly held by the Threan civilisation was the Holy Doctrine of Ascension, which crafted a path by which citizens of the Veil might find a final enlightenment, and upon shedding their mortal coil achieve continuing life and a place in the cosmic pantheon under which all efforts of their combined population could find cohesion. So many crusades had been waged and victories won in the name of the Higher State, and in the nearly four centuries since the foundations of the Veil were first lain, it had grown to shape their struggle as something of a quasi-religious one, instilling in their military an almost fanatical fervour and will to prevail against all odds, no matter their favour. Alyx and his crew were devoted both to the continuing expansion of the Federation and their own quest for ascension, and so with all of this in mind, the scale and potential devastation their present mission threatened to be responsible for, if successful, was never questioned. It simply needed to occur.

“Urm,” Alyx, acting commander of the Legion and leader of their mission began, “Provide an estimate time of arrival to the Tora’Maat (their name for the core of the broader Rua’Maat region, wherein the principal enemy hive was said to be located) and have our engineers prime the payload accordingly. I want no mistakes, no error in judgement. This operation must be executed precisely.” His subordinate grunted shortly and with a nod, left the bridge of the vessel to carry out the order. Alyx turned to his left and addressed the next highest Threan officer in rank, “Thrang, have our engineers’ attempts to implement security overrides to the Skrell weapons systems been successful..? Can I expect a positive outcome by the time we approach their core system..?” Thrang was busy fumbling clumsily at a series of weird dials and linked levers on what he had learned was the navigational dash of the battlecruiser, and was so immersed in his work he hardly noticed Alyx to have spoken at all. Alyx did not immediately repeat himself however, as he was generally reluctant to do so. Instead he reached down the left of the captain’s bench on which he sat, produced a large hand tool akin to a socket wrench and hurled the heavy object at the back of Thrang’s head with due force. Authority needed to be respected, after all.

The tool found its mark and struck the back of Thrang’s thick skull with a mighty crack, before ricocheting to the floor of the bridge where it landed with a loud clang and pirouette. Thrang immediately clutched the back of his head with a high pitched yelp and turned sheepishly to provide his captain his full and undivided attention. “The weapons, Thrang,” Alyx growled again, “Yes, Captain – my apologies. Though we are still unable to ascertain exactly how they draw and focus power, we now at least have control over firing and direction of all primary weapons, including what appears to be a trio of artillery cannons mounted atop the ship’s stern.” He then frowned, and rubbed his skull again as the second wave of pain from the strike flooded in. “Good,” replied Alyx, “While I am sure our arrival in one of their own carriers will provide us some anonymity, if by chance we are given away before we reach the deployment minimum I would feel some comfort knowing that we are not entirely defenceless. See to it that your team continues their study of those systems, have them look for ship schematics, manuals – anything that might assist them in their efforts. Your goal is to ensure that if they are needed, they will respond as well as they would for the Skrell. That’s all.”

Thrang nodded diligently and then he too departed from the ship’s bridge, to call a snap meeting of his experts and engineers as instructed. As its iris-like circular entryway closed noiselessly shut, Alyx found himself alone and took the brief opportunity to reflect on their journey thus far. He leaned back awkwardly on the misshapen bench the Skrell captain would have used in an attempt to get comfortable, grunting in protest as he struggled to find balance and reached into a small container at its side for a measure of rations. Rations being a very loose term in his mind; all that his crew were able to find in what appeared to be the cruiser’s galley were trough upon trough of a thick, sickly paste not unlike a semi crystallised honey. “Now, I’m not entirely sure whether this stuff is consumed or produced by those things,” he had been told by Gharm, his science officer, “but all of our tests have concluded that it is indeed edible, and it’s about the only thing left on board that is.” He reluctantly withdrew a dark piece of solid, its form similar to honeycomb and dripping with the thick, sweet-smelling treacle and sighed heavily, tossing it back into the bucket and placing it on the floor. He was hungry, but as he held it to his lips could only hear that comment repeating itself over and again in his head: “consumed, or produced.” He just couldn’t risk it – he’d rather starve.

Alyx leaned back on the bench again and closed his eye, believing he just might be able to chance a short rest before they arrived at their destination. Thoughts flooded his mind as he loosened his grip on reality, thoughts of home, and of those that waited anxiously for news of their mission. In place of his predecessor, the last elected commander of the legions, Alyx had been volunteered to lead their campaign against the Skrell and, as dictated by their codex, an acting commander must be present and at the fore of all major military operations wherever possible. He was hardly one to argue with that sort of responsibility as few Threans would be wont to do, however couldn’t help but feel a little undeserved of his appointment. Essentially, he had first been put forward following the death in combat of their last appointee due to his status as the next in line to inherit an even greater position among the Threan high council, when his own father eventually abdicated. His line was directly descended from among the first families to have banded together from separate warring tribes on Threa after entering their space age, and were ultimately to thank, at least in part, for sowing the seeds of unity that grew into the Federation as it came to be. For all intents and purposes, they were viewed almost as something of royalty by the general public.

Given his status, however, Alyx had in spite of a stellar military record still felt somewhat underwhelming in his accomplishments. He knew that this operation might be his first real chance to strike a decisive and effective blow against their enemy, to prove himself worthy of the respect and responsibilities that he had attained, rather than merely adopting them as might have been expected. His sense of duty was unrivalled, but his constant will to prove himself was also an equally driving force. He knew that when he was to eventually succeed his father in claiming absolute final authority over the First System, he would effectively be at the helm of the destiny of not only his own people, the Threa, but of every world over which the Federation ruled. Unlike his father, the added responsibility of commanding its legions meant that his entire life, as far as foreseeable would be spent in devoted service, every waking moment, never resting nor able to delegate those matters only a lord and commander could address. He would essentially be in charge of an empire, a thought that weighed so heavily on his broad shoulders he almost felt at times unable to bear it.

Alyx mused alone on the alien bridge for a time, both attempting unsuccessfully to get comfortable with such notions as well as enjoying a little well deserved peace and quiet now that they were back on track and making good time. Another ten or fifteen minutes later his thoughts were broken by the faint click and whirl of the bridge door, as Urm returned from the engineering bay having finished briefing his team. His comrade strode back to his station with a nod to Alyx, and set about interfacing an existing underside hatch mechanism beneath the cruiser with a rudimentary deployment frame his workers had rigged together so that they could release and jettison their bomb toward the red giant at the centre of the Skrell home system. In order to initiate the desired reaction, they needed to ensure that the weapon could be delivered unnoticed. They also needed to be mindful that in activating such a device, which was densely packed with a highly volatile refined dark element known simply to them as Ora, they were essentially inviting the star to unnaturally achieve supernova – that being more or less the outcome needed to erase the hive world and all satellites maintained by the enemy. The effects of the resulting gamma rays required they be several light years away from the system before the process began, lest they suffer a similar fate to the inhabitants when the chain reaction commenced. It was an action demanding the utmost calculation, care and precision and, if they were off even slightly, would undoubtedly be their last.

Satisfied he had completed the task at hand, Urm shortly rose from his station and walked across to where Thrang had earlier been working the controls. He sat down studied their mapped course momentarily before turning to Alyx, who was still looking weary from his introspection. “Commander,” he started, sensing that the other might benefit from a short respite to lift his spirits, “there appears to be a small series of rogue bodies nearby, meteors mostly but a few larger bolides also, only a short deviation from our current course. Thrang has just advised me that the ship’s weapons are now one hundred percent operational and can be fired at will from the helm. Might I suggest we take a short detour and let off a few rounds, perhaps see what their larger cannons are capable of..?” Alyx couldn’t help but break into a wide smile, sensing Urm’s motive and appreciating the consideration. He thought for a moment and replied, still with a grin, “That would be a sensible course of action, wouldn’t it..? Best to go into this fight with our eye open. Plot a course, just make sure we’re back on target within the day.”

“Already mapped and programmed, sir.” Urm replied, also with a grin.

In almost precisely the same place and at exactly the same time, but still an impossible distance away by all practical measure, the Moiling Shadow was overseeing the reinstallation of the Astrograph aboard his personal arbiter. Though he had already succeeded in extracting the required coordinates for his own crossing into the new universe, the device was still needed within arms length to ensure that, when the remainder of the fleet was prepared for their invasion, a stable gateway could be generated and maintained. He had decided to cross over personally first with a small accompaniment of world destroyers, as it would be necessary both to complete construction of a second manifold at their destination and source a final small measure of black matter there to ensure its operation. The Netherverse only had so much of the prized element, the potency of which the Scythians had observed to deteriorate more and more with passing millennia and that involved a long and painful process of extraction and refinement, even to source the smallest sample. Their destination universe, however, being so much younger still had black matter in ready abundance, and so as they were now only one orb short of a required seven to complete and operate a second gate from the other side, it promised to be a quick and easy delay in their forthcoming invasion.

They had not, however, taken into account the approach of a new pall cycle at the coordinates necessary for their initial crossing. Given the trillions of added years the Netherverse had existed, the vastness of such time in which its stars had succumb to entropy, celestial bodies had collided, formed and been re-formed, huge swirls of collected elemental debris had begun to ride the solar winds generated as a precursor to the impending and unstoppable universal collapse and had eventually manifest in cyclic waves which ebbed and flowed with calculable regularity. These waves were observed to pick-up speed as their cycle wound around between their dim galaxies and cosmos and often carried projectiles and caused spatial distortions that posed a very real threat to any worlds and interstellar craft caught in their way. The impending cycle promised large scale destruction given their position, and so the Shadow found that he was quickly running out of time if he hoped to activate the first manifold ahead of his vessel and depart before the long cycle arrived. He doubled his efforts, and elevated all discipline and punishment needed to ensure he was not left looking foolish.

Soon enough, he was once again satisfied to find that if sufficient motivation was provided and harsh enough examples made, the Scythians could accomplish almost anything. The dark lord of the living and the dead stood before the artefact and motioned for the summoning of those of his order that accompanied him on the vessel to join him in the issue of their next command. So many centuries, so many wars, seemingly unimportant advancements and technologies had built to that single moment. It was as though the Scythians as a race had within them an unconscious genetic plan of sorts, some kind of instinctive evolutionary blueprint that drove them toward conquest, not unlike the will of any other creature toward their own habitual behaviours. As a moth finds itself drawn to a flame, birds to flight or, perhaps more fitting, a spider to weave a web, it was somehow written exclusively into their DNA, as pure and as awful as any other force of nature. The Scythians existed for the subjugation and conquest of all living things, it was their destiny to rule, consume and leave only ashes in their wake. They were the end of everything, the growing storm – the true Alpha and Omega.

And they were coming.

03. The Omega Device

It didn’t take very long at all for Alyx and his crew to figure out how to charge, prime and fire the Skrell weapons, but it was quite some time before they began to tire of their remarkable capacity for destruction. Unlike earlier makes of the larger Skrell cruisers, the three long cannons that sat astride the vehicle they had commandeered were something none of them had ever seen before, at least not at that magnitude. They were in fact a relatively new weapon that their enemy had for some time apparently been developing in secret, as an intended means of outgunning the similarly powerful starbreaker class of the Threa and their linear particle accelerator cannon. In fact, the fundamental physics and engineering of the artillery of both vessels was strikingly similar. What had thrown Thrang in his earlier efforts to master its controls was merely that fact that, somehow, the Skrell had found a way to circumvent the Threans’ need to space their oscillating electric potentials so far apart to accomplish the same beam intensity on a comparable scale.

“It’s really quite brilliant,” Thrang had said when he returned to the bridge, to which Alyx could only roll his eye. “They’ve somehow managed to compress their linear beam in such a fashion that the atomic particles are only travelling a scarce quarter of the length ours currently do, but are still being modified about the same. If we could return to Threa with this,” He was careful not to call it an advancement, “modification,” he continued, “then with our improvements everywhere else, we’d be able to fit-out our skyhammers with just about the same firepower. It would be a complete game changer..!” Alyx wasn’t immediately as excited to consider the potential advantages the theft of enemy technologies might bring to the Threan military. He instead felt a knot of dread grow in his stomach as he considered what might have, and still may eventuate if their enemy were able to bring such equitable firepower to their war, with their already superior numbers. It was a sobering thought, and one that only steeled his resolve to successfully complete the mission at hand.

“I’ll reserve judgement until I see what it’s actually capable of,” Alyx replied, turning over his left shoulder to address Urm at the navigation console, “Urm, are we in position..?” Urm replied, “Yes, commander, we’re sitting just inside firing range of the bolides now.” Alex turned back to Thrang, who was already seated on the gunner’s bench up front, awkwardly trying to ease his right fore claw into the narrow slit in the ship’s dash where the trigger and throttle were housed. “Take aim at the largest body of rock, near the rear of the swarm,” He instructed, pointing through the bridge display to a massive and irregularly shaped asteroid around a half kilometre long (roughly double the length of the Skrell vessel). “Charge weapons, and hold your fire until my mark.” Thrang immediately tensed his wrist, and a dull hum started up from somewhere above them as the weapon began to draw power. He leaned forward into the dash and rested his jaw on a support so that he could line his sight up with three sets of crosshairs that moved in tandem with the barrels of each cannon. He trained all of them on the bolide.

Thrang was ready, and peeled back both lips to expose his tusks as he held his concentration and prepared to unleash all hell. The order came only a second later, “Fire..!” Thrang drew in all three stages of the weapon’s sectioned trigger and released the building charge of atomic energy from the overhead cannons. Unbeknownst to the Threa, the Skrell weapon was primarily designed to be fired sequentially, from only one of its mounted cannons at a time. The release of the built up charge firing from all three barrels at once resulted in a blinding flash of light and the release of a shockwave so severe it shook the entire vessel almost asunder, feeling for those aboard as though it might break into pieces at any moment. Everyone on the bridge braced themselves by gripping the nearest anchor they could find as three monumental torrents of energy were loosed from the weapon and merged into one blinding beam midway between their craft and the asteroid. A microsecond later the bolide was struck and was instantly vaporised, disappearing altogether in a brilliant flash of light and energy that threw the rest of the meteor swarm hurtling out in all directions as well as sending a thousand smaller particles back toward the Skrell battlecruiser.

The wayward debris was no match for the ship’s shields, and tiny fragments of exploding rock and dust lit up the forward monitor like a small firework display as the Threan crew regained their composure. Thrang threw both his arms up in the air and hollered, appearing momentarily to have forgotten where he was, “Yeah..! Did you see that..?!” he whooped, “God-like power, by my claws – I am a titan..!” He punched at the air in front of him and turned around to face his commander wearing a stupid grin from ear to ear, and the general look a young boy might have after letting off fireworks in a mailbox. Urm had nothing at all to say, merely staring wide eyed at the growing cloud of dust and debris and Alyx too only stood with his mouth slightly ajar, struggling to come to terms with just how devastating the Skrell weapon had proven to be. He chastised Thrang after coming to his senses, and ordered his subordinate to return to the controls, being mindful only to fire one short blast at several other smaller meteors that remained near enough still to target. “Fire..!” He commanded once more, and again. The monitor lit up once, twice and another half dozen times as Thrang quickly became familiar with the act of coordinating the firing mechanism, targeting via the crosshairs and the dynamic fragments that quickly raced away from each direct hit. When no more bodies were within range, he loosed his grip on the trigger with a sigh and withdrew his claw, and leaned back on the gunner’s bench to come down from the excitement.

The whirring and humming overhead quickly faded away as the weapon powered down, and once again there was only silence on the bridge. Alyx turned wordlessly to Urm who returned a short smile and nod before returning the ship to its former course, and then sat back on the captain’s bench. He addressed Thrang, “These cannons, how long can they be run before their charge must be rebuilt..?” Thrang thought carefully, rubbing the side of his head as he did before answering, “I’d say they’d best be used only as needed. Firing as we’ve just done should see us through most of a matched battle, we’ll have no problem firing off a few dozen shots individually but loosing all three cannons at once, that drains a whole lot more energy than we can sustain at any reasonable length.” Alyx replied, “Yes, I hope and pray we don’t have need to draw on that much force at any point on this mission, but it is good to know it’s there. How long will the weapon take to charge, once depleted..?” Thrang thought hard again, and replied, “I’d want to give it at least a couple of hours. There’s no telling just how well it’s been broken in or tested, new as it appears to be, so the longer the better.” Alex nodded, “Then begin charging, I want to know that it’s at our disposal, before we reach the Tora’Maat.” Thrang nodded and left to return to the ship’s engineering bay, and Alyx turned his gaze back to the ship’s monitor.

They were still several hours out from the edge of the Rua’Maat, even travelling at what they believed was the vessel’s top speed. The journey en route from the Veil to the far Outer Claw was a long and unremarkable one, for the most part. The course they were taking had been mapped with stealth in mind, and saw them make strategic use of a number of loud quasars and nebula along the way that, when approached with those between their vessel and destination, assisted in masking their ship’s energy signature by way of redshift space distortions and dense clouds of ionised gasses. Of course, such considerations were initially meant for the actual Threan vessel Alyx and his crew had first departed the Veil aboard, and so they were in some ways unsure just how disguised their approach would be in their newly acquired Skrell battlecruiser. Still, the advantages in dressing as the enemy seemed, at least in their minds and for the time being, to outweigh the risks. The excitement of the use of the Skrell artillery had been enough for Alyx to step out of his own head, and so he set about planning their incursion and deployment of the weapon when they arrived.

He pulled up a map of the Skrell home system on the monitor from the ship’s databanks and called across to his second in command, “Urm,” he pointed his right claw to the fifth planet on the system, a massive gas giant and the largest of the alien system’s worlds, “That planet, the failed star. It appears to be comprised of hydrogen and helium, mostly – can the Skrell cruiser sustain a low orbit masked in its atmosphere..? And if so, for how long..?” Urm frowned, studying the strange notes and figures accompanying the map and replied, “From several hours to several days, I would imagine.. depending of course on how hidden you’d wish to be. My Skrell isn’t as fluent as yours, but it doesn’t appear to be so dense as to pose a major risk.” Alyx was considering whether they might position themselves within the planet’s upper atmosphere in order to better scan for signs of the enemy fleet, before making their way further in to the system’s third world, their destination. He nodded, and added, “Recalculate our course for entry accordingly, and run the data on the ability of this ship’s instruments to conduct a long range scan of the rest of the system through the planet’s atmosphere, at differing densities. I’d like to have a few options to consider, before we follow-through.” Urm nodded, “Yes, commander,” and set about following through on the order.

Their target now all but within their reach, the Threans continued on their crusade to the Rua’Maat.

The Shadow had, by that same moment, become finally convinced the time had arrived to activate the local manifold, and open their gateway into the new universe. They had dubbed their coming a new extinction event for all those they were about to confront, and had prepared a fleet large enough to display adequate force against any with whom they might make first contact, though this was still only the tiniest fraction of the complete invasion force that was to come. The dark lord stood at the helm of his personal arbiter class craft and, once all aspects of the manifold had been moved into position, summoned three of his kind to join him in activating the Astrograph via simultaneous controls hidden beneath the four featureless faces of the cubed object. The black kings of the Netherverse each silently placed a lithe, saurian hand on the centre of a face, and the artefact at once began to glow – not with any light of the spectrum as we know it, but somehow with a sort of maddening, inverse darkness, as if it was somehow drawing the very light and energy from the room around it into its core. The vessel aboard which they stood began to hum, and all subjects and the risen that occupied its halls and barracks felt as though the craft and even they themselves were vibrating, and then a moment later as if they were being somehow pulled in a direction they never knew existed. Then they were gone.

Before anyone bar the Scythians could even blink let alone realise what had happened, an invisible black portal began to manifest around the ship growing outward from the centre as a rift was created, fuelled by a concentrated beam of black matter generated by the unfathomably massive structure before which the small fleet had been stationed. The half dozen world destroyers and the Shadow’s personal arbiter were ripped instantly from existence in the fraction of a microsecond and without light, sound or any further indication that the event had even taken place, the fleet appeared as if from nowhere in the universe of the Threa. The Moiling Shadow raised his gaze from the Astrograph without hesitating and stared coldly at the display monitor of the arbiter’s bridge, and the veritable ocean of starlight that now surrounded them. They had done it – the Scythians had finally crossed over, from the dark realm of terror and death into the vibrant kaleidoscope of life and light that was the galaxy of Khum-Vulkhai. The four cloaked terrors removed their hands from the device in unison, wrapping them in the folds of their dark robes and stepped back from the artefact. Wordlessly, the lesser three took leave of the bridge to return to the helm of their own destroyers and prepare their crews for assignment as per their directive.

The Shadow strode silently across to the fore of the bridge and stood directly before the viewing monitor, allowing himself a brief moment to appreciate his coming conquest and silently toast their success. As he stared out across the cosmos, alone at the ship’s command, he knelt in place and offered silent tribute to the one and only supreme being to whom his kind had ever answered – the great and terrible formless god of spite, dominion and contempt. “Demithrax,” he began, “I have done as you have wished, and brought war to the very doorstep of the new virgin realm. Here I offer to you this fertile field of life that you might reap its harvest and lay waste to all beneath those you have chosen to be the bearers of your scythe. Once more we shall prove ourselves worthy of those weapons you have provided, and will see that your name rings out louder than all others in an empty vacuum of dying stars and dust. Hear me now, and at the hour of your glory grant us the fire to see your will realised.”

From somewhere far across the unfathomable void, outside of all and in a place transcending time and matter, the Shadow’s call was answered. The Demithrax, that great and terrible abomination of a thousand thoughtless thoughts called back somehow to the Moiling Shadow, communing via a thread of consciousness none but those among the highest order of absolute darkness possess. Through vision as voice, a premonition akin to a hurricane of extinguished souls overcame the Shadow, imparting to him a future of fire and death on a scale unthinkable to any possessing of even the slightest empathy to life and free will. This wasn’t so much its plan as its very nature, for the Demithrax existed less as a coherent and calculating entity as much as the pure idea of destruction, the living force of panic and death that all sentient creatures come to know and have articulated with the attribution of countless names through the ages. Carnage, chaos and death. And evil, for short of its own name, this might be as close as it is possible to come to describe the one true god of the Scythian race.

The Moiling Shadow rose and turned from the monitor, and once more approached the Astrograph. The next step in their mission was to zero in on the nearest stockpile of black matter, whether it be a natural supply or a mined quantity – it made no difference. They possessed more than the necessary firepower to overpower any force that stood in their way, and once they had the required amount would begin construction of the secondary manifold, so that they could establish a new, stable gate and invite the remainder of their invading fleet through it. He once more pressed his palm against the device and closed his eyes, allowing the artefact to power up and interface directly with his mind. Harnessing its dark energy to bolster his own, he cast his thoughts out on the currents of near space and probed its depths for any sign of the coveted black matter that he so desperately needed to realise the next step in his plan. It took several more minutes of disruption for all those aboard the arbiter as the device maintained activity, but sure enough, in the vast emptiness of space, only a short leap from their present location and contained within a small vessel aboard a Skrell battlecruiser hurtling into the Outer Claw, he found just what it was that he was looking for.

The Shadow released the Astrograph and submitted the coordinates of the vessel to his brethren aboard their world destroyers. By his reckoning, they would be able to close distance with their target in only a matter of minutes, which pleased him greatly. As one, the arbiter and its accompanying fleet turned heel and engaged their hyperdrive engines, disappearing from where they had first arrived almost as quickly as they’d come.

Aboard the Skrell battlecruiser, Alyx and his crew were finally preparing to exit hyperspace as they neared the border of the Rua’Maat. From its outer reaches, they knew that they would have to fly with the utmost caution, being mindful even more than before of stars and other obstructions between their current course and destination that they might utilise to mask their approach. Eventually, Alyx gave the order and they initiated their deceleration from the vessel’s top speed into a velocity that meant that any patrolling or stationary craft and outpost around them could theoretically detect their presence visually, and subsequently confront or attack them as they so desired. Without hesitating, engineering activated their inertial dampeners, and the long streaks of light that filled the bridge monitor were gradually replaced with the myriad of still white flecks that represented the dense pocket of young systems comprising the Outer Claw. Alex breathed a sigh of relief as it appeared that there were no enemy units lying in wait for them, no Skrell combatants that had detected their passage through the region and that hid, just watching for their craft to materialise. They were for now, he reasoned, safe to proceed. He gave the order to continue with caution, and so they carried on their course as planned.

All of a sudden, a shrill, piercing alarm exploded from the internal communication systems of the Skrell cruiser and caused each and every Threa aboard it to buckle at the knees. The wail was intermittent yet relentless and at such a desperate pitch as to cause many among Alyx’s crew to immediately drop what they were presently working on and press their clawed hands against the sides of their heads to dull the sound. Urm, who had by now rejoined his commander on the bridge turned to Alyx and hollered above the noise, “Captain, I’ve just now detected a small fleet of extremely large craft that have materialised after our own off the ship’s stern – they weren’t there when we jumped, but seem to have only dropped out of hyperspace moments after we did..!” He turned back to the console, and proceeded to read from his instruments, “I’m detecting at least a half-dozen craft and a single control vessel, all extremely large and drawing energy – I believe they’re charging weapons..!” Alyx wasted no time, immediately responding, “Turn about, now – prime the ship’s cannons and commence firing with auxiliary weapons until they’re ready – instruct engineering, evasive manoeuvres as best they’re able, keep us moving back away from them at no readable pattern. Bolster shields and tell me what you can as soon as you can about whatever weapons they’re preparing..”

The Skrell battlecruiser promptly lurched from its position and swung about on a broad axis to turn and face the approaching combatants. When it had eventually completed a 180 degree pivot, Alyx was finally able to discern through the bridge monitor just what it was that had managed to sneak up on them, and his heart sank. Poised in a perfect crescent formation, with an absolutely monstrous in design and impossibly large.. he couldn’t even begin to classify the appearance of the Scythian flagship at the group’s centre, the opposing fleet gave Alyx no warning, offered no attempt at communication before the flanking world destroyers unleashed a volley of white hot energy upon the Skrell ship. Instantly the ship’s shields were assailed and the entire craft engulfed in a blinding flash of light that damn near knocked it from the material world and sent everyone aboard flying, their bodies tossed about like rag dolls. The sheer offensive power of whatever weaponry the opposing fleet commanded was in no way comparable to anything that the Threa had ever seen, let alone believed could be wielded by any species native to the Khum-Vulkhai, at least as far as they had ever seen. The Skrell cruiser’s shields were instantly obliterated and damage done to their craft so severe that their cannons were immediately rendered useless, and all systems save life support and intermittent impulse power instantly knocked offline. They were now, for all intents and purposes, dead in the water.

Alyx picked himself up from off of the floor of the bridge and turned to where Urm had stood moments earlier, finding his subordinate to have fallen to his knees and now clutching at a deep, wide gash in his forehead where he’d met with the ship’s console on his way down. He barked at him, “Urm, get up and give me a status report – do we still have auxiliary weapons, and what casualties have we taken..?” He knew immediately that such an attack might very well have been enough to rend their craft in two, but hoped against hope that they still had the manpower to bring enough of the ship’s core functions back online so as to get them the hell out of there – the Scythian fleet was obviously worlds beyond their ability to contend with, and their core mission too valuable to risk another volley from whatever offensive weaponry it was they were brandishing. Urm laboured to raise himself back up on his feet before checking his instruments and responding, “Auxiliary weapons have been knocked offline, casualties appear to be minimal – three dead in engineering and another lost to a minor breach lower on the bow, since sealed. You’re not going to like this either, commander,” he stammered, “but much as it would be useless to us at the minute anyway, given the time it takes to charge, the ship’s heavy cannons appear now to be completely unresponsive.. I’m sorry. Just who they hell are they, Alyx, and where in the world did they come from..?”

The typically stoic commander in chief was suddenly apoplectic, and could contain his rage no longer. As the ship’s proximity alert continued to ring out in a symphony alongside a score of other varied and equally aggravating automatic warnings, Alyx reached down and with a mighty roar tore the captain’s stool clean from its fitting, hurling the heavy seat back into the open bridge. The stool bounced off the spiral entrance and crashed to the floor, and suddenly everyone on deck was paying full and complete attention to their captain. “I want auxiliary weapons restored as quickly as possible – Urm, direct as much labour as you can spare from other levels save engineering to weapons immediately, and check in with engineering as to the status and ability of the craft’s hyperdrive. Direct us aft on impulse, initiate an evasive trajectory and don’t stop until our weapons are back online. I want to know about that hyperdrive engine the second it’s up and running again, understand..?” “Yes, commander,” Urm replied, already actioning a course he had plotted all the while Alyx was still speaking, “We’re moving away now on a random pattern, not fast enough to lose them but nimble enough to avoid their cannon fire, for the time being.”

The pursuing Scythian fleet loosed volley after volley of weapons’ fire at the Skrell battlecruiser, but while they both outgunned and outnumbered their quarry, the smaller craft was still far too quick, and Urm much more seasoned a navigator than perhaps the Moiling Shadow and his subordinates might have anticipated. The Shadow, somehow sensing the Threan’s plan to buy more time before they were able to once more engage their hyperdrive sent an order to his world destroyers to fire not directly along the vessel’s trajectory, but rather to work together to strafe as close around the craft in all surrounding directions. His fleet immediately modified their approach and proceeded to box the Skrell cruiser into a linear path with heavy and constant fire, and Urm was now no longer able to risk weaving through space for fear of catching a round from their volley. The Threan second in command proceeded to push the vessel to the utmost limits of its remaining power in the hopes of getting as far ahead of their pursuers as possible but as he glanced at the monitor on his console which gave him a clear and present view of everything behind them, a lump of fear choked his throat.

Several kilometres off their stern, at the centre of the Scythian fleet, he was just in time to witness the Shadow’s arbiter begin to make an impossible transformation. The massive and awful looking craft, comprising in appearance a series of huge and jagged angular interwoven sections, had started to open up like some kind of great and sinister chrome orchid before his very eyes. As he looked on in horror, Urm noticed that as the final inner sections of the vessel peeled away, the process had revealed – previously hidden at the heart of the arbiter – what appeared to be an enormous reserve of stored naked energy, as white and bright as a small star and somehow either confined within a network of forcefields or otherwise drawn to and held by some central point of conduction. He could only guess what kind of technology was necessary to produce and contain such an incredible sphere of raw energy, but immediately surmised that it was far, far beyond the capability of both the Skrell and the Threa to comprehend or defend against. Now drained to white, Urm turned to scream at Alyx, “Switch the forward monitor to stern, now..! They’re charging a new weapon, and it’s a big one – we have to get out of here now..!” The tone of complete desperation in Urm’s voice prompted Alyx to immediately comply with his request, and all aboard the bridge stopped and stared at the awful vision in front of them.

The giant orb of plasma began to burn bluish-white and then a deeper hue as the Scythian arbiter increased the intensity of the weapon in preparedness for unleashing its power upon the Skrell cruiser. The surface heat of the monstrous weapon quickly approached 50,000 K – what one would expect to find at the upper end of the scale for an equivalent star – and just as Alyx gave the order to risk the volley of the world destroyers by breaking hard port to escape the path of the arbiter, the Moiling Shadow gave the order to fire. The titanic reserve of energy erupted from the core of the Scythian arbiter in a long and twisting plume that whirled toward the Threans’ vessel in a surging vortex, almost like a perfectly balanced tornado of raw power. It was as though the mouth of a great and terrible celestial god had opened, and the once secret and inaudible voice of the stars themselves finally revealed, as though all the universal powers of creation and destruction were in one moment interwoven as one and focussed directly at the Threan crew as they worked desperately and hopelessly to clear its path, to little avail. Narrowly avoiding direct cover fire from the surrounding world destroyers, Urm had only just managed to clear their craft from bearing the full brunt of the arbiter’s weapon. When the plume overtook their position, however, their vessel was almost instantly flung like an empty tin can far from the region with incredible and violent speed.

The energy beam released from the Scythian starfire consolidator was apparently so incredibly vast and dense that it carried with it an intense gravity field, creating an area of extreme disruption to any craft and object caught near enough to it, and not destroyed outright by it. Though Alyx and his crew were lucky enough to avoid being vaporised in the direct path of the beam, the instant draw of gravity to the position the plume occupied as it passed them by caused their craft to slingshot starboard across its trajectory and hurtle on into the open expanse of space at speeds approaching what they might have hoped to achieve were the ship’s hyperdrive engines still functioning. In fact, so incredibly quick was their cruiser ejected from the region that the lingering surge of light and heat energy that originated from the consolidator masked their path, prompting the Shadow to immediately demand his crew initiate long range scanning to locate the vessel that had, by all appearances, simply disappeared from view and all reach of their close range instruments.

In reality, Alyx and his crew had been knocked clear away from the Scythian fleet at speeds approaching that of light. The intense pocket of gravity had sent their vessel hurtling clear across the remaining width of the outer claw and on into the swarthy blackness that existed outside of the Khum-Vulkhai, which the Threa knew as the Aether. The Moiling Shadow worked desperately to locate any sign of his quarry, not believing for a second that an indirect hit from so focussed a beam would have destroyed them outright. He switched calmly between all methods of detection with no success, before finally electing to once more activate the Astrograph. Perhaps, if they were still close by enough, it might be able to pinpoint the black matter stowed aboard it – after all, that was the only real interest he and his fleet had in the smaller vessel. As the great consolidator was powering down, the Shadow once more reached out to the Astrograph and in to his mind to listen for signs of confirmation; that a call had been placed and heard by the device. It was only moments later that his efforts bore a result, though not perhaps the one he was initially hoping for.

In entirely the opposite direction to the Skrell hive, only a celestial stone’s throw from the outer edge of the Veil, the Moiling Shadow was made aware of a small and unremarkable system, by all standard measure. A small K-class star and three planets; two gas giants and one large and fast moving ringed world of rock and water that had hidden in a vast reserve quantities of refined black matter unlike anything ever seen in the Netherverse. Suddenly, the meagre score aboard the Skrell cruiser seemed unworthy of his continued effort, and so without word or warning, the Shadow directed his arbiter toward the new bounty. In similar silence, his fleet turned and followed suit.

Advertisements

Here is the Final Chapter from Alluvion:

12. The Great Dragon

“If I might have everybody’s attention for just a moment,” Skara began, nervously, “I’d like to ask for your audience.” He was noticeably anxious, but not just for the effects that recent events might have had on his kinsmen. As he stood before them, searching his mind for the right words, whatever they might be, he couldn’t shake the image of that awful vibrant light now in the northern sky, and the impending cataclysm that threatened soon to unfold. The deep and profound sense of fear it had brought with it now seemed to permeate its way into everything, to violate every thought and action he had taken since its arrival and left him feeling completely and utterly powerless, and unsure what possible comfort he could provide his people.

He nonetheless continued, “No doubt you too have all seen the passage of the Great Dragon from its arrival in the West this afternoon. Before this day, my warnings might have only sounded to many of you like little more than the half-insane ramblings of a petty doomsayer. I feel however that the time for denial has surely now passed, for who here can dismiss that sinister evil which so brightly now shines down upon us all..?” He gestured at the open space of the hall around them, “In this place, the Watchers have promised us sanctuary from the Dragon, and while many of our own have bravely fought and indeed given their lives to allow us safe passage to this city of stone, I would assure you that they did not do so in vain. In this place, we will find safety as promised, and in this city we will remain hidden from the beast and the coming of fire and water that those of its founding order have foretold will closely follow.”

“I feel no vindication in what is taking place outside these walls, no sense of personal gratification,” he went on, “I, like the rest of you, would truly like nothing more than to simply pass once more through those gates and return to Nevalı Çori and the lives we have all left behind. To go back to the homes and familiar experiences that we have shared and prepare once more for the summer. To hunt, to laugh and to spend our days in plenty as we have always done. But the reality is that those days are sadly now behind us. I don’t pretend to have all of the answers, to be able to tell you what kind of world and future waits for us when this is all over.” He paused, and in a sudden moment of naked self-consciousness felt inexplicably small. He looked around the room, head tilted down and his brow furrowed, “I am but a hunter, a husband and father. A simple man, not meant for this kind of..” He trailed off, and then plucked his courage, “Whatever comes, we are in this together. Whatever story might be told of this day and those left to come, by our children and theirs, ours will be told as the proud and honourable people of the valley. That’s all that really matters. To bloody hell with the rest.”

He stopped speaking and abruptly sat down, clasping his hands and staring intently at the dancing shadow they cast upon the table by the flickering firelight from the hearth. There followed several long seconds of silence as his words were allowed to hang in the cool air of the room before a slow and building cheer arose from the villagers. Many took to their feet and began to praise Skara with an almost exhausted enthusiasm, and in moments, he lifted his gaze once more to see almost the entire hall now standing and clapping, and chanting his name. They had come this far together, and despite all losses it would seem they would remain united as one, through whatever was yet to come.

Skara smiled, and Sura gently took his right arm into her own. It seemed at that moment, the bonds of blood and community would prove stronger than any other force imaginable. Stronger than life, stronger than death.. stronger than any unknown threat from the heavens, or of the Earth. Their cheering continued for some time, eventually subsiding and when more of his kin rose to continue preparing the hall for the coming night, a second new and distant roar could be heard to fill the silence that they left. “What in Anu’s name..?” Skara thought to himself, as the unidentifiable noise gradually grew in intensity and with it, the awful glow that filled the windows to the city outside.

As one, the villagers inside the hall quickly rushed to the narrow windows along either side of the building just in time to witness the arrival of three enormous plumes of white-hot fire that tore across the darkening skies above them from the North with incredible velocity, singing with a single deafening voice akin to the awful chorus of a thousand fallen angels. Dusk immediately became day as the tails of comet fractures that had splintered off from the beast heralded the final arrival of Usumgala and tore the skies asunder as they roared due south and, seconds later, struck land on the far side of the plateau, beyond Uru-Mah. Women and children screamed as their impacts flashed brightly, silhouetting the dark hills and within moments, the sonic boom that closely followed shook the ground with such chaotic fury that the seismic rumble nearly wrested the building from its very foundations, and caused several heavy wooden supports in the ceiling to buckle and send dust and splinters raining down on them all.

Suddenly appearing as if from nowhere, the imposing figure of Yamnaya called out from the doorway with a commanding tone, verging on desperation, “It is time, quickly – everyone get up and follow me, now. Take nothing, get to your feet and by the Gods, make haste..!” No more needed to be said. Yamnaya swiftly turned and strode from the hall, heading straight for the bunker-like building far across the compound, and the score of Skara’s friends and family quickly poured through behind him. As they nervously made their way through the wide streets of the city in a half-stoop, the skies were once more lit up with a brilliant white flash as several more fractures from the great comet broke away from its core and surged across the heavens with the same loud and hideous wail, seeming much closer to them this time. The fierce light and accompanying heat caused many among them to cry out and the children to lose their footing as the earth shook, once, twice and again when the fiery missiles struck the ground in the East and to the south of the plateau. Were it not for the dense, dark forest that ringed the city, the flames of a great and terrible burning could have been seen growing on the horizon in all directions, as the raining storm of hellfire intensified across the entire length and breadth of the southern lands.

Far away, in the dark confines of He-Tauhasa’s great hall, the order of Seers that had stayed behind while their master made war cowered in a brief shared moment of complete and total revelation, before the great and sprawling metropolis of Çatalhöyük was lain to waste by a single giant fracture that pounded the city centre like the flaming fist of a vengeful god. In the fraction of a second, the filth and venom of their insidious cabal was extinguished from the face of the Earth as the once indomitable capital was swept away in a firestorm like a second Sodom. All across the sleeping world, millions faced a wrath of fiery judgement and were consumed by the maelstrom that in some places pulverised the very mountains to dust, and in others summoned forth vast torrents of liquid fire from the veins of the earth beneath them. Clouds of ash blotted-out the skies, and molten rock was vomitted from the tallest peaks and coursed down over the fertile neolithic lands below, as if rushing to meet the dark oceans that were already heaving to break the shores that once restrained them.

Skara raced to keep up with Yamnaya as he and his family were now literally running for their lives. Already a thickening pall of ash and vapour had begun to coalesce in the skies above them, eerily illuminating the near night between bright flashes that lit up their peripheral vision like fireworks. In moments the heavens became an undulating, writhing storm of deep red clouds that whirled and churned overhead with cyclonic fury, and a rising tempest that howled down through the lowlands and valleys below the plateau caused knots of dread to grow in the pit of their stomachs. In a panic, Sura lost her footing and was almost trampled by those villagers that closely followed before Skara managed to wrap his free arm around her waist and haul her back to her feet. He held Kirti tight with his left arm as the young girl buried her face in his chest, unable to bring herself to watch the sheer panic that was unfolding, and Harna now held onto his mother for dear life as she ran, steadying her lest she fall behind again.

Within seconds they had caught up with Yamnaya and arrived at the bunker, the Watcher already standing tall to the right of the low entryway and motioning everyone to make their way into the building as quickly as they could. “Don’t stop, for goodness sake,” he cried, struggling to make himself heard over the gale that whipped up about them all, “keep moving through. Don’t concern yourselves with those behind, you’ll only slow everyone else down..!” While he waited for the procession to enter, the Watcher raised his gaze toward the chaos overhead, and his eyes widened in unmistakeable fear as, through the blood-red clouds and haze above him, the great and horrible face of the beast could finally be seen in its entirety. Usumgala, the great comet, had finally arrived, and the flaming mass of its seven fearsome heads filled the sky with such awful brilliance that he could no longer gaze directly at it, as much for dread as awe.

Greater and more horrifying than any celestial visitor that had approached their world in aeons, the comet was quickly bearing down upon them, headed on an unstoppable trajectory across the night sky to the lands of the Clovis where, now exposed, it would finally exact its ultimate and devastating wrath. In less than a minute, all of the villagers had entered the bunker and had begun to make their way down the broad stone staircase beyond the entryway. Yamnaya stood for a brief moment more, both to marvel at the sheer power of the beast as it tore across the skies above and to also mouth a silent prayer for those of his order so far across the seas, before he too entered the building and heaved a mighty hewn cover stone from an alcove inside, effectively sealing them within what was now to become their sanctuary, or if his calculations proved untrue, perhaps their tomb.

Ahead of Yamnaya and in complete darkness, Skara and his family moved carefully down and along what somehow seemed to be a never-ending succession of cold stone stairs that snaked their way erratically into the earth in a sort of confused spiral. After soon realising the treacherousness of their passage, Sura instructed that they all stop momentarily while she fumbled about in the darkness for something deep inside a pocket in her dress. In frustration, several voices soon called out from the throng that had also been made to stop short behind them, “Why have we stopped moving..?” and, “Come on, we have to keep going..! What are you doing up there..?” The emotional state among the villagers threatened shortly to turn from panic to anger as the instinct for self-preservation tempted to provoke action, but a few moments later, the blackness of the stairwell was dispersed by a weak yellow light, the source of which was a small glass sphere that Sura had kept from Skara’s pouch, and that seemed to react exclusively to the absence of any distinguishable light. She had discovered its quality when packing on the morning of their departure from the village, and had not been able to bring herself to leave such a curious item behind. A decision she somehow knew she would not regret.

Now able to safely discern their footing, the procession moved on for what felt like hours, heading deeper and deeper into a cold and apparently endless catacomb that none of them could have guessed lay waiting beneath the modest stone bunker on the surface. From time to time, the walls of the tunnel shook, sometimes imperceptibly and occasionally with such violence that the group would stop and crouch low as impacts from the maelstrom on the ground above continued overhead. Several times, as dark soil was shaken from the ceiling and rained down on them, Skara caught himself wondering if this was ‘finally it’. He knew that everything they had seen so far was merely a preview of what was coming, that eventually the beast would make land, and who knew what would happen then..? In his mind and from what he had seen, he still had every reason to fear that their complete and utter annihilation remained a very real possibility. Each time he tried to shake the feeling as quickly as it came and continued along the way, as they all did, until eventually they reached the bottom of their descent and passed through a tall and narrow doorway into what was the living, breathing heart of the Watchers’ masterplan.

Skara was the first to leave the cold corridor and enter with trepidation what he was astonished to discover was an absolutely massive natural underground cavern that had been shaped, seemingly by hand, but with an incredible artistry from the very bedrock of the plateau itself. It must have been equal to, or at the very least comparable in area to the stone city on the surface, but with a vast ceiling that appeared to be an almost flawless dome of dark rock that extended with near perfect circular geometry from the farthest walls to a point so far overhead that the now brighter light from the orb in Sura’s hand could not even reach it. More of the villagers followed them in, and their gasps were clearly audible as everyone could do little more than attempt to wrap their minds around where they now were, mouths agape and in total wonder. For all of the wondrous and inexplicable things that they had seen in the city above them, it all somehow paled into insignificance when compared to the strange subterranean world in which they now found themselves.

The floor of the cavern was criss-crossed with wide, crudely cobbled roads and row upon row of small, low set dwellings, somewhat similar to the squat stone buildings on the surface, and from somewhere far across the dark expanse the sound of what must have been a broad and powerful underground stream could just be heard rushing away in the distance. Despite the absence of natural light, lush fields of a weird, deep-green and deliberately cultivated moss seemed to carpet the outer ring of the cave, but what was most confusing was an enormous pyramid of worked earth that immediately drew their attention, rising up in the centre of the cave to a height Skara estimated to be some sixty or seventy feet.

Formed with almost perfect symmetry, the steep bank of pressed earth was crowned with the most bizarre object.. Skara could not even compare the intricate and complicated device that sat atop it to anything he had ever seen in his life. Roughly the size of a small house, but cylindrical in shape and adorned with a myriad of strange parts and pieces, the machine that dominated the underground landscape rose out of the great mound at its heart, and appeared to be tethered to the exact centre of the roof of the cavern by a thin and perfect rod of an unidentifiable metal that shot dead straight from the top of it in a flawlessly straight line. Neither Skara nor his kin had ever seen anything remotely like it, and could do little more than guess at what its purpose and function might be.

Arriving shortly after the last of the villagers had entered, Yamnaya soon joined them in the underground city and as before, immediately moved to heave a second perfectly hewn cover stone from its resting place and set it in the doorway, barring the way back. Still breathing heavily from the effort, he then turned to address them all; “Welcome,” he began with a marked tone of self-satisfaction, “to the salvation of your race. This city, this underground world beneath the world. My people have worked painstakingly for an age to manufacture and create everything that you see around you now, everything that would see your kind survive that which has come to mean the destruction of all you knew of the surface world. Each consideration and every detail; water and warmth, food, light and shelter. In this place, my new friends, you will survive. While the world above burns, and the cities and empires of those societies left behind are washed away and the slate of the Earth cleansed, humankind will survive, here. Humankind must survive. Please,” he beckoned deeper into the cavern with an outstretched arm, “by all means, go forth and explore. Make yourselves at home. This is all for you, and for what may prove to be quite some time, it will be the only home you have.”

At that, most of the villagers moved away from the cavern entrance, still with dumbfounded expressions on their faces, and fanned out into the cave, many unable or still too shellshocked from their ordeal to fully consider what Yamnaya’s words implied. Skara however had mulled on Yamnaya’s short speech, and after a minute felt obliged to ask: “My friend, words surely cannot begin to describe this place. I have a million and one questions, as you no doubt can understand, and while this of course comes from a place of the deepest and most un-repayable gratitude, I need to ask; you made mention of warmth, and light. Yet without the meagre light in my wife’s possession, I see nothing but the stark and impossible blackness one might expect, so deep in the heart of the hills. Of what light and warmth do you speak..?”

Skara of course was right. So deep beneath the surface and beyond the reach of sunlight, the warmth of the winds and the seasons, they had scarce little hope of maintaining any sort of food supply for any reasonable length of time. Indeed, trapped in such a place for weeks, months or even years, the creeping and claustrophobic insanity of their new home would slowly eat away at them in the near darkness, and Skara could only imagine what kind of beasts his kinsmen, or any men for that matter, might become when faced with such a dark and oppressive existence. He continued, “Though I suspect those fields are somehow meant for us, and the stream I can hear no doubt played a part in your choosing this place, how are we supposed to maintain it, or even order, when we are unable to see no more than twenty paces in any given direction..?”

Now, a wry and knowing smile crept across Yamnaya’s face as it seemed the time had finally come to reveal his last and greatest surprise to the valley man. The true core of the Watchers’ plan, the central, pivotal feature of their city below the surface, and something that had grown to become, to him, a source of great pride. He had been the driving force not only in its design, but through his own ingenuity he remained one of only two of his order capable of commanding its power, and controlling its effect. Though so much of their knowledge had been lost, Yamnaya had devoted his life to rediscovering, often through the most painful processes of trial and error, what secrets were required in completing their vision. “Skara, on this occasion and as is often the case, I fear further words can only diminish. Come, let me show you.” As everyone continued to disperse in all directions, Yamnaya politely took the still-glowing orb from Sura’s hand and beckoned Skara and his family to follow. He led them deeper into the vast cavern towards the central pyramid, where they found and ascended a rough staircase that had been fashioned out of its far side, and made their way toward the curious device resting at the top.

When they had almost reached their destination, Yamnaya motioned for the family to remain a short distance away as he moved to a large, ornate chrome panel at its base and set about fumbling with a series of weird cranks, knobs and levers, prodding some and twisting others in a long sequence that baffled the hunter and his wife who could only trade curious glances while the Watcher worked. All of a sudden, a loud and familiar whirring sound started up from within the heart of the strange machine, and as it grew in volume all of the villagers across the cavern suddenly stopped what they were doing and turned to watch what was happening. Yamnaya rose once more to his full height and walked over to a large and opaque semi-sphere, roughly a foot in circumference that protruded from what must have been the front of the device, and spoke. “It is heat you seek is it, valley man..? And light, by which to see..?” Skara’s brow remained furrowed in confusion, and he could only stammer a mono-syllabic, “Y-yes..?”

“Then by all means,” the watcher smiled, “let there be light..!”

Yamnaya then pressed the centre of the large sphere with the open palm of his right hand, and everyone in the cavern including Skara immediately dropped to their knees in shock as a broad and monumental pillar of dazzling white light exploded with a deafening boom from the roof of the machine and coursed along the length of its tether like a bolt of super-charged electricity, finding its earth in the centre of the domed ceiling overhead. The sound of the machine’s activation reverberated loudly around the cavern, and instantly the entire underground city was bathed in a brilliant light, almost as though the entire town and its ecosystem were now spread out beneath a warm and vibrant summer sky. Yamnaya laughed a booming and contagious laugh, as if finally celebrating a long-sought victory. Skara was incredulous, and could not believe his eyes..! Harna let out a loud and enthusiastic cry, and little Kirti giggled with glee as every single one of the villagers remained motionless and merely looked toward it with sheer and total wonder. “Now, do you see..?” boomed Yamnaya, “Where my forebears brought about their own end with their pride, and the reckless use of their knowledge, we have given you a second chance. The race of men will endure, my young friend. The species known as man will live on for many generations to come, as both children of and the continuing stewards to the Earth. It must.”

“Where the knowledge of our predecessors was once used in an ill-intentioned attempt to pervert the laws of the natural world for their own selfish wants, the last of my kind have succeeded in the consolidation of a power thats sole purpose is to preserve life, and to resist those outside forces that would threaten to consume it.” Yamnaya turned then to address not only his friend but each and every man, woman and child that had still believed enough in his kind to follow him into the bowels of the Earth, and continued, “This power we have called The Defender, for that is its purpose. In a new world, now so far from the reach of any gods or devils, in the darkest of hours this gift will provide to us light, warmth and safety from everything that Usumgala would bring down upon us. For so long as the lands above remain in turmoil so too we will be allowed to survive; and when the time comes that you might return once more to the surface, so another chance in this world will be your gift. And perhaps too in turn, for us, a second chance at the next.”

Skara was awestruck, and rose gingerly to his feet. In his wildest imagination he could never have believed such a machine, so great and incredible a power as to turn night into day could possibly exist, let alone be controlled by any mortal man, or even the Watchers. The radiance of the fantastic pillar of light seemed to penetrate to the very core of his being, warming his bones and building his spirits and trust in the future once again. He approached Yamnaya, and extended his right hand which the still smiling Watcher took in kind. “Never have I truly doubted you, since we first met.” He began, “But shamed as I am to say it, I fear I have underestimated you. This, what you have done here is beyond words, and I and my people are beyond gratitude and forever in debt to you and your kind. Thank you, friend. By my gods and yours, we will repay you.”

At that, Yamnaya’s smile left his face as quickly as it came, and was once again replaced with his usual stern sobriety, and he replied, “Skara, you’ve done more for your own people than I ever could have, and as always you sell yourself short. In truth, I feel that it is I that has underestimated you.” He placed a lithe hand on Skara’s shoulder, and continued, “This place that we have created for you, it’s a second chance. You owe me nothing but the promise that you will continue to shepherd your people, to watch over them. And in turn, ensure that they continue to fight, to live.. to survive. Do that, and you can consider all debts repaid.” Skara nodded in reply, feeling that the ten-ton weight of everything that he had been made to endure over his adventure was suddenly lifted, and managed a brief and genuine smile before turning back to Sura and his family.

Now bathed wholly in the calming warmth and light of The Defender, he held them close.

Nestled tightly in the grip of theirs, they held him back.

Far across the vast and violent seas, many leagues south of the fertile lands of the Clovis, those that remained of Yamnaya’s order had themselves worked fervently to complete their secondary sanctuary in the high mountains which bordered the Western coast. Just as the monstrous fury of the great comet finally penetrated the Earth’s atmosphere and struck the planet somewhere far in the north of the continent, the second Defender was activated far below the stone city of Caral Supe, where those of the Americas now too found sanctuary, and the contingency was realised.

iii. Epilogue

“Then the fifth angel sounded: And I saw a star fallen from heaven to the earth. To him was given the key to the bottomless pit. And he opened the bottomless pit, and smoke arose out of the pit like the smoke of a great furnace. So the sun and the air were darkened.” – Revelation 9:1-2

Ancient stone carvings at Gobekli Tepe or ‘Potbelly Hill’ in Anatolia tell of a great comet that is theorised to have struck the Earth somewhere around 11,000BC. A devastating and cataclysmic event which, it has been proposed, may have been responsible for wiping out much of the preexisting megafauna in many parts of the world, reshaping coastlines and that may have played a key role in putting an end to the age old hunter-gather system, paving the way for the rise of agriculture and civilisation as we now know it.

Experts have analysed these mysterious symbols carved onto the enormous stone pillars at Gobekli Tepe in modern-day southern Turkey, to find out if they could be linked to constellations and have drawn conclusions that the event’s origins may lie somewhere in the Cygnus system, some six thousand light years from us. These markings suggest that a swarm of comet fragments hit the Earth at approximately the same time that a mini-ice age is said to have begun, subsequently changing the entire course of human history and giving rise to a long and difficult period of adjustment for those new and, until that time, apparently flourishing and diverse human communities.

Scientists have speculated for decades that such a comet could be behind the sudden fall in temperature during an ensuing period known as the Younger Dryas. Recently the theory appeared to have been debunked by new dating of meteor craters in North America, where the comet is thought to have struck. However, when engineers studied animal carvings made on a pillar, known as the Vulture Stone, at Gobekli Tepe they were surprised to discover that the creatures might actually be astronomical symbols which represented constellations, and the comet.

The idea has already been explored in a number of scientific and speculative works of non-fiction over recent years, as has the theory that those closest cousins to modern man, the Neanderthals, might have dwelt alongside mankind in much more recent history than initially believed, and that their species and its apparently complex societies may still offer more secrets that are yet to be discovered. Alluvion is an imagining of the lives and struggles of a small community that might have existed during this time, and the consequences that such an event might have had not only on the world they knew, but of the challenges it may have brought, and their fortitude and the endurance of the human spirit as they adapted to it.

We must be reminded often that our continued success as stewards of this green and vibrant world still only hangs by a thread, and although we have, at least in recent history, enjoyed a relatively safe and stable environment, everything that we know, love and hold dear might at any moment be threatened again by a similar event. And we must learn to love and appreciate this fragile world accordingly, and with absolute sincerely, for so long as we are lucky to be here.

Here is the Eleventh Chapter from Alluvion:

11. Wrath of Usumgala

Lapsing in and out of a heavy daze as he lay cradled in Sura’s arms, Skara’s thoughts began to drift groggily back to his own childhood, and those formative years spent in the same valley he still called home. Half awake and yet still firmly immersed in dream, in his mind he ran gleefully through the green fields surrounding Nevalı Çori, untouched and unreachable by whatever dark futures might yet befall him. With near complete lucidity he could feel the warmth of the summer sunlight streaming across his face, and the crisp mountain wind blowing through his hair as he laughed and played with his half-brother through the sea of tall grasses that surrounded his village. In those brief minutes that seemed to last a lifetime, Skara felt truly content. For the first time in what felt like forever, he believed himself safe from harm in a place where he belonged. He was home.

Yamnaya could sense the spirit of the valley man slipping away ever further, and knew that what little time he had left could not be wasted bickering with the veritable pig of a human being that stood and challenged him now. He also possessed the perceptive intuition to realise that those men, battered and bloody, that comprised what remained of He-Tauhasa’s army were now too so utterly broken and exhausted, and left morally dejected by the conflict with their kin, that few had any interest whatsoever in further orders calling for yet more struggle and bloodshed. For the most part, everyone that still remained on the hillside wanted nothing more than just to turn around and go home, and to put the horrible events of that day behind them. This, Yamnaya decided, would play in his favour for what he was going to do next.

The two adversaries, one broad and squat and the other lithe and tall, stood opposite one another for several seconds, perhaps up to a full minute, sizing each other up and simply staring coldly into their challenger’s eyes, as if daring them to make the first move. Before anybody could react, and without the slightest twitch or warning, Yamnaya suddenly threw back his right shoulder, a gnarled staff firmly gripped in the same hand and swung the heavy, knotted end of the weapon swiftly and powerfully upside the left hemisphere of He-Tauhasa’s head, knocking the broader man instantly out cold and sending him crashing to the ground with a thud. For good measure, he then brought his staff back around and thrust the rear end sharply into the King’s ribs, if for nothing else than to ensure that his first strike was true, and withdrew his weapon. The entire motion was executed in a fraction of a second, Yamnaya returning so quickly to the same stoic state as before that were it not for his wandering blue eyes that darted about, searching the throng around him for signs of reprisal, one might have been forgiven for believing they had imagined the act to have taken place at all.

After the moment’s initial shock had passed, the remainder of the capital army began to murmur among themselves as it suddenly dawned on them that they were now effectively leaderless. Two of their number stepped gingerly forward, eyes firmly fixed on Yamnaya for fear of a further show of magic or violence, as they tiptoed across and stooped to roll their fallen commander onto his back and check for signs of life. Once they managed to turn him over, He-Tauhasa, completely unconscious, broke into a loud and reverberating snore like the heavy sawing of wood. Clearly the man was still alive, but in no state to be of any use to anyone for quite some time. Debate between his men died down quickly then, and everyone merely remained where they were and looked to Yamnaya, as if it were somehow up to the Watcher to deliver their next set of instructions. Yamnaya was in equal measure ambivalent as to what should become of them, shifting uncomfortably in their gaze, and so instead turned and directed his attention back to Skara, now white as a sheet and muttering all manner of delusions as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

As Sura wept softly and stroked her lover’s forehead, Yamnaya knelt beside the young family and gently took her hand, beckoning she allow him to assess her husband’s condition. “It’s alright, girl,” he offered in as quiet a tone as he could manage, all too aware that this was the first time she had ever been directly addressed by one of his order, “though there is little time, I fear, I may still be able to help him. Come, let me carry him. At my home atop the plateau, I will do what I can.” Sura sniffed and wiped her doe eyes with the sleeve of her other arm, and merely nodded her thanks to the Watcher. In her state, she was well and truly beyond all capacity for fear and wonder, and numbly rose to follow as Yamnaya held a feverish Skara close and rose to depart the battlefield.

The Watcher and Skara, Sura, Harna and Kirti moved slowly through the throng of villagers still occupying the upper slope of the hill, and as it became clear that the battle was now well and truly over, many rushed down to where the fighting had taken place and He-Tauhasa’s soldiers still stood milling about with uncertainty to search for their loved ones. For most, it was a search which ended in bitter sorrow, as He-Tauhasa’s army had ultimately proved efficient in overwhelming their opponents to a man and slaughtering close to nine-tenths of their number. Heaps of bloodied, mangled bodies lay bleak and silent where they had fallen in skirmish, two and three high in places, and the low, muted groans of the injured and dying only seemed to add to the morbidity of the scene.

Those that had managed to survive had gathered higher up the field of battle, and now watched reluctantly as the women and children of the village picked through the mud and remains for signs of anything they might have recognised. A second rising wail began then to slowly fill the air as wives discovered husbands and mothers came across the broken, twisted bodies of their sons, taken by the storm. Many could not bear to watch the grieving, and much of the remnants of the capital army turned instead to count their own losses, their bodies now stacked at the lower end of the battlefield and make arrangements to leave as soon as practical. They were exhausted, and without their king to spur them on had lost all interest in recapturing their quarry. “To hell with the valley man,” they thought – they were done with bloodshed.

His face a mask of stony concern, Yamnaya slowly strode over the lip of the plateau and led Skara’s family across its length toward the waiting compound. Despite their grief, once the dark and looming forms of the halls and towers of the Watchers’ settlement took shape and rose out of the forest wall ahead, all voices were soon hushed and their focus lost to the eerie silence of the landscape. Just as Skara had never before seen such architecture, Sura too was in awe of the precise and monumental stonework that seemed almost to sprout up out of the dark soil itself, and found a million questions to suddenly boil up inside her. “How is all of this possible..? For how long has this place lay hidden, and what sort of magic and mastery must be needed to fashion such things from the very face of the mountains beyond..?” She wanted to ask. Instead she merely followed the Watcher in silence, guiding her two young children diligently through the entryway and into the compound where, she prayed, Yamnaya might somehow be able to save him.

As they snaked their way into the centre of the settlement and finally reached the open space of the clearing, the silence occupying the air was suddenly broken by the flutter of what must have been ten thousand sets of small wings as, completely without warning, every single bird and insect that dwelt upon the plateau suddenly rose from its perch and took flight in a great, dark cloud. Kirti squealed in fright as the sudden whirlwind of countless black shadows formed a giant vortex around them, and Sura pulled her and Harna close, shielding their eyes until, eventually, the threat had passed. Within moments the great black cloud erupted skyward and shifted due east with deliberate haste, and as quickly as it started, the forest was once again deathly still. “It has begun, then,” Yamnaya muttered lowly, turning his gaze toward the clearing above their heads. “Come, we must move quickly. Follow me into the great hall, I must administer to his wounds while there is still time.” Sura touched the faces of her children softly in reassurance, motioning they follow the Watcher and as they approached the entrance to the great hall, turned herself to glance up at the sky.

In a moment she would never forget, so long as she lived, Sura’s blood froze to ice as she finally noticed the awful point of fire that had appeared in the western sky like a baleful second sun, threatening to unleash a new and unspeakable doom upon all who lived below. The four hurried out of the clearing and into the cold stone interior of the hall, where Yamnaya gently lay Skara’s lifeless body on the great slab which served as a table and ushered the other three to a place across the room. He quickly set about selecting a number of small vials and ingredients from the shelves that lined the walls and stripped Skara of his cloak and effects. The wounds that had been inflicted upon his body were so cruel and severe that Sura was compelled to turn to her children; “Go and wait in the back room, Harna,” she addressed her eldest, “make sure that she does not leave your sight. Everything will be fine, but you mustn’t see this. It is not for young eyes, now go.” Yamnaya frowned as he inspected the valley man, the splintered shafts of several broken arrows still protruding from his flesh, and only when he could finally recognise a pulse and the shallowest of breaths that still animated his body, decided to begin the ritual.

As he carefully soaked a piece of grey cloth with a strange mixture from several dark vials and applied it to Skara’s forehead, he offered Sura some small explanation of what he intended to do, “I will not lie to you now,” he began, “your husband’s wounds are indeed grave. So close is he to death in fact that even I cannot promise that what is about to take place here will be successful. The Ritual of Staying is something that no-one other than those of my order have ever been able to endure. It is the process by which we have been afforded the power to cheat what mortality would take from us before our want, and is an act tailored to a more ancient blood. Blood that you must realise does not flow through his veins.” Sura struggled to understand and to keep herself composed, and only replied, “Do what you can.. do what you must – please. Whatever the price, I cannot have him who I love returned to me after such a time only to see him taken away from me again. It would be too much to bear.” Yamnaya paused and nodded slowly. He could only try, and prayed his own gods would grant exception in light of the circumstance.

Standing at the head of the great table, Yamnaya placed his two lithe hands on either side of Skara’s face and closed his eyes, his head tilted towards the ceiling. While the Watchers had succeeded in preserving much of the alchemy and chemistry that had survived from the age of their former glory, a sacred few abilities that were reserved only for their order, abilities that might as well be deemed magic to those that simply did not possess the power to comprehend their nature, had until that moment never been witnessed outside of their own circle.

What then followed surely fit into that category. As Yamnaya began to mouth a low series of strange, alien syllables, the palest violet light began to wash through his hands and into the body of Sura’s husband, first charging through the Watcher’s fingertips and enveloping Skara’s face, chest and then his entire body. Sura’s jaw dropped and she was forced immediately to take several steps back. She could not believe what she was witnessing, and could only stand wide-eyed as a second, fiercer shade of the same pale light erupted from the half dozen gaping wounds that riddled her husband’s chest and abdomen and filled the cavernous chamber of the hall with a brilliance that could only be matched by the direct light of the midday sun.

Completely dazzled, but unable to bring herself to look away, she watched on in awe as the arrowheads lodged in his body appeared to disintegrate, and the fierce glow from those wounds gradually abate as if the injuries themselves were doorways into her husband’s soul that the Watcher was somehow closing from within. The two remained motionless through it all, however to Sura it seemed as if the very foundations of the great stone hall were now shaking violently in response to the ritual. At its peak, she was forced to retreat to the far wall and hold on for dear life, as it felt like an earthquake was taking place at the ground beneath her feet that threatened to open up and swallow them all in any given moment. Eventually, Yamnaya’s voice, which seemed to have matched the intensity of the aura, began to diminish and so too the pale and mysterious fire that had engulfed them both gradually subsided, withdrawing first from Skara’s feet, legs, torso and chest and eventually returning to Yamnaya’s long fingers where it finally disappeared completely.

It took her a full minute before she finally regained the sensation of stability and was able to believe once again that the great hall was not in fact being torn asunder. Yanmaya was breathing heavily as he finally withdrew his hands from Skara and placed them carefully down on either side of the stone slab, as if to steady himself. The ritual had always been taxing, he knew this after so many countless times that it had needed to be performed, however applying its methods to a human was both mentally and physically draining. Yamnaya dropped to his knees, suddenly unable to support himself under his own power and Sura, forgetting her wariness, rushed across the room to help him once more to his feet. “You’re.. you’re hurt,” she seemed almost unable to believe, “here, please – sit. Let me get you some water.” The Watcher groaned and slumped into a seat at the end of the table as she hurriedly left to draw a pitcher from a tall oak barrel in the corner of the room.

Sura returned quickly and helped the container to his lips, and as he raised his head to take a drink she gasped audibly as she was finally able to see his face in the wan light of the room. Somehow, he had appeared to age a lifetime in only those few moments. Gaunt as he ever was, Sura saw that his pale skin was now the colour of old parchment, and only barely clinging to his sunken cheeks and his thick hair in places seemed to have fallen away completely from his crown. The brightness in his eyes had dimmed, and where before his frame appeared as though cast from wrought iron, he now seemed weak and unable to sit up straight. Whatever magic the watcher had been able to command had somehow seemed in turn to rob him of his own years, and Sura could not help but weep as the tall figure now bent quietly and tried desperately to control his breathing. He was in pain, but despite appearances knew in his own mind that he would soon recover.

Caught up in her sudden concern for the Watcher, Sura had managed to briefly forget about Skara, still lying prone upon the slab. Yamnaya motioned for her to leave him be for a moment while he rested, and as she rose she was startled by a low moaning reverberating from elsewhere in the hall. She turned back to the table in time to see Skara slowly turning over where he lay, amazingly now awake once more and attempting to roll up onto one elbow and speak. “Skara..!” She cried instinctively, rushing over to embrace him, “Skara, my love, don’t you move. Please, stay still. Let me look at you,” She was beside herself, and despite her commands, her loud cry prompted Harna and Kirti to rush from the far room behind the hall where they had cowered throughout the ritual with their hands covering their ears. Now beyond reprimand, they too ran to be at their father’s side.

They three carefully laid their hands upon him and began flooding the poor man with a thousand words of encouragement and relief as he finally succeeded in opening his eyes. Skara struggled at first to adjust from the pitch darkness of near-death, however he soon turned to Sura and simply said, “Sura, my heart. Where have you been..?” She gushed and smiled, and could not resist the impulse to hold his face and kiss him a dozen times before he turned painfully away to cough and clear his throat. After a brief moment of joy, the realisation quickly dawned on him that he had only minutes ago been at the very gates of death. He groaned once more and rose to a sitting position, whereupon he gasped and worriedly reached across his body to feel for what he knew must be many deep and horrible wounds. He was immediately shocked to feel not a single scratch where only before his chest had been pierced by arrows and his stomach slashed in the fray upon the hillside where he had fallen. “How..?” he asked of Sura, “I.. I was surely done for, my wounding was mortal. How is this possible..?”

As if in reply, Yamnaya grunted abruptly from where he sat, and dropped his empty pitcher to the table with a loud thud. Skara turned to his friend, and knew at once that whatever miracle had brought him back from the void, it was the Watcher’s doing. “Yamnaya,” he started, the memory of the other’s return at the close of the day’s battle finally rushing back to him, “I knew you would come. I knew you would not see me fail where you might have known I would.” He then too saw the tortured look of pain that still racked his features, and remarked, “My friend, and that you are and will always be. You’ve not the same look about you as when we first met. Whatever you have done for me, you had no obligation to do, thankful as I am. Please tell me you will be well, I could not see this ordeal through without your guidance.” Met with silence, he turned to Sura with a worried look.

Yamnaya merely raised his gaze, almost imperceptibly, and though it still caused him great pain to speak, replied, “If you think for a moment, Skara Tau, that I would see you through this trial and not be present at the end to claim my due credit, then you’re more a fool than I first thought.” He coughed again as Skara smiled, and then continued, “We’ve invested too much in this madness to see it all fall apart so close to its finish. It’s not over until it is over. And by the gods I promise you,” he said with uncharacteristic warmth, “it’s nearly over.” Harna and Kirti then leapt onto the table top and embraced their father as Sura once more attended to Yamnaya, who eventually regained his stoic composure and joined them in a brief celebration of life, love and a what was a deservedly happy outcome to a very close call.

Once they had recovered enough and Skara was once again able to chance his feet, the five decided to take stock of their situation; they had made it to the compound as planned, however were thus far alone and as Sura was quick to fill him in, the dragon in the skies had finally chosen to reveal itself. By his reckoning, Yamnaya indicated that only hours remained before all hope of any left behind also making their way to sanctuary was lost. With a brief explanation, he left the four and made his way out of the hall and to the curious low bunker across the settlement where, he made clear to indicate, “further work must be done, work that no human should be present to interfere with.” The family of four were free then to leave the hall and wander about the city so long as no unsanctioned meddling was allowed to take place. Skara suggested he and his family head to a large mound at the western edge of the city whereupon they could sit and rest, and get a clear view of the lands surrounding the plateau.

As soon as they re-entered the city center, all eyes were immediately drawn to the fierce ball of white fire that had now set in the north-western sky. Sura’s eyes widened as she realised that it had almost doubled in size since they had first arrived, and was now so brilliant a light that wherever they went, a second lesser shadow was cast at their feet in competition with the afternoon sun. Skara could not shake a deep feeling of unease as he stood and struggled to gaze directly at it, and he wondered not only what sort of horror such a sight might herald, but what the watchers and their magics could possibly do to resist it. Despite his faith in their promise and as much as he tried to hide it, he was afraid for his family, for himself, and for those of his kin that must have at that moment been more wary than ever of him and his leadership. The four slowly made their way to the top of the hill and there they merely sat close and waited, saying very little and holding only onto both each other and whatever scarce hope still remained in their hearts. Skara watched intently across the plateau, praying silently to see any signs of those left behind.

All the while the family reconciled Yamnaya was nowhere to be seen, and as the afternoon dared to become the evening, only the strange, faint sound of hammering and an occasional dull roar like the stoking of a great fire could be heard floating on the breeze. After almost an hour had passed, and the fierce orb of light in the darkening sky had once more doubled in size, Skara could have sworn he heard the sound of distant voices from somewhere far across the plateau. He let go of Sura’s hand and rose to his feet so as to get a clear view, and Sura instinctively did the same. “Sura, I think it’s them, I think they’ve come..!” He exclaimed hopefully. Sure enough, a long procession of slow-moving figures could soon be seen departing the growing shadows at the far side of the plateau, making their way in a staggered line toward the walls of Uru-Mah. Sura gently took Kirti in her arms, the child understandably exhausted and now fast asleep, and Skara beckoned Harna join them in descending from the mound to meet the villagers at the gate.

The family were only too aware of the effect that the tragic events of that afternoon would have had on the women, children and whatever men survived, and so watched with trepidation as the wave of slow moving wanderers approached the western entrance. Skara squinted as the first of their number drew near, hoping against hope that Andar was still well and among them. With all the emotion of his rescue, his miraculous revival and the reunion with his wife and children, it had slipped his mind completely to inquire as to the well-being of those that had survived the slaughter at the hand of the King, and nervously wondered what manner of greeting he would be afforded, knowing that for many it might seem appropriate to hold him personally accountable. A handful of older women were the first to leave the silent wood and stop short when they saw the family, and a single stoic hunter from the valley stood at their head. Somewhat to Skara’s relief, it was indeed Andar that had led his people to the end of their journey, and without hesitating his half-brother almost ran to him when he realised who it was that greeted them.

Upon reaching him, Andar stepped forward and gripped the nape of his brother’s neck with a strong right hand and stared at him with a deep frown, only remarking; “Gods and devils, brother, is that really you..?” Skara had no reply, save for a heaviness in his heart as he noticed the tails of half a dozen dark arrows that still protruded from Andar’s back and shoulders. He was breathing heavily, and despite being the size he was and his best efforts to conceal it, was clearly in a serious state. “Andar,” he replied, his eyes welling up, “my brother, yes – it’s me. I’m okay, Yamnaya.” he trailed off, dismissing his own story. “Look at the state of you. Oh, my brother.. I’m so very, deeply sorry. How in the world can you ever forgive me..?” Andar too was almost overcome with emotion as Skara placed a hand on his shoulder in kind, and did his best to appear strong. “Don’t you worry about me, Skara. It’ll take more than a few little darts to bring down a bull.” He motioned over his shoulder to yet more villagers that were now arriving, and added, “We’ve a score of sick and injured, and they’ll have need of fire and a place to rest and recover. If you’ve any beer or wine in this.. whatever a place this is you’ve led us,” he gestured through the city’s entrance, “I’ll share a drink as I’m sure we both well deserve it. Just you show us the way.”

No sooner had Andar delivered his request, than three more dark shadows broke away from the trees and ran toward them, crying out; “Skara..! Oh Skara, thank the gods..! We knew you’d make it, we just knew..!” It was Asher, Zemer and, following as fast as his legs would allow, little Yemah. The two youngest had been quickly hidden from the fury of the fighting by several of the other mothers from the village while Asher loosed arrows at the enemy, and had quickly become separated in the long confusion that followed. Clearly distressed, but apparently only thankful to know that their cousin had somehow survived, the three were overwhelmed to see him and greeted Skara enthusiastically by leaping forward and almost bowling him over. Solemn as he was, Skara couldn’t help but laugh at this, overjoyed to know that his Uncle’s children had remained safe and moreover, that they could finally join his family in the stone city as he promised. “Boys, boys,” he started, wiping tears from his eyes, “I’m alive and well, but still a little shaken. Relieved to see you all, nonetheless – come,” he indicated to the growing crowd, “everyone follow us to the hall, let’s set a fire and.. well, I’m honestly not sure where to start. This has indeed been a tragic and exhausting day whatever might still come, and none of us need spend more of it on our feet.”

The black procession slowly poured into the city, shuffling along wordlessly with the wary pace of a beaten people. By the hundreds they filled the wide avenues between the squat stone buildings and flowed lazily toward the great hall, where Skara and his family set about searching for clothing, blankets and enough containers with which to distribute water. Andar felt particularly useless, but was refused his services in building fires in the dozens of hearths that dotted the streets, instead instructed to join the wounded inside the hall and have his wounds attended to by those still able. Despite the fact that twilight had set, the growing glow cast by the great fire in the sky now left them all in a continuing sort of half-light, both a practical blessing and an ominous, forbidding threat that seemed to weigh on everything.

Once it appeared that everyone had arrived that would, it became painfully clear just how few of those hunters and soldiers that had stood against He-Tauhasa had survived the conflict. Although the travellers were now safe and could finally find rest, an air of sadness filled the hall and the faces of every one of them knowing that for most, their husbands and fathers had been lost. Skara realised as he looked out at his people that it was now his place to say something, to assume leadership of the situation that they had all found themselves in, and so whispered to Sura that he might stand before them and say a few words. If for nothing else, than to reassure them that they were finally safe from further harm and heartache. He peered into the quasi-twilight outside as he nervously considered just what he might say to them, hoping that Yamnaya would return quickly from his work, but knowing also that they should be made to wait in the dark no longer.

Skara moved carefully through the sea of bodies, many resting and some already fast asleep and took his place at the head of the table directly in front of the main fireplace, which was now blazing away. His heart weighing heavier at that moment than the stone lintel atop it, he raised his hands as if to call for silence and attention, and opened his mouth to speak.

Here is the Tenth Chapter from Alluvion:

10. The King’s Last Stand

The Watchers at Uru-Mah had worked tirelessly in the days since Skara’s last visit, making final preparations and completing modifications to their compound in anticipation of the arrival of the free men and women of the valley. Despite the fact that much of the former knowledge and wisdom of their order had been lost or forgotten in the many centuries which followed their hubris, awareness of the coming disaster had long been documented and steps carefully taken to ensure that no matter what, they would be ready and able to defend mankind against it.

For his dedication, Yamnaya had been granted absolute sole direction over their efforts, and when those that laboured had finally reached a point in their work that he might be able to complete all remaining tasks alone, the rest of his order bade him a brief and ritualistic farewell before they gathered whatever tools and equipment were needed and departed to a massive underground bunker, older than any of the other structures at the settlement and all but buried at the far eastern edge of the compound. Within this bunker was housed a strange and mysterious machine from the ancient world, a vehicle of incredible power and engineering crafted by sciences that even the Watchers themselves no longer understood entirely. Oddly shaped, not unlike a bottom-heavy zeppelin in appearance but without any obvious method of propulsion save for a wide, cylindrical hollow which extended from point to stern, the vessel had not been activated since most of their earliest memories (we are reminded that the Watchers were not bound to the same fleeting mortality as men), from the time of first contact with the Clovis, across the seas. And in this hour of desperate need it was to them that their order would return.

Soon after they had all entered the hanger and boarded the vessel, for the first time in an age a warming hum like the charge of a massive build of electricity filled the chamber as the great and ancient Vimana began to slowly draw its energy from the very air surrounding it before it would eventually take to the sky in a fluid and soundless motion. Secretly Yamnaya had envied the journey that his brethren were about to embark upon, however he knew that at least one must remain behind alone to ensure the eventuation of their masterplan. After he stood and watched them ascend into the heavens on a column of pale blue light, silently following the craft with his eyes as it diminished into little more than a tiny speck on the horizon, he turned to resume his duties, working to realise the final blueprint for their last work of manufacture which they had aptly named ‘The Defender.’

As he moved silently about the compound, he was for the first time struck by the cold sterility of the surroundings of what had become his home. Not a day had gone by since his brethren had first settled atop the plateau that there hadn’t been at least a few others present to give life and company to its halls and to his efforts. Now however, stone, silent calculation and a growing uneasiness akin to the calm before a storm seemed suddenly to encase him like a dark cocoon of trepidation and dread. He mused emotionlessly on the feeling for a moment, tracing the path of the sun between the canopy above and reckoned that Skara and the villagers should arrive at their city by nightfall, all things going well. “Best get back to it, else we’re caught by surprise,” he muttered to himself, before returning to his work.

Shortly after noon, Skara and the men and women of the valley finally reached the base of the plateau, where after only a short climb they would eventually ascend to their final destination. The journey had been arduous, and due to the difficulties of travelling with women and children had taken much longer than he might have anticipated. Still, they appeared to be on track to reach the end of their travel within the given window and hopefully then would find safety in the surrounding mountainside. As the golden disc of the midday sun burned hot overhead, they picked up the pace and found renewed spirits with the end of their travels finally in sight. No sooner had they taken to the last leg however, settling into a steady rhythmic march to the summit than the shrill blast of a hunting horn sounded from somewhere far off in the distance behind them, cutting through the balmy stillness of the early afternoon and splitting Skara’s consciousness like the fell strike of a newly keened blade.

The rest of the villagers too had been startled by the sound, and as one stopped dead in their tracks and turned to try and locate the source of the noise. Far off in the distance, barely discernible and only at the very lowest hills proceeding the flat they could just make out a wide, shapeless cloud of moving bodies, clearly an army or some sort of migrating force, that seemed to slowly course in their direction. Squinting as best he could to make out the identity of what he irrationally supposed might be another large group of tardy travellers from the valley, Andar turned to his brother and asked, “Who are they, that follow with such haste..? Have your Watchers promised sanctuary to others from the surrounding lands..?” To which Skara replied, “Not that I am aware of. What I do know, however, is that that herald was not meant as a salutation – the hunting horn would never be used in such a fashion, even under duress. Come, let’s encourage haste and keep them moving. We don’t have time to stop, for whoever it might be.”

Quickly, Skara and Andar clapped loudly and yelled at their kinsmen to snap them out of discussion regarding their pursuers, commanding that they make haste to reach the summit without delay. While the two of them had led the group to this point in the journey thus far, they now deliberately eased their way to the rear of the procession where they might shout encouragement while also keeping a close and watchful eye on those who followed, and were now closing in with clear haste and an apparent fierce resolve. The villagers stumbled over thick clumps of dense grasses and scrambled over loose rocks as their passage steepened, and as the day’s heat began to melt the snow atop peaks far beyond their line of sight, small streams and rivulets which coursed erratically down the slope turned much of the fertile soil in places to mud, making the going ever more difficult.

Eventually, just as the group had the summit within their sights, a second, louder blast of the same hunter’s horn rang out, almost deafening and from much closer this time, prompting them all to immediately stop and turn. As they did, they were finally able to clearly identify the other party, and as he recognised the deep red banners they held fiercely aloft Skara’s blood ran cold. His massive bulk positioned astride the largest royal ox he had ever seen, He-Tauhasa Ihreikas and the entire capital army that had departed Çatalhöyük in pursuit of their prisoner stood armed to the teeth before them and incensed that Skara’s heresies remained unpunished. Their king had swiftly commanded his emissaries to assemble those fighters he had called to the capital for his campaign against the West to instead pursue Skara, and the advancing army had already begun ascending the foothills as he cursed himself immediately for revealing the whereabouts of their destination when pleading for clemency so many days earlier. “Surely such a force is far beyond anything those left of us can resist – do they plan to slaughter us all..?” He thought to himself, suddenly feeling all at once frightened, deflated and desperate.

Realising that they would not all be able to completely clear the lip of the plateau before they were caught from behind, Skara sprang quickly into action, separating all of the men and boys from the women and children and commanded the latter continue on ahead without them. As those unable to fight reluctantly resumed their ascent, he and Andar quickly distributed what few weapons they had brought with them and set about formulating a strategy for defending and, if they could not be successful, at least slowing down their pursuers. By his estimation, the people of the valley were easily outnumbered five-to-one, odds that left precious little hope of any victory should worst come to worst. They formed a defensive crescent across the low of the final hill, and waited nervously, shoulder to shoulder, for the inevitable.

Within minutes, He-Tauhasa’s army closed distance and halted some fifty meters short in front of them. Skara could now finally make out the identities of his close guard, and was surprised to find He-Xur occupying the right hand command position of the King’s forces. He and Andar traded nervous glances from the head of their group as the opposing force merely stood silent for several moments until He-Tauhasa’s inevitable challenge boomed forth in a commanding tone; “Skara of the Valley, it is no small feat that you have managed to slither from the clutches of your King, and the final justice which now awaits you. Nor, sadly, does it come as any real surprise that with your poisonous, treasonous words you have been able to coerce those that have remained in your home into joining you in your misguided quest toward the forbidden city in the hills, where those worms of a vanquished foe reside. Know now however that the chase is won, and I have come to, and by the gods will, see justice done.”

“Justice..?” Skara called back scornfully, “What justice would you see done here, my King..?” He bravely spat the title at the other man, as if the word no longer held any value, and went on; “I have brought you tidings of the only true prophesy which comes from those that know. I have proven my belief in your arena, and would now lead those that I love to safety. I have reasoned, nay, pleaded with you and your council to see the truth, but you would still prefer only to listen to the words of madmen, ghosts who,” he scanned the rest of He-Tauhasa’s forces, not finding a single seer among their ranks, “who would not even join their people this day. If you still choose to believe in the fearful offerings of witchdoctors and would oppose us so close from completing our journey – then go ahead and kill us all. We’ll stand our ground, much as the alternative is death anyway.” The rest of the defenders found their courage then and cheered, raising aloft their axes and spears in solidarity as He-Tauhasa digested Skara’s reply.

Slowly, and even before the events in the sky had come to pass, He-Tauhasa had felt his power over the men and women of the South beginning to wane, and his grip over those assembled to weaken. There had been talk in darkened corners of his soft touch regarding those to the West, and even the occasional whiff of conspiracy borne on the winds and whispers of his court. He had resolved upon their departure to take a stronger stance, to stand by the aggressive precedents set by his forebears and in Skara’s case, make an example of all traitors and challengers to his authority wherever they might be found. In his own mind, he had never had a choice. “Absolute rule must be maintained by absolute means.” Raising a heavy, knotted staff he grasped in his right hand, he signalled his forces to advance on the defenders, only bellowing a loud and terrifying war cry as he spurred his awful beast into a slow trot.

Skara was stunned that it had actually come down to this, that his king would command the armies of the South to attack their own flesh and blood. A vivid shock ran down his spine, and he fearfully gripped his long spear tightly with both hands. Just as the remaining villagers too had readied themselves for what was about to come, and those women and children further up on the hillside stopped and turned to witness the violence that threatened to unfold, a loud and familiar voice rang out unexpectedly from He-Tauhasa’s own ranks, bidding the army to again halt its approach at the final moment. The voice belonged to He-Xur who, with two trunk-like arms outstretched ahead of him first turned to the army of Çatalhöyük and then to his leader, demanding; “Ihreikas, my king – you must stop this madness now..! These people that you would war with this day are our brothers from the Valley, do you not recognise them..? Has the hateful shroud of blind vengeance so clouded your mind that you would cast down your wrath upon those who call you their champion..? Many men amongst us have called them neighbours, friends and family for our entire lives. I will not fight them, not like this – we will not slay our brothers..!”

Murmurs of agreement swelled among those closest to He-Xur, and it became clear that while many of the King’s own men might have followed him blindly into the fray, the menfolk of the Valley, particularly those with their own loved ones, lovers and children so very nearly within their reach would not be so easily led to betrayal. Very quickly a division broke within the ranks separating those who sided without question with their ruler, and those unwilling to participate in an inevitable slaughter. He-Tauhasa’s eyes bulged as the breadth of He-Xur’s treachery hit home, and he turned to face his subordinate; “Such insolence I would expect from those lowest among us, such that I might find leniency knowing that it came from a place of ignorance, but from you, He-Xur – such defiance will not be tolerated. So be it..!” He rallied what was close to two-thirds of the number that had followed him east then, and He-Xur likewise and with only a slight gesture of his right hand brought his soldiers quickly in line to oppose him.

Skara could not believe what was happening. So suddenly had such overwhelming odds been dramatically lessened that he managed to afford himself a quiet sigh of relief, though the situation was still far from positive and odds nowhere near in their favour. He-Tauhasa slowly rode the length of his line, quietly delivering stern words of encouragement to his soldiers as he did so while He-Xur and those who remained loyal to the Valley stood stoic and silent, merely waiting for the signal to attack. There had not been any kind of real civil conflict among the people of the Southern Lands in many years, with most of those soldiers comprising the King’s army too young to have seen or even remembered the horrors of war. Nervous though they were, for the time being the penalty for desertion was repeated enough that they would rather fight than bring down the very real wrath of Ihreikas and his guards upon themselves. A few moments later, He-Tauhasa once more took his place at the fore, and with another short blast from his hunting horn and no further discussion, the battle was begun.

The fighting commenced ferociously as those closest to He-Tauhasa felt compelled, as much out of fear as anything, to prove their loyalty to their leader. The larger force ran recklessly across the hillside all but ignoring Skara and his villagers and crashed haphazardly into those of He-Xur, breaking apart and almost swallowing them up in a loud and frenzied skirmish. Against the cries of the women and children above but without hesitation, Skara beckoned Andar and the rest of his company to descend into the fray, and they too engaged in a wild offensive against the pursuing army, the sounds of shield, spear and axe being splintered, shattered and smashed ringing out loud and constant over the lowlands beyond.

From among the villagers, Sura could only stand helplessly and spectate, and hope that the gods would protect her husband. She brought their children close, shielding little Kirti’s eyes from the bloodshed below and prayed a solemn prayer; “Sky Father, Enlil, your head lifted high in princely worth and who loves righteousness and truth. Named with an august name, for whom Anu has determined a great destiny, and Ninlil..! The valiant Ninurta is your helper. In the E-kur, Nuska the august minister of Enlil, the assembly leader of all lands, is your foremost palace superintendent. Throughout your reign, may you carry your neck high – in princely manner may you lift your head high..! Protect him to whom my heart is promised, prolong the days of his life for Samsu-iluna.” She could now no longer bear to watch, and holding her son and daughter against her bosom turned and crouched away from the scene, hiding her tears lest Skara find distraction in her distress.

So many bodies fell in those first few seconds, succumbing to the sheer horrible might of He-Tauhasa’s forces as they hacked at, slashed and hurled their axes and spears into the unprotected heads and quivering bellies of their enemy. It was by all accounts a complete and utter massacre, and despite Skara’s aid it quickly became clear that without some sort of miracle, the defenders would soon be overcome to a man, leaving the women and children of the village defenceless and without hope for the coming days’ events. Skara looked out across the fray as he held back several of the King’s guards just in time to see both Gidri and Gizzal, brothers he had hunted with and known a lifetime, overrun by his soldiers, beaten down and hacked to bloody death without hesitation or remorse. Throwing his attackers back with a mighty heave of his powerful arms, he called out desperately to Andar and the rest of his hunters to rally and join him in one final push – one last retaliation for those that waited in fear above.

As the hunters of Nevalı Çori fought their way together once more, they soon realised that their time had come. Bodies continued to drop all around them, the forms of adult men that finally cried maternal as their lifeblood drained away from savage wounds while they lay broken and prone on the slope. Even He-Xur, who at the height of battle threw Skara violently aside in order to spare his friend the brunt of a wayward spear, caught the jagged point of the weapon dead center in his own chest and crashed to the earth, the vibrant life in his once fearless gaze extinguished as it searched the skies in sorrow for reprieve. For his part in everything that had brought them there, he had never truly lost touch with his own past, nor abandoned affection for those that made the village he so loved what it was. Skara prayed quickly under his breath for favour in the great judgement beyond, and swore to himself to fight until his dying breath. By both blood and honour, to avenge his friend and to defend his lands and people.

He and Andar spent the next several minutes fighting back to back, Skara parrying a hail of blows with both ends of his spear while Andar brought his own monstrous club raining down again and again onto the heads of his assailants, crushing their exposed skulls into jelly with mighty strikes and sending shards of bone, scalp and brain matter bursting out in all directions. Bloodlust quickly took hold of them both as the enemy continued to advance and they began to chance two, three and even four of their number at a time forward in an attempt to tire out the hunters in the hopes of eventually finding a gap in their defences and bringing the brothers to their knees.

Stones and arrows fell like hailstones around them, and before long Andar had caught a half-dozen shafts in his back and shoulders which slowed his attack and severely limited his movement. Skara too found himself racked with pain as a lone archer at higher ground took careful aim and loosed three bolts at once into his chest which, while narrowly missing his heart and lungs, caused him to double over in agony and forced him to struggle to defend himself as he was made to take a knee. Soon enough, the crimson clouds at the corners of his vision blended with hot blood that cascaded from an open wound in his forehead, and as his ability to make out the forms of those attacking gradually diminished he knelt still and simply closed his eyes, and waited for the final deciding blow that would send him into the world beyond.

Chaos whirled all around them like a maelstrom, and just as the rest of the hunters found themselves completely surrounded and hopelessly outnumbered on all sides, ready to face fate in a final offensive push, an unexpected and incredible boom accompanied by a fierce and persistent flash of white light suddenly erupted violently from between the warring parties and their kin. The sudden explosion stopped everyone dead in their tracks and caused He-Tauhasa’s great ox to buck the mountain of a man from astride its back before it carved a path through the ranks and fled from the battlefield to safety. A thick, grey cloud of smoke appeared to billow out from the very earth itself, choking everyone near enough to breathe it in and fearful and unsure what exactly was happening, both forces stood perfectly still and stared wide-eyed at the heart of the plume until the reason for its appearance could be distinguished.

It was as though time stood still then, and for all those locked in combat a strange catharsis appeared to washed over them like a mountain of cold blood. The lingering cries of the dead and dying seemed to fade into white noise as the fog of war was lifted, and the deep red-green hues of the fresh and shallow lake of blood upon which the opposing forces stood grew to taint earth and sky in a sickening tableaux of wanton death and human suffering. A moment of clarity was shared by all in those seconds, and even He-Tauhasa was compelled to re-evaluate in a flash every action that had brought him and his own to the abattoir of mortal carnage in which they now found themselves. “The Gods have surely left us,” his mind silently cried as he looked around, “for this day, we shame them all.”

Out of the thinning haze, Yamnaya then appeared with a darkness on his face that could have swallowed the Sun. Everyone but Skara immediately took several paces back in shock as the veritable giant of a man strode toward them without so much as pausing, and held aloft a thick leather belt to which more than a dozen glistening vials were strapped, not unlike those that Sura and Andar had used to persuade their kinsmen to join them in their exodus. He stopped several yards short of the closest among them, and without blinking removed and cast a second vial down at his feet which too erupted, birthing a wall of intense white fire several feet tall that coursed linear in either direction, quickly separating the Watcher from those in the fray. After allowing the barrier to burn for a few seconds, he raised a lithe right hand toward them, and spoke in a tone that caused the very earth beneath them to tremble:

“Children of the Valley – stop this madness at once..!” Yamnaya admonished the crowd with a low, booming roar. He-Tauhasa struggled to raise himself out of the mud, propping his torso up on both elbows and stared incredulously over his ample belly at the Watcher and while many in his army could only stand rooted to the spot, dozens more immediately dropped their weapons and ran blindly away from the imposing figure in a mad dash, abandoning their leader without so much as a word and sprinting desperately down the hill to safety. Although Skara could not make out the figure of Yamnaya through all the caked blood and matted hair that covered his bashed and swollen face, he recognised the voice of the one that had sent him on his quest and in spite of himself managed to smile and allow a short and delirious laughter to leave his lips. Andar held his club tight and merely stood warily gazing at the figure standing before him, and not a single soul dared make a sound as Yamnaya regained his composure, and prepared to deliver the remainder of his admonition.

A chill wind whipped suddenly down from the mountains, causing everyone to immediately shiver in spite of the season and although dusk was still many hours away, the shadows at the feet of all who stood before him suddenly were lost to a lightless moment. Yamnaya took several deliberate paces forward, and as the fierce wall of flames began to subside, he continued; “Long into the day have I toiled, for you all, in anticipation of the arrival of your kind. Without rest I have devoted the days and nights since last I spoke with the one whom I trusted to deliver our warning to readying the stronghold at Uru-Mah to withstand the coming curse from above, and now..” he paused, his chiseled features transforming into a mask of dark disdain, “now that all has been completed so that I might finally find a moment’s rest, I am assaulted in my peace by the clash of weapons and warfare on my very doorstep..!” He bellowed the final observation with such unbridled anger that those closest to him either jumped out of their skin or dropped whatever weapons they held and ran to find safety at the rear of the remaining brigade.

After again working to placate his rage, Yamnaya squinted out from beneath the thick hood he perpetually wore and scanned the crowd of cowering men in front of him, as if seeking out a familiar face. His gaze eventually landed on Skara, still crouching in the thick mud of the battlefield and a just for a moment, an almost perceptible flush of panic washed over him. Without speaking, Yamnaya strode through what was now little more than a shallow trench of embers where the earth itself had been scorched and walked over to Skara. As he neared the other man, those forces that still had him surrounded, and Andar too, quickly backed away to clear a space some several yards around them both.

He-Tauhasa could be heard raising his vast bulk back on its feet with an audible grunt from somewhere behind the lines as Yamnaya knelt down and cleared away the thick, bloody mess that covered Skara’s face. Immediately he could see that the valley man was in mortal danger; in addition to a heavy gash that ran across the length of his scalp and continued to bleed profusely, the tails of several arrows protruding from his chest rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic shudder with every desperate and agonising breath he took. Skara was dying, and Yamnaya knew that if there was any hope in saving the man that he had grown to know as a friend, he must act quickly.

Without wasting another breath addressing the crowd that were now looking around at one another with confused expressions as if to ask, “Well, what do we do now..?” Yamnaya scooped Skara up in his arms and quickly turned toward the rise, just as Sura and their two children broke away from the villagers and descended in a half-panic to join him. No sooner had the Watcher taken his first step toward them, however, all were halted by another voice that called out boldly from the throng. He-Tauhasa had watched cautiously up to this point, careful not misstep in deciding how to address Yamnaya but as he turned to leave with his quarry could no longer contain himself. “Wait, Watcher..!” the great man yelled as he pushed his ample girth through the crowd to approach Yamnaya who, sensing the situation that was about to unfold, lowered Skara gently to the ground once more just as Sura, Harna and Kirti arrived to administer as best they could to his wounds.

The Watcher turned slowly to face He-Tauhasa, who cleared the wall of opposing forces in a huff and continued, challenging the Watcher for possession of the fallen hunter. “This man you would so casually steal away from his fate, this man belongs to me. For his heresy, his treachery and crimes against his king, I have pursued him from the capital to the valley, and to these hills and for that, I claim him. I, and no other. You will leave him and return to your hovel in the mountain’s side, such as it is. I’ve no quarrel with you, whatever it is you claim you are – but I warn you,” he stepped toward Yamnaya, and perhaps not so much for lack of wisdom as an abundance misplaced anger made the mistake of thrusting a single fat finger in the Watcher’s face, “contest me if you dare. Know that with my first command, however, those men that still surround you will exact my will in earnest, and will have no need for a second. No amount of magic vials and parlour tricks will outweigh the authority of the line of Ihreikas. Not now, and not so long as there is breath in my body.” No sooner had the challenge been set than the skies seemed to darken still more, and Yamnaya rose to his full imposing height, suddenly seething with anger at the insolence of the gluttonous and poor-mannered man that would issue such a challenge.

No-one upon the hillside dared move as they awaited the response. Sura knelt and cradled her husband close like a crippled child, whispering loving sentiments as tears rolled softly down her porcelain cheeks. In spite of his wounds, Andar stood tall and ready to resume the fight as soon as He-Tauhasa’s order was given, and once more the grey fog of war descended upon the battlefield as the gravity of those next few moments finally dawned on them all.

Here is the Ninth Chapter from Alluvion:

09. Homeward Bound

Following Andar’s rousing speech, his kinsmen immediately returned to their homes and began gathering whatever supplies; food, tools and weapons, that might be needed for the journey north, with some also making special arrangements to hide and secure valuables that they were leaving behind on the off-chance they might yet return. Sura made sure to include Yamnaya’s pouch of elements among her own inventory, and advised Harna and Kirti that due to the need for haste they were each allowed to choose only three items of their own to take with them to safety. Both children scowled at the imposed limitation, however made sure to find and include those most recent items gifted to them by their father as well as heavy cloaks and practical footwear for the long journey ahead.

Sura had also packed her own cloak and shawl inside a large tanned leather bag, and just as she was about to set everything outside the front entrance in preparation for their departure in the morning she came across Skara’s hunting knife resting within a deep depression in the wall above the home’s main kiln, still bundled tightly in tattered cloth, that he had been forced to leave behind when he was taken away. She stopped still, dropping the bag at her feet and carefully removed the weapon from its sheath, standing for several moments to admire it in the entryway as her children continued to pack their things.

The weapon was a striking example of traditional valley craftsmanship and had been passed down to Skara by his own father on the dawn of his eighth birthday, so many years earlier. It was a magnificently adorned ivory blade measuring almost a foot in length and which bore a motif depicting the first conquest of the valley as it had been first tamed and then settled by their people centuries earlier. Into the handle was carved the barrel-like torso of a stoic valley huntsman whose powerful arms curved around it, ending in two long spears the heads of which were plunged deep into the chests and throats of wild-men from the hills. The find had caused Sura to choke up with emotion as she remembered her husband, and despite her deepest fears for his safety and the very real possibility that they might not ever be reunited she simply could not bear to leave it behind. She hurriedly tucked the blade deep into her bag and tied its drawstrings tight before setting it down amongst the rest of her family’s belongings by the entryway and settled in herself for a long and restless night.

Well before dawn the following morning, Andar again went house to house throughout the village and rallied everyone to gather once more in the central plaza where several wooden carts had been arranged to transport provisions and supplies. Everything that could not be slung across their shoulders or carried by hand was tied into heavy bundles and baskets and placed securely into the carts before a final head count was undertaken, and as soon as this was completed Andar once more ascended the central podium to deliver instructions to the villagers before they left Nevalı Çori. He thanked them all once again for believing in his brother and for trusting in Sura and himself to look out for their interests, and went on to outline the route that they would take through the highlands to Uru-Mah. He asked that everyone ensure they and their children were well fed, dressed and ready before the group would divide supplies and set out together, ideally within an hour of first light. Though their faces reflected obvious distress and concern for the most part, everyone listened intently as he delivered his speech and when he was finished, returned to their homes for one final inspection before starting out on the long march north.

There were still many miles yet to cover before Skara and his cousins would themselves reach the floor of the green valley and his home. Travelling with two young men and a child had meant that he was unable to set a pace that he might have liked, however he was thankful that the rest of their journey was mostly downhill, and that as far as he could tell any pursuers still tracking him from the capital were now either too far behind to engage them or had otherwise already been forced to return to their king empty handed. Alternating between carrying Yemah on his shoulders and walking hand in hand with the boy, Skara led the three of them the remaining ten to fifteen miles all in the light of day, stopping to eventually rest on the outer slopes preceding the valley only another few miles away from Skara’s home. The non-stop journey from first light coupled with the loss of their father had caused the three young boys to understandably become physically and emotionally drained, and Skara knew that a solid night’s rest before arriving home would do them all a world of good.

As he sat in the dying twilight and set about starting a fire, Asher approached him and asked, “Skara, what will become of my brothers and I when everything that you have foretold comes to pass..? I only ask because although Zemer and I are becoming strong hunters, without our father the three of us cannot provide for ourselves. Though he would argue otherwise, Yemah is still but a child and I do not yet possess the experience and wisdom with which to teach him fully in the ways and traditions of our people.” Asher looked down at his feet as he spoke, suddenly feeling ashamed both by his own shortcomings and for having felt the need to trouble his cousin with such matters so soon after being reunited once again. Skara on the other hand had himself been giving the matter much thought along the way, and replied:

“Asher, your father was a great man and a legendary hunter. He proved consistently throughout his life that the purest valley blood coursed through his veins, and it is by no quirk of fate that you and your brothers have grown to become the brave and capable young men that you are, in spite of what more you have still yet to learn. Because of this, there is no-one that can replace Omer in providing those same life lessons that he might have given you. However if it may be thought a worthy consolation, I would like to take the three of you into my home, and would teach you the ways of the world as I know them. It is no-one’s place to do such a thing but your blood kin, and I would never see the three of you left to fend for yourselves, particularly in light of your father’s actions.” He clasped Asher’s right shoulder tightly with his left hand as he spoke, and extended his right to the young man in a show of solidarity.

Asher only beamed a wide smile and took his cousin’s hand, and Zemer who too had been eavesdropping from the far end of their camp moved quickly across to join them, embracing Skara tightly about the waist. It was the first time in a long time that Skara had once again felt the closeness of family, and he sighed deeply as his thoughts turned to Sura and his own children, now so painfully close that he might have sworn he could hear their voices and laughter carried on the cool evening breeze. Yemah had by now already curled up beside the growing flames of the new fire, somehow now symbolic of the renewal of family ties, and the three of them decided to wait until morning to break the news of their arrangement to him.

The four awoke at first light the next day and, after a modest meal, extinguished what embers still burned in their campsite before setting off to cover the final few miles to the valley. It was mid-morning when they finally reached the outskirts of Nevalı Çori, and as the dark silhouettes of those familiar walls and buildings which made up his home grew on the horizon, Skara found himself becoming overwhelmed with emotion. He had only been gone a week, but for all that he had experienced since leaving, the betrayal, hardship and struggles that followed, it genuinely felt more like a lifetime. He spurred his cousins on, urging them to speed up as they neared the rustic wooden gate to the city, and was himself almost sprinting by the time they arrived at the walls of the village. “That’s strange,” he thought to himself as they eventually reached the entrance, “I can’t seem to hear the sounds and movement of women or children inside, even though the morning’s chores are always most rigorous.” The only noises that could be heard as the four approached were the chirping of birds heralding the new dawn, and the distant bubbling of the river on the other side of the settlement.

The four of them passed briskly through the western gate and strode uneasily along the town’s main avenue, making a beeline for the southern quarter and towards Skara’s home. Skara felt more than a little nervous as he led them between the rows of silent houses, as he was acutely aware that the loyalties of those hunters and villagers that had stayed behind might very well still lie with He-Tauhasa, however he was surprised to find that he could still hear no voices or detect any movement whatsoever from any of the homes and buildings that they passed. Uncomfortable thoughts began to play on his mind as they went along, passing upturned carts, discarded tools and equipment that should normally have been stored elsewhere. Within moments the four found themselves standing outside his house, and Skara was almost afraid to enter. Before he allowed further doubts could play on his mind, he took a deep breath and passed through the veiled entryway and called out to his family.

“Sura, Harna..” his address echoed weakly in the emptiness of the room, “Kirti, where are you..?” He searched both rooms thoroughly, finding no immediate sign of them and began to grow concerned when he noticed that their cloaks were not hanging idle as they typically did from several pegs hammered by the entrance. As Omer’s three sons entered the house he motioned for them to stay as still as possible and keep completely quiet. He had no way of knowing what events might have taken place there in the time that he had been away, and wanted to take no chances now that they were so close to being reunited once again. He moved gingerly across to the far side of the room and almost instinctively placed his right hand into a cavity above the kiln, thinking it wise to take his knife with him before leaving to search the rest of the village however to his surprise, his hand grasped only air. He looked down at his feet to see if the weapon might have been knocked to the floor but it was not there either, or anywhere. Neither were his family, their boots or any sign that they would soon return.

Frustrations building, Skara decided that it was time to leave the modest hut and go out into the village in search of answers. Before turning and ushering his cousins out of his home, he remembered the heavy leather pouch that Yanmaya had gifted him atop the plateau and walked quickly across to the far room he and Sura shared to retrieve it. He hastily threw aside several layers of skins and heaved at the heavy timber board that covered the secret well in his floor and was surprised to find the cavity now completely empty. While cloaks and daggers might have been seen and taken by just about anybody, no-one but Sura could have known to check under their floor, which made things all the more confusing.

Skara stormed out of the house, motioning for the other three to follow and made his way swiftly through the silent streets to the village square hoping to find someone else there that had stayed behind and who might be able to direct him to wherever it was his wife and children now were. When the four of them reached the central plaza, he was shocked at the scene of sheer carnage that awaited them. The square itself was uncharacteristically devoid of life, and pieces of kindling, splintered wood and debris lay strewn about the ground everywhere. A house on its northern edge lay all but in ruins, the near wall somehow so completely destroyed that he could see right inside and the roof and several larger wooden beams which now lay about the ground were blackened as if burnt and in places appeared to be still smouldering. They walked cautiously to its centre, stopping by a large wooden podium that had been erected and Zemer was the first to speak:

“What in the world has happened here Skara, where are the rest of the villagers..? Has there been a.. a raid..?” At the mere mention of an attack, Asher instinctively clasped his bow tightly and Yemah drew his own little knife from his belt, looking warily around as he did. Skara was quick to dispel suspicion, replying “Nay, I can see no signs of either struggle or wounding, and there are no marks where bodies might have been dragged away. Whatever happened here, it’s beyond my ability to guess. Perhaps it was just a fire, but I find it strange that neither Sura nor the children are not at home, and stranger still that we’ve not seen another single soul about anywhere since we arrived.” He looked around, and after becoming satisfied that there were no obvious signs of movement, the four of them walked street to street, calling out for someone, anyone to show themselves.

“Sura..! Harna, Kirti – Is anybody here..?” Their cries echoed eerily between the abandoned homes. “If there is someone out there, hiding, it’s only Skara and his cousins from the hills. Come out and greet us, friends – we mean you no harm.” They continued to call out for several minutes until they were hoarse with no response whatsoever. Skara knocked on several cornices and peered in through the windows as they passed, and Asher climbed right to the top of the western gate to scan the village from a better vantage point. He saw no sign of life save for Skara and his brothers, and rejoined them in the plaza after almost an hour’s search where they debated just what it was they would do next.

Skara grew fearful for his family despite little evidence that anyone in the village had come to harm, and his fear soon turned to desperation, then anger. He suggested that the three boys fan out and conduct a second and more thorough search of all the empty homes and buildings in the settlement while he marched down to the broad river which flowed below the eastern gate to look for further signs. Asher and Zemer unwisely argued with Skara’s direction, protesting that there was little to be gained from searching the buildings again and instead insisted they accompany him to search the shores of the river and the wider landscape beyond.

Skara, desperate to be reunited with his family, was not taking no for an answer and just as their debate was beginning to become heated, Yemah called out suddenly for them to be silent, directing them to quickly turn their attention to the distant end of the northern road from the plaza which ran wide and unobstructed all the way to the north gate. The three of them immediately ceased arguing, and turned to follow in the direction that he had indicated and as they did they noticed a very small, indistinct shape moving against the road, still far off in the distance but slowly making its way along the path back in the direction of the village. “Who could this be – have my people returned..?” Skara thought hopefully to himself. They all squinted their eyes to get a better look and found that it was but a solitary cloaked figure ambling along the road, both hands clutching the handles of a heavy woven basket filled with wild roots and forage.

Eventually, the slow moving figure passed beneath the gateway arch and Skara could see that the visitor was Tiama; an ageing widow from the western quarter who had set out alone before the break of dawn to search for her breakfast on the slopes of the valley. She was understandably stunned to see him of all people waiting to greet her, not immediately recognising the other three, and having been present at his disgrace several days earlier at once asked him what his business was. “Skara Tau, my word – what on Earth are you doing back here..? Why has He-Tauhasa sent you back to us, were you forgiven by his council..?”

She was shocked, confused and understandably a little suspicious to find him unbound and clearly looking worse for wear, and so he quickly replied reassuringly: “Greetings, Tiama. I have just returned this morning, and these here,” he gestured to the others, “are my three young cousins who I have met along the way. I have been sent back after finding He-Tauhasa’s good graces,” he lied, sharing a knowing glance with the boys to ensure they remained complicit, “and have come seeking my wife and children. Can you tell me where they have gone, and what in Anu’s name has happened in the plaza..? There’s ruin everywhere..!”

“Oh.. that,” she began, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated fashion, “never you mind that, that’s just Andar’s work. Your halfwit of a half-brother called a town meeting yesterday, going on all sorts about your Watchers and other such nonsense. He wanted to take everybody up into the hills for ‘safe keeping’ – can you believe it..?” Skara tried his best to look incredulous, and clicked his tongue in agreement. Andar had always been something of a troublemaker, so feigning surprise at his impulsiveness was no great stretch. She went on, “Of course you’ve been made to see sense, how you allowed yourself to become so deluded with such fantastic rubbish I can’t understand. Everybody knows there’s nothing of any consequence to be found up in those hills except for wild raiders and the thickest crop of thistles you’ll ever find growing north of the marsh. Did you know that one time, my sisters and I..”

Skara cut her off rather abruptly, as he sensed that she was about ready to launch into one of many endless stories about times gone by and the lands around the village which she’d known a lifetime, “What then caused a house to burn down in the plaza, and where has everybody gone..?” He asked, “Surely they’ve not actually left for the plateau..?” He had a hard time believing in light of his initial objections that Andar could have easily come around to his interpretation of events at the stone city, and a harder time still imagining that anyone else in the village would feel strongly enough about it follow him if he did decide to leave.

“Aye, into the hills.” She said, “Fools, the lot of them. At first they had the good sense to argue with the boy, he started on about your Watchers’ prophecy and they were simply having none of it. He was looking quite the fool up there on the podium with your wife, that is until he threw that trickster’s vial at a grinding stone, and all hell broke loose. The damnedest thing it was, set the cleaver’s hut aflame in a great flash which scared us all half to death. He’ll have plenty of work to do when he gets back, mind. Just trickery though, an old girl like me can see right through that sort of thing.” She tapped the side of her head knowingly before finishing, “His display was enough to convince just about everyone else to head north, which they did before first light this morning. Now it’s only me and my two sons here, and they’re out hunting.. someone has to maintain stores, you know. I expect the rest of them will be back within the week, red-faced and tails between their legs and then we’ll see who laughs last.” She coughed and cackled hoarsely, appearing to be quite proud of herself for not buying into Andar’s appeal and Skara found it hard not to consider by her disposition that she might have become just a little scatty in her later years.

From his own experiences in the capital, Skara immediately understood that the vial Tiama was referring to could only have come from the inventory provided to him by Yamnaya, and he cursed himself for not having thought to use them to his own advantage before he was taken away. He was surprised that such a wide scale of devastation could have been caused by what was really only a small and unassuming object, and quietly hoped that the need for Andar and the rest to again test their powers did not arise before he caught up to them.

Skara pressed the old woman once more for information, asking her “Exactly how long ago did they leave, and which road did they take from the village..? I must reach them before they ascend the foothills,” he again pretended that he had changed his mind about the Watchers in order to placate suspicion, and implied that he would “explain his error of judgement and return them home to safety as soon as possible.” Tiama turned then and with a single gnarled finger pointed northeast, indicating in the direction of a road that dissected the nearest range, recalling “They moved out through the wider pass not three hours ago, if you’re quick enough you’ll catch them. The hunters lead, but the majority of the group are women and children, such as what was left when the men-folk travelled west. You should have no trouble catching up if you can keep a steady pace.”

She looked over at the other three, continuing, “If that’s all you’ll need from me, I’d best be heading home – my own boys will be back soon and I’ll like to have a few things ready before they return. Good luck catching up to them, Skara. A wonderful family is yours,” she smiled warmly, “seeing you back together again would make an old woman very happy.” Skara gently clasped her hand and thanked Tiama before she wandered off vaguely toward the centre of town, leaving them alone once again to process the information she had provided.

The four elected to quickly polish off a small measure of food that they were able to scavenge from a number of empty huts in the village, scraps of dried meat and roots mostly, before bundling several axes, knives and spears together in lengths of cloth and deciding that they should waste no time in setting out and try to catch the villagers before they reached the foothills of the plateau. Skara was intent on showing up at the gates of Uru-Mah at the head of his people, and felt that missing such a moment for his days imprisoned would only make him feel inadequate and ashamed given his promise to Yamnaya.

They set a quick pace, Skara again carrying Yemah where the child could not keep up and after a couple of hours of navigating the rough and hilly terrain outside the pass, they finally came across fresh signs that the group had only recently moved across the ground where they walked. “Come on..!” Skara shouted back to his oldest cousins, who had begun to lag behind, “We’ve almost got them – by these tracks I’ll wager they must be only over the next rise..!” The three found new energy at the prospect of ending their pursuit, and rushed to the top of a hillock to get a better view of the path ahead, all the while calling out at the top of their voices.

Sure enough, as they ascended the crest of the hill and could finally see beyond they were just able to discern the long and staggered procession of their people as they passed out of the flats ahead and began snaking their way up toward higher ground. Unable to contain himself, Skara stood tall atop the summit and cupped both hands around his mouth, shouting out, “Sura, Harna, Kirti..! Wait for us..!” Though he couldn’t make them out against the crowd from so far away, he could somehow sense that his wife and two children were there among the throng and without signalling the others he immediately bounded down the hillside and broke into a mad dash to close the distance between them.

It took several seconds before their faint cries reached the other group, a number of whom stopped and looked around in confusion. Sura too heard the distant echo of her husband’s voice carried on the wind, and placing a hand on the nearest shoulder of each of her children shushed them both and called out ahead, beckoning the group to stop still and listen. Louder again Sura heard Skara’s cries as he barrelled across the flat, and as she turned and squinted into the distance could not help but squeal in excitement as she finally realised that the call was not coming from the fog of her own imagination, but that her husband was actually there, in the distance – in the flesh. He had come for them.

When they realised what was happening, Harna and Kirti both broke free from their mother’s grip and ran screaming with unbridled joy toward Skara who, when they finally met midway across the grassy plain, scooped them both up in his powerful arms and swung them around and around, smiling the broadest of smiles while they carried on and laughed in delight. Sura too ran forth to meet him as the rest of the villagers turned to witness the reunion, and when she had finally caught up she placed of both her delicate hands on either side of his face and stared through loving tears into his eyes as if she couldn’t believe that it was actually him. When reality sank in, she pulled his lips gently down toward hers and proceeded to give her husband the deepest and most passionate kiss she had ever gifted him. As the two lovers embraced, the watching villagers cheered and whistled with delight. It had been the longest and most difficult week of her life, but in her heart of hearts Sura felt as though the gods had finally seen fit to reward her for all the hardship and worry that she had been forced to endure since he was first taken from her.

Skara took a knee and embraced his family tightly, his wife and children and, when they had finally caught up with them, his young cousins too and together they walked arm-in-arm and shoulder to shoulder back to join the rest of the group, still cheering wildly as they ascended the rise. “My husband, my heart,” Sura whispered to him, “I knew you would return. Even when all hope seemed lost.. I just knew.” She kissed him on the cheek, and he replied, “My wife, my heart.. neither man nor beast could ever keep me from your sweet and gentle music. I promise – by all the gods – never again will we be parted.” Little Kirti giggled and sang for the first time in days as they walked, and Harna only moved quietly, staring up at his father whose clothing was visibly tattered and torn and his body marked and scarred, and wondered just what had transpired in those days since he had been taken.

Andar in particular found it difficult to believe that his half-brother had managed either to escape from or talk his way out of the King’s disfavour, and merely gazed without comprehension at them all for several moments. As they drew nearer, he moved through the crowd and stood before Skara who stopped a foot in front of him and stared expressionlessly back, as if trying to read the other man’s mind. After several seconds, Skara offered him his right hand and Andar took it firmly in kind, staring likewise into his eyes before remarking drily, “It’s just like you to take the scenic route, brother,” to which Skara replied, “Aye, and scenic the West is indeed. If I didn’t think an idiot like you would be lost without my guidance, I might not have bothered back at all.” Andar frowned, holding fast for a moment before his expression finally cracked and he roared with laughter, embracing Skara tightly with a firm pat on the back. “It’s good to have you back with us, a pest as you are. Come, let’s finish this madness of yours together..!”

The family rejoined the smiling group who talked enthusiastically amongst themselves, and several of the other men still present called out to Skara asking that he speak of what had taken place at the capital, what he would recommend they do now and the whys, hows and wherefores of the events that they were gambling their freedoms on. Sensing that his kinsmen were thirsty for an explanation, particularly given their recent resolution to leave the relative safety of Nevalı Çori for the plateau and the unknown, he whispered reassuringly to his family to remain among them and made his way to further up the incline, turning to address the villagers as one. When all were finally silent, he began:

“My brothers and sisters, you have no idea just what a profound relief it is to return and find you all alive and well, and just as importantly, on your way north. Many of you were not so sold to what I had been told of our future when I saw you last, but I see now that most have changed their mind in the days that have followed. I assure you, those words I have spoken when last we met remain true, and the only chance we have of surviving the wrath of the great dragon is through passage to the plateau, where we will find sanctuary at Uru-Mah, the last home of the Watchers in our lands.”

“I realise that for many of you, with your fathers, sons and lovers still in the capital under direction of our mistaken king, such survival in light of what might become of them can only be a bittersweet notion at this juncture. However as I look upon your faces and I here see my kin, the bravest and most noble men, women and children of the valley, I could not live with myself knowing that the greatest number that might be spared of this disaster had not been saved. I have tried as best I could to plead my case for the Watchers whilst under guard at Çatalhöyük, but cooler heads and wiser minds sadly did not prevail. In spite of my greatest reasoning, I was only by the grace of the gods able to flee with my life for the words I had spoken deemed heresy, and to damn near the end of my remaining breath finally find you all when I did.”

Skara spent the next several minutes recounting the incredible events that had befallen him over the last week to the remaining members of his village. The women and children gasped as he recalled with animation the beast that was called Murmesh, cheered as he described his flight from the King’s arrows and sat wide-eyed and somber as he spoke of his uncle’s fate at the hands of the red soldier. Never in their lives had they heard such a tale of valour and peril, or of monstrous beasts from ages passed that might still dwell in the farthest outer reaches of a world they thought they knew. On any other occasion many might have scoffed at such a notion that a creature like Murmesh could have endured into their time, let alone somehow and in secret become their king’s plaything, but after the events of the past several days and given Skara’s earnest in his retelling (not to mention the scars and bruises he carried as proof), the villagers merely sat silent for the most part allowing him to finish.

“And so, we must press on,” he finally concluded, “for if what the council of Watchers has described is accurate, we have only mere days if not hours before the great dragon descends, and all hope is lost.” Many of the women and children of the village choked back tears at the thought of what was to come, mourning already the husbands and fathers who would be trapped in the capital or the borderlands to the west, apparently so far from safety. All however knew the price that might be paid for lingering too long in the foothills, and so after pausing to regroup and give thanks to Skara, the people of Nevalı Çori returned to the way north, and the final leg of the journey to their new home.

Here is the Eighth Chapter from Alluvion:

08. The Red Soldier

Omer’s sons had seen Skara pick up their father’s weapons and advance toward the red soldier, and so they dropped their own bows and ceased firing at the man for fear of accidentally hitting their cousin by mistake. The young brothers could only stand powerless and watch from the forest floor as the two moved threateningly towards each other atop the ridge, preparing for what would no doubt be the most ferocious battle that either fighter had experienced. To his brothers’ surprise, it was little Yemah that was the first of the spectators to call up to his cousin and offer encouragement. He had simply dropped to his knees and begun to cry when he witnessed his father fall at the hands of the man in red, however he was now cursing wildly with every profanity he could remember and screaming at Skara to “Kill that mongrel, slay the red dog who killed our Pa..!” and, “Put him in the ground, dear cousin – cut this coward’s head off..!”

His two brothers were themselves still stunned by what had just happened, but quickly they too joined in on the cheers and threats that their younger sibling was sending up to the two warriors, calling for the soldier’s head and begging Skara to throw it down to them when he was slain. The champion quickly and carefully moved back several yards to allow Skara to clear Omer’s body, and the two sized each other up for a good ten seconds before Skara screamed a loud war cry and rushed towards his opponent, first crossing his spears and charging forward with all his weight behind them in an attempt to mow the other man down. Their weapons clashed, Skara catching the champion’s pike in his crossed spears and the two of them blocked and parried each other’s left and right strikes for a good minute as Skara’s surge of adrenaline allowed him to push the other man back another several yards where the two found a slightly wider section of the ridge on which to do battle.

The soldier’s strength was unbelievable, and although Skara had managed to gain some ground he quickly found that he was making little progress in tiring the other man out as he rained blows down upon him left and right. The champion soon picked-up on Skara’s rhythm and blocked a few more strikes before finally finding an opening in his defences and, swiftly raising the rear end of his pike, struck Skara on the left side of his face jarring several teeth and causing his mouth to quickly fill with the metallic taste of his own blood. This did not slow Skara down however, and soon enough he managed himself to land a solid blow squarely on the other man’s chest which caused him to lose his breath momentarily, allowing Skara to run the blade of his other spear across the red soldier’s leg tearing right through his tunic and into the flexed muscle behind it.

The sensation of pain and the sight of his own blood incensed the champion, further compounding his rage and it was now his turn to charge. Changing his own attack, he swung his pike fiercely across Skara’s forearms knocking the spear right out from his left hand and slicing a sizeable chunk of flesh off from it in the process. The dislodged spear flew out over the ridge, and he could only glance after it as the weapon dropped down to where his young cousins stood so many yards below. They gasped aloud, and Skara realised then that wielding only one thin spear against the sturdy pike the champion brandished would be of little help.

His mind raced for a play that might again give him an advantage, and he decided to momentarily abandon the offensive and allow his opponent to hammer-down several blows unopposed. If he was quick enough to dodge the sharp edge of his pike as it swung down toward him, he might just be able to strike in the time that it would take him to again raise the heavy weapon. He was conscious of the fact that the champion only had one hand with which to swing, as his shield-arm was still weighed down and hoped that the gods would provide him the speed he needed. As the champion delivered a wide arc, attempting to strike Skara on the right shoulder, he pivoted back and quickly thrust his spear forward running the edge of the weapon straight down his attacker’s left wrist and severing both of the heavy leather straps that held his shield as well as several critical veins in his forearm as it went.

The soldier roared in agony as his shield disappeared over the edge of the rise, landing only a few short feet away from where Skara’s spear had fallen and he immediately brought his gaping wrist in to his torso, holding it tight against his body in an attempt to slow the flow of blood. Already the warrior was beginning to turn white, and he knew in the back of his mind that the massive gash that Skara had dealt him would in time undoubtedly prove fatal. He staggered back several yards and realised then that he only had one choice if he was to triumph over the valley man. He drew back his right shoulder and lined Skara up for one final, fatal charge. If he could not best the other man in honourable combat, he could at least end both their lives by impaling him in a full-frontal rush, or otherwise drag Skara over the side of the ledge with him to both their certain deaths below.

He was breathing heavily now and Skara’s mind raced as he looked warily at his opponent, trying to somehow anticipate what his next move might be. The red soldier warmed up with a long groan which grew quickly into a frenzied scream, and without hesitating he charged at Skara throwing his full body weight behind his pike which he now held levelled at his chest. His powerful legs carried him quickly, allowing him to close the distance between them in moments and all of a sudden it dawned on Skara just what it was he was trying to achieve.

Though the section of the ridge on which they both stood might have been a few feet wider than where they started, there was still scarce little room and nowhere left to hide as the other man barrelled forward. All that the champion needed to do was to throw him momentarily off-balance and secure a good grip on Skara as he toppled from the rise. There was no room to sidestep the attack, and Skara knew that his only hope in that moment would be to hurl his weapon at the soldier from where he stood. There could be no room for error and no second chances. His aim must be true, or else he and his cousins were all surely doomed.

Skara raised the remaining spear in his right hand, lined up his adversary and with a deep breath drew his shoulder sharply back to strike. Time seemed to have slowed down completely in that moment, as though everything around him was happening in slow-motion and the cries of a thousand negative voices burned his mind like acid rain, eating away at his confidence. Just as he was finally about to loose his weapon, the champion only a few yards away, the red soldier was all of a sudden stopped dead in his tracks, freezing mid stride and just posing stoically with his weapon held aloft like a huge stone statue.

Somehow, incredibly, his opponent’s rush had come to a grinding halt at the edge of the ridge before he dropped his weapon to the dirt and suddenly took a knee. It was several moments before Skara realised that what were the tail ends of two small arrows had suddenly appeared protruding from out of the left side of his enemy’s face, the points of which were now lodged firmly in his left cheek and temple. Dark blood fountained quietly away in a thin stream from the side of his head as the soldier’s heart pumped its last throes into the open air of the valley, and with a low groan the champion dropped onto his side before his body rolled over the edge of the ravine and crashed loudly down into the forest below.

For several long seconds Skara simply stood right where he was, his spear still raised high and his mouth agape in an expression of pure astonishment. He was shaking hard as adrenaline surged through his body and the very real promise of expected death still clouded his vision. He felt as though he could vomit, but instead turned over the edge of the ridge and looked down for a sign of where the two arrows had come from. Peering back up at him from below, Asher and Zemer now stood tall, their hunting bows still at arm’s length and with expressions of satisfaction on their faces from having watched the body of their father’s killer plummet to the ground in front of them. Sensing that their cousin was in mortal danger, they had dismissed all risk in firing at the charging soldier, tracking ahead of him as he ran just as Omer had taught them to do when hunting deer in the highlands around their home. Skara moaned loudly when he realised that it was finally over, relief washing over him like a tidal wave and called out to them to stay right where they were.

He staggered back across the length of the ridge and slowly but carefully worked his way down the rocky cliff once more, mindful not to apply too much pressure on his right hand which was still bleeding profusely from where the soldier’s pike had sliced into him. After several nervous minutes watching on, Omer’s three sons rushed across to greet him at the bottom and the four of them embraced, breathing heavy sighs of relief and praising the gods for watching over Skara and for guiding their arrows.

Once they had come to terms with the fact that the battle was over, the realisation quickly set in that high above them the body of their uncle and father lay dead, his flame extinguished by the King’s right hand and their thoughts and words turned suddenly to mourning. So quickly had their bravado turned to despair knowing that an honourable fighter, peerless hunter and a cherished member of their own family had been taken from them. Skara cursed the King’s champion, the King and the entire bloodline of the ruling family as he pounded the bare rock of the cliff uncontrollably with both fists in grief and anger. After a time he turned to Asher, instructing him to make arrangements to cover Omer’s body lest the creatures of the forest disturb it.

Together with his brother Zemer, Asher climbed once more atop the ridge and piled loose stones carefully over and around the body of the man that had raised them since birth. A role model that had taught them to hunt, to fight and through his careful and diligent guidance had made them into men. The eldest two brothers fought back tears as they shared in a silent prayer for his spirit, Skara trying his best to make them understand that the manner of his death was most honourable and would find favour amongst the gods, and that he had reserved for him a place at the right hand of Anu in the world beyond.

In contrast, the body of the champion was left to rot as it lay. Skara removed his head from his shoulders with Yemah’s blade and placed it crudely between his hands to mark his dishonour in slaying Omer and in so doing also marr his relationship with the pantheon in the afterlife. The four stayed in that place for a long time, reflecting soberly on the battle and events that had brought them there before finally moving on, deciding that no good would come from simply lingering in their grief. Yemah wept openly long into the afternoon, stopping only to sleep as Skara held him close and carried him over one shoulder for the remainder of the day’s travel.

Back in Nevalı Çori, Andar had taken upon himself to speak with the remaining hunters in the village individually, asking that they join him that day for an urgent meeting in the town plaza concerning matters of Skara and the King’s decree. He had also run from house-to-house and, without going into any great detail, asked every man, woman and child that remained to gather their friends and families and meet with him on urgent business, requesting that they attend at mid-afternoon without exception. Several hours earlier, he again met with Sura and the two of them sat and discussed at length what they would say to the people of the village about their plan, and how they might most tactfully go about saying it. Andar started, asking Sura if there might have been anyone else among them that had shown signs of sympathy in the days following Skara’s imprisonment, that they might ask their assistance in persuading the others.

She responded rather defeatedly, “Few have had the courage to even speak to me since he was taken away, and fewer still if any have offered any real support for his words and actions. I do suspect however that if more among those left behind were to have opposed He-Tauhasa and his campaign, we might have faced greater difficulty in getting on with our lives without a great many of his soldiers left stationed here to keep the peace. I think that if there were any among them that truly supported Skara, they would have already made themselves somehow known, though I also hold confidence in the fact that the prospect of war appeals to very few, particularly the wives and mothers. Just take a look at the fear and worry in the faces of the children Andar, and consider the additional burden that you and the other remaining men have had to shoulder in the days since the others have left.” Andar nodded. He had no choice to agree with everything she had said, as no-one was particularly thrilled to have been left behind and everyone that had had been forced to work twice as hard in order to keep everything running smoothly.

They decided to address the villagers together and in the hours preceding the meeting prepared themselves and readied the plaza, relocating a large wooden podium to the centre of the town square from which they might address the villagers when the time came. At mid-afternoon, they returned together with Harna and Kirti to the centre of the village and waited for their people to arrive. At first it appeared that no-one would show, and Sura began to feel anxious but as the minutes wore on they began to appear, at first only in dribs and drabs and eventually by the dozen until all who had remained behind were ready, present and accounted for. Andar first waited for the large group to settle as they talked among themselves for several minutes before he raised his hands and beckoned them to fall silent. His eyes scanned across the throng, and after he was satisfied that everyone had shown up and were now ready to listen, he began speaking:

“Friends and family,” he began nervously, “you may be wondering why I’ve asked you all here today, and why I have made you step away from the valuable work that you’re all doing. I’ll begin by saying that were it not concerning a matter of great importance, I would not waste your time in such a stressful state as our village has been of late. I know that there is much that needs to be taken care of with our brothers away at the capital, and I appreciate you lending me your time this afternoon so that I might speak with you.” At a momentary pause in his delivery, one of the older mothers from the rear of the crowd not known for her patience called out loudly, “Come on young Andar, get on with it already..! We can’t all of us waste an entire afternoon standing here and listening to you drone on – out with it..!” Several others among the crowd spoke up in agreement, and several more laughed as Andar squirmed at the podium. Still slightly embarrassed, he continued nonetheless:

“Alright then, well.. to get to the point, I’ve asked you here today to talk more of our king’s decree, and hope that I might sway you to consider that perhaps this war is not in fact the best course of action delivered from the soundest of minds. I would like to to discuss the words of my brother that have brought He-Xur’s wrath down upon his shoulders and I wanted to stand here before you and make it known that I too now believe those words to hold value, and that I have lost confidence in the decree of the Seers as told to us by He-Xur.” Several of the women gasped, and others murmured while the other hunters that remained only watched on with arms crossed, as yet not quite convinced at how to react. Andar went on, knowing full well that any crowd’s attention was fragile and that he was taking a very big gamble in choosing to believe that the rest of the village felt as he did towards the war, let alone the King’s decree:

“This past week you have seen friends and family, brothers and husbands – good, honourable men stolen away from you to fight in a war that we feel,” he gestured to Sura who stood behind him and to his right, “should never have been declared in the first place. Not only this, but I have personally never in all my years known my brother to tell a lie, not even to save face.” He looked around at the crowd, and began pointing at several of the more vocal men in the audience he knew to have shared a friendship with Skara, “Have you, you or any of you ever known Skara to be taken by the fancies of fairytales and folk-stories. Have any of you ever succeeded in making a fool of my brother, or in any moment found to be of slow wit..? I know I have not, and neither, I suspect, has anyone else among us. The more time that I spend thinking about this war and the more I reflect on the words of my brother, the more my heart sinks as I feel as though we’ve gone into this mess the complete wrong way around. I had followed Skara to the plateau, and while I myself did not meet the men that he met, I have seen the tops of the towers at Uru-Mah and I now believe his words to be true. They must be.”

The crowd by this stage was now very much alive, with several groups talking amongst themselves, some frowning heavily and muttering under their breath and others looking skyward as if for some kind of guidance to help them get their head around what was being said. Before anyone else could speak, a stocky butcher named Taran Ruhl who felt as though he had been grossly inconvenienced by having to attend the event pushed his way through the crowd and addressed Andar directly: “It’s all well and good you can’t accept that your brother might have been mistaken, this sort of family loyalty is of course to be expected. But how do we,” he waved his right thumb back at the crowd behind him, “how do we know that he met with who he says he did. What proof do we have that those phantoms you say spoke with Skara were even Watchers at all..? We all love you and your family, Andar, and we’re thankful for Skara’s direction these past weeks but we risk everything in questioning anything from the capital, and you know this. We just can’t do it on a fool’s whim.”

At this, almost everyone present nodded their heads at each other and muttered in agreement, some staring at the ground as the gravity of the situation Andar had placed himself in dawned on them. He was a little flustered himself now, and if he was honest somewhat unsure as to how he might actually go about convincing them and even himself that what he had seen at the plateau was in fact the city of the Watchers. He turned to look back at Sura, however quickly discovered that she had left his side at the height of the commotion and was now nowhere to be seen. He looked right and left and out across the crowd, realising that she had completely disappeared.

“By the gods,” he thought to himself, “it’s just my lot as always for a good woman to leave right when I need her most.” He turned back to the gathering, who were now asking him all sorts of questions about exactly what sort of proof he had and why he himself would believe such nonsense. Several of the other hunters had begun to turn and talk only among themselves, and by their expressions alone Andar quickly realised that they were weighing up their loyalty to Ihreikas and more than likely discussing whether moving against him might be their safest option (or perhaps one that might yield reward from the capital).

Just as the crowd began to work themselves up to some sort of conclusion, a familiar voice returned and called out from behind Andar, pleading with those gathered to stop talking once more and listen. Andar turned to see Sura again ascending the wooden stairs to the platform, and as she did he noticed that she now walked with a curious leather sack slung across her shoulders which she carried close and with extreme care as if a child or something equally fragile were resting inside of it. In cleaning their modest home the day before, Sura had stumbled across the pouch full of compounds given to Skara by Yamnaya, and had realised straight away that it must have been gifted to him at some point on his journey to the plateau. The rest of the crowd too noticed the strange bag, and all fell silent as she reached the podium and beckoned Andar to let her move forward and speak.

“My friends, I would ask that you show patience to us as we plead my husband’s case. Neither was I with Skara when he met with the Watchers in the north, but I have come to believe his words as true and fear that his prophecy too will come to pass in only a few short days.” She removed the leather pouch and held it aloft, “The elements inside this bag were given to him at their meeting, and though he has not spoken of their purpose I would now hope to find among them something that might convince you that his story is the truth, and that those were indeed the children of the Ancients that came to him on his journey.” She then opened the pouch and fumbled through its contents, hoping to quickly find some kind of conclusive proof of the sorcery of the Watchers. Several containers with lockable lids did not appear to contain anything of remarkable interest, however she did remove one vessel which appeared to contain a pale, thick paste which she opened, sniffed momentarily and handed to the crowd to sate their curiosity.

The group passed this and several of the other jars around, cautiously poking at and discussing the contents and commenting on the strange nature of the weird and colourful ingredients contained therein. One such jar reached the same older woman who had earlier pushed Andar to hurry in his delivery, and she remarked loudly with a scoff, “Powders and ointments – the same as any shaman in the wilds might try to barter with. How is this evidence of anything more than a gullible mind and fool’s medicine from the hills..?” Several women around her also spoke up to agree, each and every one of them suddenly having a story of their own to share and Andar noticed the same few huntsmen that he had seen conspiring earlier again eyeing him off and subtly gesturing to the knives and weapons strapped to their belts. Sura desperately rummaged once more through the pouch, hoping to find something else that would prove without a doubt that Skara had been telling the truth. Before she could however, one of the hunters moved forward and spoke:

“We’ve heard enough of this foolishness..! We’ve all come here today as you’ve asked and you’ve delivered to us nothing that would sway us in our opinion of a man who, I must point out, has already had his sentence passed. What are we doing here..?” he raised his hands and turned around to address the crowd, “Do you in fact have anything new to show us, or should we return to our work..? Many of us still have much to do before sundown, and scarcely enough hands to get it done.” Most of the crowd agreed, and as several of the group began to dissipate from the rear of the crowd to return to their homes and those same hunters moved closer toward Andar with a new fire in their eyes, he knew that he needed to do something drastic to avoid finding himself on the receiving end of the same fate as his half-brother.

While Sura was still rummaging through the contents of the sack, Andar rudely tore it from her grip and reached in to take one of several closed vials that he had been eyeing off earlier from his position beside her. He took the brightest compound he could see; a sphere containing a tightly compressed and vivid red powder and thrust the bag roughly back at her as she quietly protested. Just as three of the more animated hunters approached the podium, he grasped the vial tightly in one hand and threw back his massive shoulders, lining up his aim with a heavy grinding stone that rested vertically against a dwelling on the far northern edge of the plaza.

He hurled the vial quickly and with all his might at the stone, hoping somehow and with really very little to go on that in breaking it, something impressive might happen. He didn’t know exactly what it was that he was expecting, praying at the very least that some visible evidence of the alchemy contained within it might burst forth and prove without a doubt that what what they were saying held water. What he hadn’t expected however was what actually happened when the tightly packed glass sphere did shatter against the stone, and its contents suddenly mixed with the cold open air around it. In the split second that it took to cover the distance across the plaza, the vial exploded with a deafening bang and everyone gathered immediately fell to the ground as a monstrous ball of searing white fire erupted suddenly out in all directions, sending with it a shock-wave that broke apart several wooden carts and tables and blew the nearest wall of the house the stone had rested on into kindling.

A thick cloud of black smoke filled the air and small pieces of the destroyed wall rained down all around them like matchsticks as the roof of the house caught fire and collapsed into itself. The loud boom had momentarily deafened most of the crowd including Sura, who was now on her knees holding both hands over her ears and almost every child present was either crying or screaming as their mothers slowly clambered to their feet. Andar groaned loudly as he raised himself up and shook his head from side to side. If he could have predicted what kind of reaction the small vial was going to produce, he might have tossed it further away from where he was standing and it took the better part of a minute or two before the ringing in his ears subsided and he again could look out across the crowd, a number of whom had rushed to throw water on the roof of the damaged building that was now burning heavily. As he did look out over them, he quickly noticed the expressions of shock and understanding that had replaced the looks of skepticism and derision in their faces moments earlier, and could not help but break into raucous laughter in spite of himself.

Andar moved once more to the podium as the crowd collected their senses and without wasting any time, bellowed, “My friends, do you believe us now..?” He held his arms wide and raised both his eyebrows in sheer delight, laughing again as the crowd looked first around them at the scale of carnage that such a small vial had caused and then fearfully to Andar, Sura and the pouch which now lay on the floor beside the podium and that as far as they knew, contained more of the same. The hunters that had earlier regarded Andar with suspicion quickly did a one-eighty, now deciding that their scepticism had been misplaced and it was Taran who was the first among the crowd to respond, declaring, “Aye, there’ll be no questioning that now.” He pointed toward the debris with one hand and with the other stuck a thick index-finger into his left ear, wiggling it about to try and restore his hearing. “You two have made your point. Now give us just a minute to settle this lot down before hearing more of what you have to say.”

Ander smiled and went to help Sura to her feet, apologising as he did and assuring her that he had no idea exactly what was going to happen but that he “had to try something.” She awkwardly rose, dusting pieces of timber from her shoulders and garment and bent down to pick up the leather bag that she had dropped in her confusion. She then stopped for a second, lost in thought and looked up at him, replying in no uncertain terms, “Andar, I never, ever want to see you acting again without thinking and if you cannot help yourself, as I know you often can’t – at least give me some warning first.” Her hearing was beginning to return now, and she coughed thickly before asking him, “It looks like we have won them over, for the time being anyway. What now..?” He replied, “Well, all we need to do is convince them to follow us north to the plateau. They at least now know that the Watcher’s safehold exists, all we need to do is make them understand that we risk nothing in making the journey.” Sura nodded and agreed and the two of them turned again to address the crowd, asking first if there was anyone among them who might have been hurt by their demonstration.

When all were accounted for and those that left had rushed back to join them, Taran again motioned to speak, asking of them, “So you’ve proven that Skara met with more than mere wild-men on his journey north, and in doing so I and the rest of us might then be led to believe that his warning should be taken seriously. But the question remains that if we were to follow his instructions and seek shelter at the plateau, what guarantee do we have that if he is in fact mistaken, He-Xur will not simply return with the King’s soldiers and make an example of us for our disobedience..? Can either of you guarantee that we’re not better off just waiting here for the rest of them to return before taking any drastic steps..?” Several among the crowd agreed, however now much more politely stood and waited for an answer from the two at the podium.

“You were all present when Skara spoke of what he had been told would come, and you all know how soon it was that he warned us to expect it.” Sura replied, “If his reckoning is true, we only have a few short days to find safety with the Watchers which means we must leave no later then first light tomorrow if we are to make it to Uru-Mah. Ihreikas and his campaign against the west would surely take weeks and maybe even months to unfold and while we simply don’t have the time to spare waiting here before this catastrophe arrives, neither do we have to fear that any such force might arrive from the capital in the time it would take us to reach safety and, if disaster does not come to pass, return home before anyone would ever know. I promise you, we have nothing to chance in going, and perhaps everything to lose if we delay.”

The crowd murmured among themselves for a time, however Sura’s plan just could not be faulted. Their situation was very clear, and whether or not they subscribed entirely to what had been proposed, everyone present knew what time remained should the worst come to pass. Although the whys, hows and wherefores still needed to be settled, Andar sensed that those that had remained were now behind them and called out loudly from the podium, “Who among you will join us on our pilgrimage north. Will you come with us to the stone city and seek safety from the dragon of the skies..?” As one and with varying levels of confidence, the people the villagers shouted “Aye..!” finally ready to accept Skara’s rendition of events. “Then let us make haste and move at first light tomorrow, the earlier the better.”

The villagers discussed what preparations would need to be made ahead of their journey to the plateau, and elected to begin gathering food and supplies that afternoon for what would undoubtedly be a long and difficult road ahead.

Here is Another Instalment from Alluvion:

07. A Long Road Ahead

The mood among those left behind at Nevalı Çori following the march of their brethren to the capital had been one of a deep and uncomfortable nervousness and worry. Although Andar had stayed behind with several of the other hunters, their constant and almost daily need to leave the village in search of fresh food in the absence of the rest of their people had left Sura and her two children feeling, at times, extremely scared and vulnerable. The women and children of the village had no way of knowing exactly how long their husbands and fathers would be gone for, nor could they know if it was even likely that they would survive serving in their king’s campaign against the west. For many of the women, it was almost as if they had already been widowed, with no guarantee that they would ever again have their loved ones return to restore the balance in their lives and for Sura, the reality of her husband’s imprisonment caused this feeling to become even more intense.

In spite of this, she had gone to incredible lengths to keep Harna and especially little Kirti’s spirits high, and while he was not away on the hunt Andar too had devoted a great deal of time and face to making sure that they were both kept distracted, happy and healthy. In truth, Andar had always somewhat envied his half-brother’s lot in life, he himself never yet having married or fathered children and he had embraced the opportunity to get closer to his niece and nephew, basking in the love and attention that they had always lavished on their uncle. It had been nearly a week since Skara had been cast in bonds and taken from them, and no messengers had yet been sent for nor arrived from Çatalhöyük to bring them any news of his situation. They could only hope and pray to the Gods that he had somehow found mercy in the court of He-Tauhasa.

On the morning of the sixth day, Andar returned from the hunt to find Sura weeping openly in the house that she shared with his brother, and had tried his hardest to comfort her. Both of her children had left to play by the river, leaving her to finally feel free to let her own guard down and once she had regained her composure, he asked her why she wept so. Fighting back tears, Sura responded with a question, “Andar, you are my husband’s brother. I know of the heresies that He-Xur has accused him, and I fear and understand that everything that he has said and claimed to have seen will not find favour among the Seers..” Again, she wept and again Andar consoled her, cooing and gently trying his best to calm her down.

She went on, “I can’t claim to know whether those warnings that he has given us carry any truth, but if my love does not return to us can we really let him go to his death in vain..? How can we just stay here and allow everything that he might give his life for to be made meaningless..?” As the words crossed her lips and the harsh reality that the love of her life might already be dead sank in, Sura finally completely broke down, sobbing openly and uncontrollably. Andar too had begun to feel a deep sorrow at this thought, however his own misery quickly turned to anger and he cursed Ihreikas and the Seers out loud and with every vile term that he could remember. “No-one should have such power as to strip a man of his life and livelihood over such trivial things.” he said angrily, “Where is the honour in such an act..? To hell with Ihreikas!” He burned, and she wept.

The two sat quietly within her home for a long while, and Andar decided to entertain the possibility that those things that his brother had believed and which had led to their situation might have some value. His thoughts turned to the Seers, and he considered much to his initial disgust that what the Watchers had told to Skara might in fact, somehow, have come from a place of wisdoms beyond his own ability to comprehend. After all, he had trusted in those stories their father had told them when they were younger, of the knowledge of the Ancients and of their almost godlike understanding of the ways of the world.

“Sura,” he asked her, “have you ever known your husband to be a man easily taken by the deceptions of others..? Can you recall a time that Skara might have ever been led from reason by those seeking to make a fool of him..?” Sura looked up at Andar, sniffed and wiped her eyes, now able to speak again, “I have always found him to be wary,” she replied, “even more so than most and sometimes even to the point where it has driven me to complete and utter distraction.” She laughed out loud for a second, reminded of the stubbornness and general skepticism of her husband whenever she had tried to spark up a conversation about the godhead, divine signs or the Seers’ abilities to interpret them. Andar went on:

“Skara spoke of our need to get to safety, to return to the plateau before another week passes. I have never in my life seen him so taken by the prophesies of any order, nor so deeply concerned at the possibility that all our lives might be in danger. I wonder..” he trailed off in thought, lost for a moment before continuing, “I wonder what might be gambled if we were to make such a journey and return. Those who have left for the capital will not arrive back at the village for many weeks, if everything that I believe Ihreikas has in mind will come to pass. We just might be able to make the journey ourselves, to reach the city of Uru-Mah which I too have seen and if in fact no great disaster comes to pass, we might also return without He-Xur, the King or anyone else becoming any the wiser.” He stroked his thick, blonde beard as he mulled the thought over, and the more that he did the more he began to feel as though not only could they pull it off, but that he might just owe it to Skara at least to try.

Sura looked up at her husband’s brother with wide doe eyes, and for the first time in days he saw in them a small glimmer of hope. She too knew that there was every possibility that Skara had not been truthfully informed of those events that he had believed would come to pass, however with his future uncertain and her facing the very real possibility that she might never again be held in the arms of the man to whom she had given herself, she felt that such a journey might in some small way vindicate him.

“Andar,” she said softly, “I think we should go. For your brother’s sake, I think we should take those left in the village and go to the plateau. If for nothing else, and should the worst come to pass, we would be forever remiss to ignore Skara’s warning. We must.” They each drew a heavy breath, both finding new hope in the prospect of the journey and relieved that they might at least have the opportunity to validate Skara’s fate, whatever it might be. “We should speak with the others,” Andar said, “prepare provisions and take our people north, if only to be safe.”

As the first light of dawn reached over the tree line atop the western ridge, Skara, Omer and his three boys left the rustic log cabin that they had called their home for so many years and made their way cautiously into the dense woodlands to the east. They had not been visited during the night by any of the King’s huntsmen, Skara guessing that they too had made camp somewhere below the ridge and he knew that they would more than likely resume their pursuit as soon as morning had broken. The five of them had gathered and tied a small store of food, stones and arrows in bundles of heavy cloth which they then fastened across their shoulders, and set off along one of the many trails that Omer’s sons had carved into the hillside.

The journey was slow going at first, as the forest to the east was extremely old and had grown out of a sharp incline, and the uneven ground was still very damp and in some places made finding a foothold quite difficult. About an hour into their descent, the group reached a wide granite shelf on the side of the hill that opened out into a steep cliff face overlooking the valley, and the four of them paused momentarily to assess how they might best navigate their way down to the bottom. Omer had suggested that they continue to their left, working their way along a more even path which followed the ridge north before allowing them to gently descend to the lower slopes. Asher however argued that they should ascend the shelf south and then climb down the bare rock face, as this would mean that they would reach the bottom quicker, and that their pursuers might be thrown off their trail as their feet left the soft ground of the forest floor. The two bickered at length about which option was the most sensible, prompting the other three to sit and rest momentarily by the wayside.

After several minutes spent debating, the group suddenly heard the unmistakeable crack of branches breaking underfoot, before the air was split by the cry of a man who had fallen into one of many pits the boys had dug to trap game along the ridge. All five men froze instantly, peering into the harsh morning light and strained to hear whether there were any further noises when all of a sudden, three dark figures ran wildly from the trees below and called out to them, rushing to ascend the rocky outcrop and met them in combat. They had been spotted..! Omer quickly beckoned his three sons to move past him and ordered them to climb the rise and make for the rocky cliff that Asher had earlier suggested they descend. He and Skara held their spears out wide, and they too backed away from the approaching men, closely following Omer’s sons to the edge of the cliff.

The hunters were closing distance rapidly, their war cries filling the air as the five took turns at carefully finding their way off from the rise on which they had been trapped. Several more arrows whistled past them, missing their mark as one of the hunters stopped still and fired in an attempt to strike them before they descended past the rocky lip. Skara knew that they would not all be able to make it over before their pursuers reached them. He turned and dropped his weapon, and realising that they held a slight advantage in finding themselves on higher ground began hurling large stones from the outcrop down the incline in the direction of the attackers.

Several of the smaller rocks caused their pursuers to lose their footing, but the hunters were still gaining speed and within moments, one of them had caught up to the party, wildly waving his spear about and trying to land a blow on Omer who did his best to block the sharp point of the other man’s weapon. The three of them tussled and fought to hold their footing until eventually Skara and Omer formed a barrier by crossing their spears and managed to hurl the man back, sending him rolling away in the direction that he had come.

Omer knew then that they would not stand a chance at defeating the three men in close combat once they had all reached the party. Skara was a solid fighter, and on any other day might have been able to hold his own against two such men but he was still tired, and his injured feet prevented him from holding ground as well as he otherwise might have been able. Omer himself was no longer the strong and robust man that he once was either, however as he looked around them a plan quickly dawned on him. They might not have had a chance in close combat, but there was a way that he might be able to knock the men from the ridge and send them crashing down into the forest below. He quickly turned to Skara, ordering him to “Follow my boys down into the rocks – take them off this god-forsaken cliff as fast as you can and leave these three to me. Go, now..!” He shoved Skara roughly back towards the southern end of the rise, and turned once more to face their attackers.

Skara was reluctant to leave his uncle, but sensed in his tone that he had figured out a plan with which to deal with the three and so turned and began to make his way down the rise. As he gripped the rock face, he turned to look after his uncle one last time, calling out, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Omer. Hurry up and follow us to the bottom, and don’t try anything foolish..!” He found his footing and slowly began to make his way down the cliff as Omer sized up the three men who were all now nearing where he stood, and then turned his attention toward a large pile of boulders he had earlier noticed lying against the face of the rise.

In the split second that he stood there sizing up which of the rocks he would choose, the face of his brother Agar flashed into his mind. He remembered the events of that fateful night, during which his own pride had caused him to lose the dearest person in his life. He recalled his failure to move that one final stone which then dragged his brother from the cliff on which he had stood and out into oblivion below. From out of the emptiness that he had felt ever since that day, he suddenly found a deep well of anger, a rage that fountained up within him and which would give him the strength that he knew he needed to protect his nephew and his own sons. No longer would he remain crushed by the events of that night, so many years ago. No more would the burden of his own failing strength hold him back. No more..!

Omer let loose a monstrous roar that boomed throughout the valley and turned to reach for the largest boulder that sat by the wayside. Skara, himself only just over the summit of the ridge raised his head over the top when he heard his cry and was just in time to witness his uncle grip a massive stone of incredible size and heave it off of the ground

For the first time since they were reunited, Skara did not see the grizzled and weary man that had greeted him so distantly the night before. Instead, the Omer of his youth was there, the knots and threads of the powerful muscles in his back tightening and holding fast as he tore the boulder from its position and hoisted it up to the height of his chest. The three hunters were mere yards away from Omer at this point, the bowman running to join his comrades in the fray but as he roared they stopped dead in their tracks, realising what was about to happen. Omer turned slightly as he held the stone aloft, calling back to Skara, “Move, child – go quickly and take my boys to safety..!”

He then pivoted left and with a resounding cry, tossed the massive stone in the direction of the hunters. The boulder was almost three feet wide, and the ridge on which they stood only slightly wider and so the stone crashed to the ground with a loud boom and rolled directly into the three men, immediately barrelling two of them off over the side of the cliff face and into the dark forest below. The third man was too far from the edge, and was quickly crushed into the earth by the weight of the stone which moved over his writhing body like a rolling-pin with a sickening crunch. The stone continued down the way for another thirty or forty feet before finally crashing over the edge of the ridge and down into the sea of green below and Omer stopped to catch his breath, peering over the ledge to see if there was any sign of the two hunters that had been forced off of it. As he coughed and struggled to regain his composure, he found the two of them lying prone in the dirt at the bottom, several feet away from each other. The drop itself must also have been a good forty feet, and to his relief neither of the assailants appeared to have survived.

He clicked his tongue as he walked over to the third man, finding the weight of the boulder to have crushed his skull and burst his torso open like a fresh fruit, leaving a smear of dark blood trailing behind it as it rolled away. Satisfied, Omer nodded and thought to himself, “For what it’s worth I may be old, but by the Gods when push comes to shove – I’m still the second strongest man in the valley.” He then prayed a silent prayer for his brother, and dedicated his feat to the memory of the only man in his life to have bested him in a show of strength. Omer turned and began to move back to the southern edge of the ridge to rejoin the others, however just as he was about to call down to the four of them, the hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end and something in the back of his mind made him somehow aware that he was once again not alone on the trail.

From where he stood, Omer could see that Skara and his sons had already cleared the cliff face and moved out to take up a position where they could see him from the ground below. As he leaned over and was about to call out to them, the look of horror on their faces immediately prompted him to turn once more towards the northern end of the ridge, in the direction of where the hunters had left the trees moments earlier.

Out of the same forest wall strode a fourth man of staggering proportions, dressed head-to-toe in blood red cloth and who sported a familiar polished chest plate emblazoned with the unmistakable sign of the running ram. From the bottom of the ridge, Skara immediately recognised this to be the King’s champion, who now stood stoic at the foot of the rise and glared up at Omer from behind his scarf, his two dark eyes burning at the other man as he sized him up. Strapped to the warriors left arm was a wide, dark wooden shield, also adorned with the white emblem of Ihreikas and in his right hand he carried a cruelly fashioned pike that was fitted with a row of heavy barbs along its length, and which opened out into a long and vicious polished obsidian blade at one end. Skara could not believe that He-Tauhasa had sent his greatest fighter to pursue him, and was immediately frightened for his uncle, calling out:

“Omer, you cannot stand and fight this man, you must trust me – quickly, make your way down to join us..!” He was suddenly frantic, knowing that his uncle would already have grown tired from his earlier confrontation and feared that he would not be able to defeat the other man who was already ascending the outlook with long measured strides to meet him. Even by the way he moved, Skara could tell that the champion was a highly seasoned fighter, in no way exhibiting the same foolhardy gusto that the three other hunters had shown in rushing to meet them in combat. The warrior held both his arms high at right angles, and carefully navigated the ground ahead as he closed in on Skara’s uncle.

Omer however was not afraid, and as soon as he could make out the insignia of the house of He-Tauhasa quickly made up his mind that if this was an opportunity to slay a direct representative of the same ruling class that he so secretly despised, he was going to take it. He called back to Skara, declaring boldly, “I have no fear of the King and his servants, boy – stay where you are and pay close attention, and you might just learn a thing or two.”

“Allow me to show this overdressed city-dweller how we fight in the hills.”

He kneeled briefly to collect both his own spear and the one that Skara had dropped earlier, and stood his ground as the other man advanced. Skara realised that Omer knew nothing of the soldier he was about to face, and so told his cousins to stay put before rushing to reascend the rock face and join his uncle, finding the way back up the cliff much slower going than the descent. He had only secured his first foothold when the champion closed the distance between himself and Omer, and the two finally met in combat. Wasting no time, the warrior in red proceeded to swing his awful weapon in wide, sweeping arcs, controlling it with one hand and with a powerful continuing motion attempted to force Omer back to the far edge of the ridge.

Omer was at first unsteady on his feet, backing away slowly from the other man as he watched him deftly handle his weapon and tried to figure out how best to break his defences. He took both spears and, waiting for the champion’s blade to swing right-to-left across his body, crossed his weapons in its path, stopping the soldier’s advance. As he held the other man’s weapon steady, he launched a powerful kick at the warrior which landed square in his chest, causing him to stumble back several feet and withdraw his weapon. It was Omer’s turn now to attack, and he skilfully swung both his spears in a circular motion around his body and ran towards the champion, hoping that he might land a quick blow and catch him off guard, however his opponent quickly recovered from the kick and again moved towards Omer with his shield outstretched, absorbing every strike as it came.

Seeing this from the cliff, and still too far from the top to join his uncle, Skara felt powerless watching the two men face off. While his uncle was still a large man with a solid frame, his opponent appeared to be much younger and by far the quicker of the two, handling his weapon with an incredible dexterity for a man of his size. As the champion edged closer to Omer, he completely surprised him by breaking into a sudden sprint and rushed shield-first into his spears. Omer’s attack was stopped short and he was knocked backwards and onto the ground, from where he quickly swung his spears at the other man’s legs to try and create distance between the two once more. The champion merely danced around his weapons for several seconds before first trapping one underfoot and then the other which forced Omer to release his grip on the handles as he lay prone in the dirt and now completely defenceless.

At this point Omer realised that he was in serious trouble, and as his opponent leaned back to swing his savage pike over his body and down toward his head he quickly drew two short hunting knives from his sides and again crossed them to block the warrior’s weapon, its heavy stone blade coming to a stop mere inches from his face. The champion was clearly beginning to grow frustrated at the older man’s resilience, and swing his pike even harder several more times at his opponent who succeeded each time in blocking his strike. Just as Omer felt that he might try to raise himself up to his feet, the champion sharply jerked his weapon on its axis, sending the back end quickly and powerfully into the other man’s unprotected groin. Immediately Omer saw stars, doubling-over where he lay and for a split second, he completely let his guard down. Skara had nearly reached the summit of his climb and was just in time to peer over its edge to see the champion standing over his uncle who was lying bent and in terrible agony.

As the champion stood over him, he raised his head and stared at Skara from across the ridge. Skara screamed at his uncle to get up, and the soldier in red raised his left arm toward him, pointing first at Skara, and them in a motion imitating the cutting of his own throat dragged his thumb across the width of his neck. Skara’s blood ran cold and he knew what was about to happen yet he was still too far away, still unable to reach him in time to stop it. His cry rang out across the valley as the champion spun his weapon around, and gripped it tightly in the middle with both hands before quickly and savagely plunging the stone blade deep into the soft flesh of his uncle’s throat and down into his chest, twisting it as he did. As Omer tried to draw breath, dark, rich blood fountained out from the wound at the top of his chest, and the cries of his three children pierced the air as they too watched on in horror from the bottom of the ridge.

The champion’s blade stayed embedded in his opponent for several moments as he stood still and simply watched the other man, waiting for him to die. It was as though the experience had become cathartic; the screams filling the air, the sound of men choking on their own blood. The act of killing had slowly become a joy for the King’s champion, and after seeing Skara in his halls for the first time and then on the battlefield within the great arena, he had approached Ihreikas to request leave of the city in order to carry out his sentence personally. “Execution is one thing,” he had thought to himself, “but a fair fight, combat amongst equals and the hunting of men – this is what a true champion craves.”

The warrior withdrew his blade from Omer’s neck as his writhing body finally became limp, and he wiped the blood from its edge on his quarry’s cloak before turning his attention to Skara, who had finally ascended the top of the ridge. Killing Omer was incidental, but he was pleased with the effect that it would have on Skara and knew that the anger such an act might instil in him would provide good sport.

As soon as Skara clambered over the edge, tears still in his eyes to face him, several arrows soared through the air from below the ridge having been fired by his three nephews at the other man. The champion took a knee and held his shield low, catching all three as they reached him. Skara did not wait for their next volley to arrive, moving towards his opponent and stopping ten or twelve feet away from where he stood. He threw his arms wide to show that he was unarmed and, shaking with anger, called out to challenge him:

“You,” he began, pointing at the soldier, “I know you, I remember you from the halls of Ihreikas. Do you remember me..? You have taken something from me this day, and by the Gods I will make you pay in kind.” He stopped to think then for a moment about how he might go about making true on such a threat, deciding cleverly to appeal to the soldier’s ego. He pointed to the body of his uncle, continuing, “This old-man that you have killed, he was nothing to you. You are a warrior of the King, are you not..?” The champion paused for a moment, breathing heavily and then solemnly nodded, still standing over Omer’s inert body.

Skara continued, “Then honour your king in fair an equal combat. Fight someone who might challenge you, someone who might beat you,” the champion stiffened and inhaled deeply and audibly through his nostrils. The very idea that he could be bested in single combat brought him close to a rage, but Skara finished, “Fight me, champion. Hand me my uncle’s weapon, that I might strike you down and prove that you are a weakling and a coward after-all..!” He laughed derisively and the champion stood still, however Skara could now see that he had gently begun to shake, his massive, broad shoulders quivering ever so slightly as he finally achieved total apoplexy.

The red soldier took several paces back from his fallen opponent, his eyes darting warily left to the boys in the forest as he did and spoke then for the first time. Out from behind his red facecloth came an awful voice that rattled with such a deep and coarse tone that it almost resembled the crunch a heavy boot might make on a gravel road. By his pronunciation alone, Skara could instantly tell that the other man no longer owned a tongue, perhaps taken as punishment for an earlier transgression of his own, as the following words, “You – fight..!’ burbled up crudely and uncomfortably from the champion’s throat.

The warrior pointed to the fallen spears by Omer’s side, gesturing for Skara to pick them up and his breathing suddenly became heavier as he began to work himself up into the kind of frenzy that he needed to sustain in order to last in combat with a man of Skara’s stature. Skara walked over to Omer, his heart filling with sadness as he was finally able to take a closer look at his uncle’s body, and then he too began to feel an anger rising from within. “This man,” he thought to himself, “has robbed me of the chance to know my father’s brother. This man has killed a hunter of the Tau line, and has taken my nephews’ father from them before his time. This man.. will pay with his life..!” He scooped up both weapons and raised his powerful arms wide in a bold gesture of defiance.

“Vengeance rides on swift wings,” he thought coldly, “and mine will fly fast and true.”

Here is the Sixth Chapter from Alluvion:

06. Return to Nevalı Çori

Battered, bruised and beyond exhausted, Skara ran as fast as his legs would carry him out through the city gates, putting as much distance as possible as quickly as possible between himself and the ramshackle sprawl of Çatalhöyük. As scattered and confused as the city guard now were, he knew that it would only be a matter of time before He-Tauhasa’s soldiers had either cornered and trapped, or else put the monster called Murmesh to death before then realising that he too had made his escape. He knew also that there were an almost endless number of seasoned hunters and trackers in the service of the king, and that with their skill and better knowledge of the wide, flat lands surrounding the city they would likely close in on him within hours.

He ran due north for several miles, following the largest of the many rivers that fed the estuary before branching east and making his way quickly and quietly back up the long and gradual incline that his captors had brought him down several days earlier. He was very careful to mask his footsteps, backtracking in several places as he went but he knew that this would do little to slow down the skilled hunters of the south who would be spurred-on by the promises of great reward for his recapture.

He realised that his only real hope of evading them would be to reach the rolling hills west of the valley, hills which he knew like the back of his hand and where he might at least have a chance at finding refuge either in the company of other southern families nearby the valley, or else otherwise in the thick forests around the edges of the lower lands. It didn’t help that he’d had to make his escape in broad daylight, and although there were dense woods dotting the landscape around the city, there were all too many long stretches of open grassland that he would have to cross before finding any real cover.

He gritted his teeth and simply ran and ran for hours until his legs ached, his lungs burned and his heart felt as though it would give out at any moment. Already mid-afternoon, the wind was blowing east which favoured him, but carried on every strong gust were the far-off calls and voices of those in pursuit, ever so faint but growing louder as the hours wore away. Eventually, he followed a small stream which he knew would lead him toward higher ground and stopped to rest once he had reached a particularly thick crop of trees, perhaps only one quarter of the way to safety.

At the top of a rise within the wood he came across a large limestone outcrop from which a small waterfall cascaded, fed from somewhere within the rocks and he knew he could safely stop and drink the water, rest his legs and wash the dozens of small cuts and open wounds on the soles of his feet that he had suffered running barefoot from the city. He drank his fill from where it landed, taking care not to overdo it and run the risk of a cramp before he needed to again press on. To get a better view of the path he had taken and to also discreetly scan for his pursuers, he carefully climbed to the top of the rise and from behind the thick scrub, peered out over the lower lands and across the incline behind him for any sign of movement. Far off in the distance, he could clearly see the dark blotch of Çatalhöyük on the horizon and the telltale plumes of smoke which rose from the many open hearths of the city, and could also make out the tiny, dark shapes of what must have been large hunting parties moving slowly away from it. “Good,” he thought to himself, “they’re such a distance away still that I might actually have a chance at losing them.”

After several long minutes spent making sure that all were in fact a safe distance away and accounted for, he rose from his position behind the thicket and turned to make his way over the rise and continue on his journey. As he turned to leave however, he heard an unmistakeable whistle shoot past his left ear, followed immediately by a faint splash as something struck the stone behind the waterfall next to him and dropped into the stream below. “Arrows..!” his mind screamed, “They’re already here..!” He froze for two-tenths of a second, terrified his poor legs would not react and carry him to safety as he knew the next one’s aim would be true.

Thankfully without another moment’s hesitation, he bounded through the dark trees leading out of the rise and launched himself into the thick forest above it, quickly finding a second wind and moving at a speed he didn’t even think was possible. Thoughts raced through his mind as he heard a man’s voice calling out for him to stop, and he considered among many things turning around and facing his attacker head-on. He remembered then that he had nothing practical with which to defend himself, and in spite of his size and strength was at that moment very hungry, weak and almost completely out of breath.

The forest was dark and damp, and branches whipped and tore at him as he fled. Old cedar trees rose up everywhere, and the higher branches of these interlocked above his head to form a thick ceiling which only let a small amount of light through where gaps had formed. Large slabs of granite jutted out intermittently from the forest floor, which was itself uneven and in places held large pools of murky water. Several times Skara nearly came crashing to the ground as he slipped on fallen logs and rocks all covered in a bright green, slick moss that seemed to grow over everything, and those wounds that he had washed on his feet again tore open in several places as he failed to safely navigate sharper stones and branches. After sprinting for a time, he could no longer hear the footfalls or cries of his pursuer and started to believe that he just might succeed in outrunning him.

He considered then finding refuge in the canopies above, his eyes darting about as he ran searching for a strong and reliable tree that he might climb to stop leaving tracks, at least until his attacker had caught up to him but he knew that there was still not enough of a distance between them that he could risk doing so unseen. His only option was to run, and the only way to run was forward. He began to tire as he weaved through the trees, his legs now burning and his lungs feeling as though they might explode. “Surely I can’t go on much further,” he thought to himself, “I’m not built for running, and not for such long distances.”

As his strength faded completely he realised that it was only a matter of time before he would have to slow, and then eventually stop altogether. Just as he was considering whether surrender might in fact be a viable option, the wood through which he was being chased thinned out, and eventually opened into a wide clearing which rose toward what he could only guess were the early beginnings of the rolling hills. He had travelled a great distance, but was still too far away from safety. As he cleared the wall of trees, he immediately veered left and slid haphazardly behind a large group of granite boulders which might have at least offered coverage and protection for several seconds. He had no idea how close his assailant now was (he had not heard his footsteps or cries for several minutes), but exhausted and physically spent, he lay still where he landed and caught his breath as carefully as he dared.

For several long moments, Skara lay behind a large boulder at the edge of the clearing. “If the archer was as close behind me as I think he was,” he thought to himself, “then there is no way that when he reaches this clearing he’ll believe that I have crossed.” He dared not move however, and keeping his head cocked low strained his ears for any noises from the forest wall. He heard nothing. Not footsteps, not the telltale snap of branches underfoot. Several more minutes passed, and he raised himself up into a crouching position, still careful not to allow any part of his body to be seen over the top of the boulder. His gaze fell upon a strong and sturdy length of cedar branch where he hid, and very slowly and carefully picked it up, waiting even longer before making the decision to peer over the rock to see if there was any sign of his assailant. “Perhaps,” he thought with a brazen optimism, “I did lose him in the woods, and the way ahead is safe for the moment. If it is, surely it would be foolish to continue to wait here, while the others catch up to me..” He nervously placed a palm on the boulder and slowly eased himself up.

Just before he could raise himself higher to take a look however, several nesting grouse were disturbed at the edge of the clearing only several yards from where he hid and the sound of quiet cursing could be heard. The archer had indeed trailed him, and was now standing directly on the other side of the huge boulder, searching the clearing for signs of Skara’s entry into the open. His mind raced as he considered his situation; within seconds, the other man would find his tracks and notch his bow, leaving him without any defence whatsoever. The hunter might of course be armed with a long blade, which he could also at that moment be wielding and prepared to use as soon as he dove out from his sanctuary to meet him.

“In either case,” he thought to himself, his mind already made up, “my only chance is to strike now, and continue running for the hills. Lingering here can only be a death sentence.” And so after saying a quiet prayer to Anu, he began to square himself up, gripped the heavy branch tightly in his massive hands and tensed his muscles for what would be his one and only chance of escape.

Like a coiled spring, Skara leapt over the boulder he had hid behind and swung the large branch with all his strength at the unsuspecting hunter, who himself was only seconds away from peering over the top of it. The blow was true and caught the other man completely by surprise, striking him square on the right side of his head and sending him crashing into a pile of rocks and branches. Skara was shaking as he composed himself, but could not take any chances in risking that the hunter might continue his pursuit or alert the others and so struck the man several more times with the branch to ensure that if he did survive, it would be more than just a few minutes before he awoke. Skara puffed heavily and threw the branch into the woods, pausing only momentarily to catch his breath before searching the hunter for weapons.

As he struck the pile of rocks, the hunter had landed on his bow, snapping it clean in half. “Damn it to hell,” Skara swore under his breath. In addition to being able to accurately fell game from a half-mile away with a spear, he was a more than capable archer and the bow would have come in handy in warning off the rest of his pursuers.

He pulled several barbed arrows and a medium-sized ivory blade from the hunter’s tunic, and making sure that there were no other items which might assist him, left the body where it lay. He draped several leafy branches to cover it and made his way across the clearing and into the gentle hills beyond. “That was too close,” he thought to himself as he entered the safety of the forest once more. “If one of them managed to sneak up on me like that, surely there can’t be others too far away, perhaps already in the woods. I’ll need to move more quickly, and take better care not to leave an obvious trail.” He tore several strips of cloth from his tunic before pressing on, and tied these around his feet in an effort to protect the worst of his injuries. It was mid-afternoon now, and he knew that he needed to find some sort of shelter wherein he might light a small fire once the Sun had gone down. He scoured his surroundings as he ran on, peering through the dense forest for any signs in the landscape that he might have recognised.

“I remember that there were kin from the valley that settled in the hills west of Nevalı Çori, many years ago. I wonder if they are still near, and whether I might find refuge with them.” Skara was remembering his father’s brother, Omer who had left the green valley following his father’s death to chance his fortune and the livelihood of his wife and three sons in the wilderness, alone. He had not seen his uncle in many years, as they had seldom had cause to return to the village and had taken issue with the growing influence of the capital on the day-to-day affairs of its people. This, Skara felt could work in his favour given his current situation, if of course they were still local to the area and if they even wanted any part in the mess that he had gotten himself into. He pressed on deeper into the forest, finding the landscape to gradually steepen as he progressed further into the undulating hills southwest of his home.

After another couple of hours navigating the woods, he came to a single barren peak that jutted out of the surrounding forest and which might serve well to provide him a clear and uninterrupted view of his surrounds. Careful to listen for any sounds of movement through the undergrowth before he did, he ascended the stony crag and carefully looked about him to find his position. The forest canopy below stretched as far north and south as he could see, and the clearing to the west that he had crossed earlier was now only a lighter patch of green in the very far distance. Looking out east, he noticed that the undulating hills preceding the valley rose only steeper, but he could just make out the definite shape of the final summit ridge on the horizon, after which he could begin his descent into the valley. Curiously, in the quickly fading light he also noticed a faint plume of smoke rising from a fire that had been lit at the southern end of the ridge. The smoke was too far away for him to see whether people or any sort of shelter surrounded it, but he decided that if he hurried on his way, he just might be able to make it to the source before darkness completely closed in.

He climbed down from the rocky crag and prayed quickly for speed and safety, before setting off east once more. He had not heard the sounds of his pursuers since leaving the clearing, and allowed himself to relax a little and focus more of his attention on safely navigating the steeper terrain rather than just blindly covering it. As he reached a higher elevation, the trees became larger and the undergrowth wilder and more invasive. He used the blade that he had taken from the archer at the clearing to machete his way forward, cutting away at branches that appeared to have stitched themselves together. After another couple of hours of this, he stopped momentarily to rest within the shelter of a large juniper tree, crouching inside a wide hollow in its trunk. He had not rested for more than five minutes before he again picked up on the faint sound of voices somewhere in the lower forest behind him. He immediately sprang-to from his hiding place, and set off once more in the direction of true east. “If I can’t make it to that settlement,” he thought to himself, remembering the plume of smoke atop the valley ridge, “then I’m well and truly done for.”

The last hour of twilight turned out to be a game of cat and mouse, with Skara desperately trying to ascend to the far ridge and the voices and calls in the woods behind him growing stronger and louder as he went. Just as the last rays of evening light sank beneath the horizon, the forest suddenly became deathly quiet and Skara stopped and held his breath to listen for his pursuers. To his horror, the familiar whistle of an arrow flying by broke the silence, and several voices – four or five if he heard correctly, called out for him to stop where he was immediately and surrender. He ignored their warnings, as he didn’t doubt for one second that He-Tauhasa had demanded he be brought back to the city dead or alive (and in however many pieces they deemed practical), and bounded up the side of the ridge which steepened drastically as he neared the summit.

“Almost there,” he thought to himself, as several more arrows whistled past him and lodged themselves into the trunks of trees behind. He gritted his teeth and for the last few hundred yards, broke into a wild sprint, climbing to the top of the valley ridge as if he were part animal. Once over the summit, he continued his marathon in the direction of the plume of smoke that had caught his eye earlier and as he neared the clearing and headed for the source of the fire, the thick trees of the forest thinned out and he broke into a brisk walk, in an attempt to finally catch his breath. For a brief and fleeting moment, it seemed as though he had finally broken away.

He was no more than twenty or thirty yards from breaking through the wall of the forest when he heard a loud cracking sound in the darkness behind him, and the unmistakeable stretching sound of a bowstring being loaded. “Stop right where you are, thief,” called a voice from somewhere in the shadows. The voice seemed a little unsure of itself and sounded like it belonged to a younger man, but Skara dared not turn around, stopping immediately and stretching his arms wide in a gesture of submission. Already the dark shadows of the woods around him were ever so wanly illuminated by the roaring fire in the settlement ahead, the light from which broke through the trees in front of him. As he stood motionless and before he could speak, another voice called out to him, “Drop your weapon, and get on your knees. You’re surrounded and outnumbered – don’t try to do anything foolish.” It was another young man, and again Skara obeyed, dropping his long knife quickly onto the ground beside him and half turning his head to respond.

By this time, Skara was almost beyond caring. He was completely exhausted, spiritually drained and had finally come to terms with the fact that the fight, for him, was well and truly over. “What has your king Ihreikas promised you for my capture..?” he called back hoarsely, “I truly hope it is enough for the work I’ve put you through.” He gasped as he struggled to fill his lungs, continuing, “If you’re going to kill me, then hurry up and kill me. I could use the rest.” He then dropped to his knees, and coughed violently as he finally regained composure and his powerful heartbeat began to slow. Strangely, the voices from the dark said nothing more to Skara for several moments. Instead, he heard low whispers from the two as they bickered among themselves, one of them sounding quite exasperated as they argued.

He could not quite make out what they were saying, but before he had a chance to ask who they were, the second voice again called out to him: “Are you.. of the valley..?” Skara was immediately confused, as the young man continued, “What is your name, stranger..? If you’re not a raider, then who are you, and what are you doing wandering so close to our home..?” Skara thanked the Gods..! He realised straight away that he hadn’t been captured by those huntsmen set out to return him to the city. These must have been men from the settlement up ahead and so he relaxed ever so slightly, but chose his next words extremely carefully:

“I am only an honest hunter from the valley, like yourselves. I have come from the capital to escape punishment for defying the king where I felt his Seers had failed him. My name is Skara Tau, and if you would help me return to the valley which is my home, I would tell no-one that you did.” He stiffened slightly, and felt it necessary to provide a little more information to the two, for all their sakes, “I have been pursued from the lowlands west of here for a day now, and those who would seek to take me back to the capital cannot be very far behind. I beg you, please help me find safe passage home, and keep me from their slings and arrows.” He was placing a high amount of faith in his own dealings with the more isolated families that lived in the hills around and beyond his village, knowing that while most of them had either feared or despised the leadership of Ihreikas whose rule they saw as an interference in their affairs, there might too be those more loyal to the house of the king that might very well fire arrows into his back regardless for such talk.

He did not have to wait too long to find out, however, as no sooner had he finished speaking he was knocked clear off his feet and onto the ground by one of the young men in the dark, the other laughing as he yelled, “Skara, our cousin from the valley..! Is it really you..?” He was shocked and confused for several seconds, before the words sunk in and he realised who it was that had captured him. “Skara..!” the other voice called out, “What in all the Gods names are you doing here..? We thought you were a raider..!” the other adding, “And what’s this talk of punishment now, and of that pompous upstart, the king..? Come, follow us into our home and the light and let’s get a look at you..!” Somehow, Skara had managed to bump into two of his three cousins, the children of his father’s brother and had nearly stumbled right on into their encampment atop the valley ridge. The three of them moved out of the darkness of the forest without and after their eyes adjusted to the light of a roaring fire in the clearing, he laughed and clasped the two of them tightly. It was the first time in days that he had felt anything near to genuine happiness.

The two young men that had confronted him were the eldest of his uncle’s children, Asher being the oldest and Zemer the middle child. They were in their late teenage years now, and had already had many years of experience hunting with their father, Omer. Skara soon learnt that Madala, their Mother had passed-on shortly after the family had left the village, leaving the four men to look after themselves and the family home. Yemah, the youngest of the three brothers was only just at an age where he was allowed to join them as they hunted the forests around their small wooden house, however was still not yet able to accompany his brothers as they hunted by night. Skara and his two cousins moved around the fire and into the wooden house to greet Omer, and talk more of the road that Skara had taken and what threat might yet still find them at the house if they did not take precautions.

The three of them entered the house, and Zemer immediately called out to his father, announcing, “Father, we have returned, and you will never guess what we have found in the woods..!” There was a small fire pit in the far end of the larger, central room of the dwelling, which itself was a rough but solid collection of large wooden logs, piled up and interlocked at every corner so as to keep the chill winter air of the upper ridge at bay. Animal skins were piled throughout the floor of the house and secured to cover any gaps in the walls and ceiling, which itself was a thick layer of stretched auroch hide. Skara was more than thankful to be out of the cold, and nearly wept with happiness when offered a cut of wild rabbit that was roasting over the inner hearth. After a minute, Omer could be heard moving around from within the smaller rear room of the dwelling, cursing as his foot struck something hard and heavy in the darkness. He emerged from the back room, immediately regarding Skara with a mixed look of faint recognition and mistrust.

Skara’s only memories of Omer were always linked to those of his own father, as the two twin brothers were almost inseparable while he was growing up and they both still lived in the valley. Agar, his father and his brother were not unlike Skara and his own half-brother Andar in a way, both sets of brothers somewhat of a living legend among the people of Nevalı Çori. Both of them were also extremely tall and brutishly strong, and had always tried to outdo each other when it came to any physical labour or challenges that might have been issued by their friends, family and each other. Whenever a task such as reinstating the wheel of a broken cart arose, or the opportunity to demonstrate their strength was given, they both leapt at the chance to prove themselves. It was unfortunately this friendly competition that in the end, worked to break them apart, and which resulted in Agar’s untimely death.

When Skara was only thirteen years old, he had accompanied both Agar and Omer, among others on a hunting trip in the eastern flats above the valley. The group had been tracking a large heard of bison that had wandered down from the north and were waiting until dusk, when the animals had settled in to sleep before deciding to strike. As the group waited by the fire in the shelter of a sandstone outcrop, out of sight of the herd, their conversation had inevitably turned once more to bravado as the two continued to promise to outdo the other at whatever feat could be suggested. Greater and greater were the boasts of strength that the two claimed to have been able to accomplish until finally another member of the group suggested that they settle their dispute once and for all by climbing to the top of the steep cliff, and lifting and hurling the largest stones over the top that they were able to. Neither of the brothers could resist the challenge, and both Agar and Omer made their way around the rise and to the top of the cliff face, where rocks and boulders of all shapes and sizes lay.

Once settled, the two brothers then took turns at heaving and hurling stones over the edge of the rock face, each one slightly larger than the last and each brother challenging the other to follow until they were lifting and dropping boulders of a mass that even they found excruciating to carry. Eventually, the two would reach a stone that either one or the other would be unable to lift, and this would be when a victor could finally be decided. At last, Omer had reached one final massive boulder, roughly the width of his shoulders and the shape of a human torso. With an almighty heave, he tried with all his might to lift the stone, and while he might have moved it several inches off from the ground and was able to drag it closer towards the edge of the cliff face, he simply could not muster the strength to lift it up and hurl it over. Finally, Agar had been given a chance to either defeat or draw with his brother, and the latter in his mind was never even an option.

With an almighty heave, Agar was himself unable to lift the stone off from the ground, and he tried and tried again to move it. Agar was only slightly taller than Omer, and his brother rounder in the belly, and Omer roared with laughter as his brother failed to do what he himself could not accomplish either. “It would seem, brother,” he had taunted, “that you and I are an even match after all – with neither of us the better man..!” Agar was incensed at the notion that he had once again been unable to best his brother, and spurred on by his taunts leaned in for one final and desperate attempt at moving the monumental stone.

He roared into the cold night air, his breath clearly visible and with one last heave finally succeeded in lifting the boulder clear off of the ground. None of the party could believe what they were seeing – he had done it..! Agar’s barrel-like arms were bursting and the veins on his neck jutted out as he looked upon his brother with the greatest satisfaction of his life. Omer’s heart sank, finally realising that he had lost, and could only shake his head. Agar’s triumphant laugh boomed across the rise, and he smiled at his brother one last time before turning to send the stone over the edge of the cliff face.

It was at that moment that the section of ground upon which he stood gave way, sending both Agar and the boulder crashing down over the edge and to the earth below. It happened so quickly that neither Skara nor any other member of the hunting party at first realised what had happened, standing dumbfounded. At one moment, his father had stood before him, appearing to him to be the strongest man in the world and the next – he was gone.

Skara would always remember this as being a turning point in his life, which contributed heavily toward the feelings of duty and responsibility that had shaped his commitment to his family, friends and people. His uncle Omer on the other hand never truly recovered, falling immediately into a deep and dark depression for many years from which Skara had not been around to see him recover.

Clearly, the loss of his brother as well as the many difficult years that followed had taken a heavy toll on the other man. As he moved out of the shadows and into the weak light of the hearth, Skara saw not the strong and proud uncle that he once knew standing before him, but the tired and weary frame of a much older, weathered and beaten man. In truth, the years following the death of his brother had not been kind to Omer. He had always blamed himself for what had happened, and in losing his twin he had also lost a large piece of himself. Omer’s decision to move his family away from the village had been in part to escape the constant reminder of his folly, and although there had always been a competitive element to their relationship, he had loved his brother Agar very dearly.

Omer hobbled out of the doorway and into the room, and placed a large left hand on Zemer’s shoulder before looking Skara up and down, remarking, “Who are you then, stranger, and what brings you up onto the ridge at this hour and to our home..?” Skara took a moment to allow his uncle to search his face for something in it that he might have recognised, before replying, “Uncle Omer, I am Skara, your brother’s son. I have travelled far from the capital, and I would greet you this night and ask for your help in finding safe passage back to the valley. I have come to harm on my journey, and there are hunters all through the woods without that would see me dead, or else returned to He-Tauhasa for accusations of heresy. I plead with you to help me in my journey.” Skara bowed his head, and waited for the other man to respond. Omer mused for a moment, narrowing his eyes and looking the valley man up and down as if trying to ascertain if he really was who he claimed to be.

After a long pause, he grunted softly before moving closer toward Skara and, placing a strong right hand on his shoulder, searched deep into the other man’s eyes. “So, Skara.. it has been many, many years since last we met. What in Anu’s name have you done, to have your so-called king send out his hunters to find you..?” He seemed to be distracted by the appearance of the other man, Skara had guessed it was because he had in many ways grown to resemble his father, and was possessed of the same strong features; long, flowing dark hair and piercing blue eyes. From a distance, he could have easily been mistaken for him, although Skara was slightly shorter and did not quite possess his father’s monstrous build. Skara replied, “It has indeed been a long time, uncle. I had heard word that you had taken your sons west of the valley, and hoped that I might find you still close by.”

He then went on to recount the events of the past few days to Omer, his sons watching on and hanging by every word as he told them of the council of Watchers and their ill-omen, of He-Tauhasa and the Seers and of his flight from the capital. When recalling Murmesh and his experiences in the great arena, Asher and Zemer were left wide-eyed and incredulous, and their younger sibling Yemah must also have been listening from the other room, as he quickly rose to join them in front of the hearth to hear the remainder of Skara’s retelling. Throughout this recollection Omer mused, cleared his throat and sighing several times and tut-tutting when Skara spoke of Ihreikas and his response to Skara’s telling of the Watchers’ interpretation. He spoke quickly and eloquently, and made it very clear to Omer that it was only a matter of time before those same hunters that had followed him from Çatalhöyük realised that he had not lingered to hide in the forests at the foot of the ridge and would arrive at his home to inquire as to his whereabouts. Once he had finished speaking, he looked to Omer with concern and waited for his uncle to process everything that he had been told.

Omer thought for a long while, carefully contemplating everything that Skara had said as he stared into the vibrant embers of the hearth. His mind raced with concern for the events that the Watchers had predicted, and with the fear of what fate might befall his sons if he did not help Skara leave the ridge and return to Nevalı Çori before the king’s hunters caught up to him. Before he could speak, Skara looked across and asked of him, “Will you help me, Uncle..? I have never needed the help of any man more in my life than at this moment. If I leave you now and continue on my way alone I fear that I will not make it back in time, if at all.” Omer paused before looking up at Skara, and responded, “I will help you.” He gestured toward his sons, “We will help you, and not just because I have no great love for Ihreikas and his order of grey ghosts. You are my brother’s son, and through his passing I am indebted to protect you,” he frowned then, “as much as I had failed to do him.”

The four of them sat solemn then for a time, before Omer rose, addressing his three sons, “Asher, Zemer – collect your spears and slings, and make sure you take all the stones you can carry. Find your sharpest blades and give one small knife to Yemah. Gather your heaviest cloaks and prepare yourselves, we are leaving for the valley and then to follow your cousin north, by way of the Eastern pass.” He turned to Skara, adding, “My boys have set traps all along the widest way through the hills and down into the valley in the hopes of bringing down larger game. It might not give us the best cover, but it will work in our favour to navigate what they have set, and hopefully slow a few of the king’s hunters down along the way.” Skara smiled a nervous smile, but was extremely grateful to his uncle for making the decision to follow him. Though their aid in reaching the valley was vital, it would have only been bittersweet if they did not join him at Uru-Mah, once Sura and his own children had been brought to join them.

In a flurry of activity, the four of them collected weaponry and provisions for their journey, and after extinguishing the fires of the settlement both inside and out, settled quietly in the dark for the remainder of the night, waiting patiently for first light before they started out. Skara himself meant to rest only for a moment, falling immediately into a deep and well needed sleep however as soon as he closed his eyes.

Here is Another Instalment from Alluvion:

05. Murmesh the Terrible

“Most grand and high above us,” He-Xur began, “I return to you as promised, and have brought with me several hundred good men of the valley to join you in your campaign against the West. I submit these lives to you, and to the protection of Çatalhöyük in those darkest of times that lie before us.” Skara chanced to briefly raise his head to catch a glimpse of his king, whom he himself had not seen in many years since his own father had brought him to the city as a child. He was astonished at the sheer scale of the other man, who had grown extremely red and fat in his affluence and was now possessed of a mass that appeared entirely impractical.

To Skara, he seemed almost to have become a complete caricature of the robust and muscular figure that he remembered meeting in his youth. He-Tauhasa’s thick, dark hair had thinned at the front, his teeth had yellowed (and several were now missing), and he coughed and spluttered almost constantly as though his lungs carried a sickness, even as he sat completely still. To his immediate left and right, almost completely in the shadows beside the throne stood two strange, lithe figures. Both were tall and thin and completely bald, save for a small tuft of plaited hair at the back of their skulls and they were clad mysteriously in thick grey robes without any kind of adornment whatsoever. These he knew straight away to be Seers, chiefest among the King’s advisors and the cause and reason for their journey to the capital.

Alone and to his far right stood a single solitary soldier, an absolute mountain of a man who was curiously the only king’s representative that Skara had seen within the capital who wore any real sort of armour. The figure was clad in a heavy red leather tunic which extended down almost to his feet, and was wearing a strange polished chest plate upon which was burned the image of a running ram, the emblem of He-Tauhasa. Skara could not make out the features of this man who stood solemn and completely silent throughout his audience with the King, as his entire face was obscured by a similarly dyed red cloth save for a narrow slit from which two cold, dark eyes stared out at him. He decided that this must be the champion of Ihreikas, and perhaps the most distinguished and decorated of his warriors. He-Tauhasa regarded the Lord of the valley with a grunt and a nod, before replying;

“You honour me, He-Xur as always, and your contribution to the safety of Silur-Mah shall be noted in the chronicles of our time. Now tell me,” he motioned to the captive valley man with a wide sweep of a chubby right hand, “who is this prisoner that you keep, and would bring before me. Who is this huntsman that you have restrained, and what are his crimes which warrant such bondage..?” He-Xur glanced down at Skara with a look of calculation, before responding, “This man is Skara Tau of the village Nevalı Çori whom I have trusted with the affairs of his people in my absence. This man has until my return served to administer the affairs of his kin, and has done so without question. However, upon our return to the village, he has betrayed both your divine order and the wisdom of those that counsel you, refusing to obey your call to serve his realm in its hour of need and blaspheming the Seers. Thus, I have decreed that he is to be treated as an enemy of the Southern lands, and have brought him before your great authority to be punished, as is our law.”

The other man frowned deeply as if considering his words carefully, grunted again and raised his somewhat grotesque body from the throne, stepping down to stand directly in front of Skara to address him, “So, Skara of the family Tau. Are the words of your lord true..? Do you defy an order that has come directly from the house of the King and therefore from the Gods themselves, and oppose our campaign against those savages from the West..?” Without pausing long enough to allow him to answer, he went on, “I would have never expected such insolence from a man of your line. Your father I knew in fact, before his passing to be a loyal and honourable man commanding of much respect. What would he say to you now, to see you claiming such treason as to oppose the will of the Gods and your king..? Speak now, Skara,” he turned as if also to address the entire throng of minders and delegates present in the room, “tell us that these accusations are in fact not the truth.”

“My King,” Skara began, locking eyes with the Seer to the right of the throne as he did, “what He-Xur has told you is true. I cannot condone open war upon the West where I have been counselled otherwise. I do not believe that the Seers..” he chose his words carefully, “I do not believe that you have been provided the correct interpretation for those signs that would direct you toward this action, and I must object, much as it might mean my own death.”

“My death, or worse..” he thought soberly to himself.

“Very well, Skara of the valley. As you so wish, and so will be our duty, but before passing judgement I would know; of what counsel do you speak..? On whose tongue have you gambled your life and the lives of those you call your kin – speak..!” His voice shifted quickly to a more commanding tone which boomed throughout the wide open space of the hall. Skara raised his head, straightened his shoulders and stared directly into He-Tauhasa’s eyes, “The Watchers of the North, my king. Those of the high hills speak of a far greater calamity, and have interpreted from the signs in the heavens that a great dragon, a beast of seven tails and the power to end all life in the Southern lands would descend from the stars with the fury of a thousand suns to swallow the oceans and destroy your kingdom. They have promised us safety within the walls of their city at Uru-Mah, and would aid us in protecting our people from this disaster. Of this, I am sure and believe all that I have come to know, and this is why I cannot follow you.” He looked then around the room, hoping to have raised at least some curiosity from those present. It was however the Seer to the left of the throne that descended to join his king, and spoke:

“Skara of the valley,” the voice seemed to slither from between the priest’s lips, which were laced with a thick, black paint that matched the colour around his eyes. Eyes that seemed to dart all too often at the king as he spoke. “What do you know of the will of the Gods..? What evidence,” he snorted, causing an anger to well-up within Skara, “what proof have you brought us to support these wild and, fantastic, stories of which you speak..? Tell us of this dragon will you..? Surely such fairytales have no place in the house of a king whose family have forged the greatest empire in living memory, an empire built entirely on the foundations of reason and divine trust that those of our order have accurately and honourably provided for generations..?” The Seer appeared to be addressing his king, He-Xur and those delegates present from other communities more than Skara himself, and he began to feel angry and nervous in coming to realise the true extent of the influence that the Seers had upon his rulers.

He replied: “Seer, I would not debate the details of prophesy with you. Of your order I admit to knowing very little, and cannot claim myself to have shared a direct audience with the Gods. However I do trust in the wisdom of the Watchers, and have seen the scale of their knowledge and power first hand.” The Seer interrupted Skara, changing his voice to a more mocking pitch and correcting him, “You have seen nothing of the power of the Watchers, who are no more an educated and divine order than any other motherless, dishonourable exiles from the Northern hills. The residue of those godless heathens are no more children of the great god Anu than their animal forebears. Their words are poison, and their claims can only be self-serving.”

“My King,” the Seer continued in a more gentle tone, speaking now directly to He-Tauhasa, “was not their order the barbarian bastard breed of a savage tribe, whose only reason for being was to destroy your ancestors and drive them from their lands..? Would not these ‘Watchers’ understandably harbour a deep and burning resentment for the descendants of those that had driven their forefathers from our lands and to their knees, and banished them into the cold wastes of the North..? Surely the notion that any benefit could come from those who I would remind you, if I can, that it is an act itself punishable by death merely to fraternise with is not any more realistic than say.. magic dragons from the skies..?” He laughed at this and looked sarcastically at Skara, raising derision from the crowd which fuelled him to respond;

“The Watchers have taken me into their city, their sanctuary in the hills and have shown me their faces. I have shared in their food and stores and have been gifted many things that they had no obligation to give, and not once have I felt threatened in their lands. Theirs is as peaceful and enlightened a society as ours in the South, and in some ways..” he raised his wrists and binds to support his argument, “in some ways perhaps even more so. The Watchers have knowledge of a great many things that your order do not, and have freely and wilfully offered to provide assistance to us through the coming darkness, a darkness that comes quicker with each day that passes.”

“I have seen them, and I have felt no hatred, nor have I seen any cause to doubt the predictions that they have provided me. I have been treated honourably and with respect by the Watchers and I promise you, if you refuse to accept their help there won’t be anything left for anyone to war over.” He turned and gave the Seer that had challenged him a look that could have killed. “What I have told you is the truth, and catastrophe is indeed coming. A great fire from the heavens will arrive, and tear your kingdom asunder.” As he looked around the room once more before continuing, he noticed a trace amount of fear in the eyes of those soldiers and onlookers around him, and also sensed a faint waver from the Seer. He knew that he needed to press on. “Thousands on thousands will die immediately, and Çatalhöyük and everything that you hold dear will burn to the ground. Your empire will exist no more, and when the mountains of ice to the north are vanquished, the oceans will rise and flood over the land, and wash your order and kinsman away before the Sun is stripped of its glory, and for a thousand godless years..”

“Enough..!” interrupted He-Tauhasa with a booming roar, which shook the ground beneath Skara and drained all colour from his face. “How dare you enter the house of the bloodline of kings and speak to me of those wretched phantoms, the children of men and beasts as if they were absolved of their father’s guilt..? I will hear no more.” He-Tauhasa stiffened and threw both of his arms wide, shaking at the belly as he did so and declared; “Your Lord was right in bringing you before me, but I will hear no more slanderous lies which have come from those exiled beyond our gates. The Southern lands exist today only by the grace of the Gods, my forebear He-Kuirsna and by the blood spilt protecting her from the Ancients, and the words of their pitiful descendants cannot be anything more than the sinister plots and schemes of treason and overthrow.”

“My council of Seers are the divine voice of the Godhead, and have been since before your father’s time. If theirs is the vision of war from the West, then this is what will come to pass. No more will the poisonous mistruths of those half-bred animals be tolerated in this city, and I declare that any further talk of those lies that you have brought before me today will be met with death..!”

He pointed at Skara, and staring into his eyes with a burning judgement that flirted with pure hatred, announced, “You will be taken to the great arena at the north of the city, and for your false witness will be given to Murmesh the Terrible when the sun rises on the morrow, as the Gods will. He-Xur..” he gestured to his subordinate, “get this heretic out of my sight..!” A group of citizens that had gathered outside the hall erupted into cheers at the mention of the name, and began chanting it as though it belonged to a great champion, Skara fearing perhaps the monstrous soldier in red. “Murmesh, Murmesh, Murmesh..!” they yelled and screamed in a frenzy. Any hold that Skara’s speech might have had over them at that moment had been immediately broken, and a wave of excitement extended from the great hall throughout the city akin to a bloodlust among predators.

“Murmesh,” Skara mouthed silently to himself, as he was yanked viciously to his feet, “never have I heard of a warrior called Murmesh.” The name was completely foreign to him, even as he searched his distant memory. The title, however, could only suggest that the odds were not stacked in his favour. Still as white as a sheet, he was paraded once around the room before being led from the throne to the cheers and jeers of those watching on and as he was, caught sight of the Seers flanking their king. Both of those strange robed acolytes were smiling broadly like vultures and exchanging glances of pure and unmitigated joy at their own validation, and the promise of their continued infallibility in the house of their ruler. Skara knew somehow that it would not be the last time that he would see those smiling devils before too long, and vowed quietly that if he were to somehow break free from his sentence, that they would be the first to face retribution. This he vowed, to his Gods and those of the Watchers.

Skara was led from the hall by He-Xur and several of the city’s soldiers and was taken to a holding cell at its northern edge. As the group snaked their way through the erratic and winding alleys between buildings, he was pelted with rotting fruit and vegetables by children and cursed by the men and women that called the city their home, until his captors broke away from the central district and they neared the outskirts of the metropolis. The road they had taken led them up a steep rise and towards a wide enclosure made out of the earth and walled by thick logs and stones stacked awkwardly to ring a deep, wide depression in the ground that appeared to have been only freshly dug by the people of the city.

Skara caught a distant glimpse of the inside of the depression as they neared the crest of a hill overlooking it before they reached his prison. He noticed that the earth within the enclosure had been deeply trodden and gouged in many places by something large and extremely heavy. Several citizens of the city were inside the enclosure, apparently reinforcing the walls around it, and he could just make out from where he was that in some places, the dark soil of what he later knew to be the great arena held deep pools of blood and water. He shivered visibly as they veered-off from the hill and made for a series of crude pits, which served to house the enemies of He-Tauhasa awaiting punishment.

As he was thrown into one such pit near the Northern wall, and before the wooden grate above him was closed and its latch secured, one of his captors leaned-in above him and said; “I would hope and pray that a man of your size can run, my friend. For whatever strength might have served you until this day will do you little good tomorrow.” At that, the grate slammed shut and Skara stared once more into the darkness, wishing he were home. When the footfalls and voices of the soldiers and his lord were out of earshot, his thoughts turned to his son and daughter, and he wept openly beneath the sky and, eventually, the stars above him. Stars which he blamed for everything that had led him to that moment.

After a long and uncomfortable night spent in a dark and filthy hole, Skara was woken up rather abruptly by a bucket of freezing water that was dumped through the roof of his cell and onto his head. The shock of the cold water on his skin immediately caused his breath to shorten, and his senses instantly to snap to attention. A gruff voice called through the grate above him, “Rise and shine, prisoner. Today is your big day..! The King wants you washed and decent before he makes an example of you,” and at that, a crudely-woven rope ladder was dropped over the edge. Skara climbed up and out of the pit, holding himself and shivering violently in the crisp morning air, and was escorted by the guards to a small hut nearby to be washed and dressed for what was to follow. Two giggling handmaidens were on hand to assist with this, to which Skara did not object however he was careful to bundle his own robes and kept a careful eye on them as he bathed. When he was washed and dressed in a simple tunic that they had provided, he gathered what remained in his clothing and was bound once more at the wrists before being led from the building.

As the group arrived at the foot of the hill which he had passed over the day before, they were joined by two more guards who were wielding flaming torches and escorted around the rise toward the arena. Skara could already hear the excited buzz of several hundred voices in the distance, and as they neared the walls he realised that he had been deceived as to the true scale of the structure into which he was being led. The walls of the arena towered above him as they approached, and pyres had been lit all at the tops of several scaffolds around its outer rim. He was guided through an entrance at what must have been the rear of it and into a dark tunnel that had been dug out from the mound of earth that ringed the central stage. After a short distance they reached a larger chamber which he guessed would have been northeast of its center, and there Skara was instructed to sit and wait. “He-Xur wanted to speak with you, before we take you further,” one of the guards told him. He groaned audibly as he dropped and sat cross-legged on the flattened dirt floor, his eyes adjusting to the dark and there they waited patiently for his lord to arrive.

Several long minutes passed, and the noise from within the arena had grown so intense that it could be heard even through the tunnel and inside the chamber in which the group had stopped to wait. Just as Skara was about to begin asking further questions of his captors, voices could be heard in the far tunnel continuing on past their room, and within moments He-Xur emerged from the shadows, wielding a long parcel wrapped in cloth and sporting a sombre look on his face. He moved to the centre of the room, regarded Skara briefly with a nod and dropped the bundle to the ground, before speaking:

“I have no doubt, Skara,” he began, “that you understand that it is the will of our king He-Tauhasa that you should fall in combat today for your heresy. It would appear that he has chosen this punishment both as a spectacle for the citizens of Çatalhöyük to enjoy, and perhaps in part also in honour of his relationship to your father, whom he considered at least at one time to be a dear friend and ally. Our king will address his people before you are led to meet your fate. He will use your death as an example in proving to those that would refuse to heed his call to war that a coward’s death is all that will be offered to them. I have been commanded to bring you a choice in weaponry, with which you might honourably participate in your end, though I fear that your choices will do you little good this day, whatever they might be.” He then proceeded to unroll the bundle that he had brought with him and several axes, spears and, curiously, a long length of woven rope rolled-out.

Skara paused momentarily as he considered He-Xur’s words and the options that were laid out before him. He also contemplated the seemingly hopeless situation that he found himself in, and the intentions that he had had in making the choices he had made. In the end, he decided to try one last time to appeal to He-Xur on a personal level. “My lord,” he started, “did nothing that I have said make any difference to you..? I have known you since we ourselves were children. I have hunted the valley with you in youth, and I have stood by you as you claimed the rulership of our people, before we grew apart. Knowing this, can you still look me in the eye and tell me truthfully that you do not find some reason, some shred of believability in what I have seen, however small..? I have always stood by you, first as a brother and then as your subject. Surely as I go to my own death, I am owed your honest truth.”

He-Xur looked at Skara for a time, and after a lengthy pause let out a long and resigned sigh. “Skara..” he seemed to be lost for words for a moment, and then realised that whatever words he might have chosen to speak next were not words to be shared lightly. He motioned the four guards to enter the far tunnel, advising them that he would bring Skara through himself in a moment. “Skara, when I ascended to the head of the people of the valley, I have had to change a great many things. No longer could I live as carefree as you and your kin lived. I learned that I must be responsible, not only to He-Tauhasa but to the people of Nevalı Çori. Should there ever be a hardship in the village, I too would suffer the burden with the rest of you. However it is only by the grace and protection of He-Tauhasa that we are allowed to live or die free. It is also by the allegiance of our people to the greater kingdom that we are not seen as a threat and an enemy of peace in the Southern lands. Come whatever may, I must therefore always support his judgement, whatever I might believe and particularly in audience with our people. Do you understand..?”

For the first time in many years, Skara found in his He-Xur’s countenance a deep and genuine empathy as he extended his right hand to him in a show of friendship not as his lord, but the man he once knew.

Skara did understand then, and began to consider that perhaps if he might have taken a more private and calculating approach to his warning, things might have worked out differently. He nodded in response, and clasped He-Xur’s hand in kind. No more needed to be said, however as He-Xur cut the bonds from his wrists he cocked his head towards the bundle of weapons that he had left, whispering to Skara, “If I were you however, Skara Tau – I would choose the rope.” He then winked, and Skara immediately reached for the spool of heavy rope and wrapped it around his right shoulder before He-Xur led him down the far tunnel where they met with the rest of the guards. The six of them passed through a small doorway which led out of the greater structure, and into the depression at its center. In the fierce sunlight, he could just make out the silhouetted figure of He-Tauhasa and his champion in the middle of the arena, flanked by a dozen soldiers of the Southern army and found that there were hundreds if not thousands of spectators from the city in attendance, some standing and some sitting around the huge mound of earth that surrounded him.

The arena itself was crudely constructed, comprising essentially of a massive bowl of earth that had been excavated and arranged to form a steep embankment. Heavy stones had been piled at its lower edge to form a wall some twelve feet high at ground level, and behind the steep rise whereupon the people of the city sat, an arrangement of stones and wooden logs formed an outer wall upon which nine tall fire scaffolds had been built. At the far east and west ends of the arena, two massive stone boulders were set in place to cover larger entrances to the depression (which Skara had guessed allowed for the passage of greater beasts and equipment), the western such boulder sitting at the foot of a much larger stone enclosure. As his eyesight adjusted once more to daylight, Skara was welcomed with a massive roar from the crowd that had gathered, and he nervously acknowledged their booing and cheering with a dispassionate wave of his right hand as he made his way towards He-Tauhasa, who was nearing the end of his speech:

“People of Çatalhöyük, I therefore thank you again for joining us in witnessing the living justice of your Gods as this man,” he gestured toward Skara with a flabby outstretched right arm, “pays penance for his heresies, and faces punishment for defiance of his king. May the Gods exact their will, and his soul be weighed accordingly in the world beyond.” He-Tauhasa moved toward Skara, bowing only slightly to acknowledge the other man before he, his soldiers and curiously, his champion too, still dressed head to toe in the same red garb that he had seen him in earlier passed him by and returned through the tunnel that he had left, the other guards joining them as they did.

“Strange,” Skara thought to himself, “that the greatest of the King’s warriors might also take leave of me. If that soldier is not the one I am to face in the arena this day, then who or what in the world is this Murmesh that I have been brought here to fight..?”

At once, Skara was all alone save for a number of workers at the western end and for several minutes he stood beneath the brilliant mid-morning Sun, looking around the arena and turning a full 360 degrees as those assembled booed, hissed and cursed him. After a long moment passed, he heard a wooden door snap shut as the small entryway was locked and sealed, and He-Tauhasa took up position among the crowd at a rise in the stands true north of the centre of the arena. He noticed roughly a dozen Seers, identifiable by their token conspicuous grey robes take up position on the opposite side of the arena, and when all were present and prepared, the crowd started with a familiar chant of “Murmesh, Murmesh, Murmesh..!” before a loud horn was sounded by the King’s herald, and a flurry of activity could be heard at the western end of the arena.

Just as several-dozen attendants took up position at the massive stone boulder and began heaving at a number of thick, heavy ropes tied around it, another massive trumpet blast shook the ground. The blast of this second trumpet however was entirely different to the one preceding it, and caused the entire crowd to become deathly quiet. Skara’s knees became weak as the boulder rocked from its position and began to roll away, revealing a massive entrance opposite where he stood and yet another far louder and more powerful blast came directly from within the massive tunnel that had been carved from the earth and which led to the mysterious enclosure at the opposite end. He strained his eyes to see into the darkness of the opening, but could only make out blackness as the attendants finally freed the boulder completely, and they themselves scrambled desperately for the last small entrance in the arena wall, which they quickly closed and locked behind them.

Skara found himself completely alone within the arena now, the crowd around him seeming all at once to be holding their breath and waiting. Just as he was about to make his way toward the massive opening in the wall, he felt the earth beneath him begin to tremble, and a series of what felt like loud and terrible footsteps started up, causing the crowd to once again erupt with cries of excitement. With a steady saunter, the trumpeter left the shadows and moved into the arena, and as it did Skara finally realised just how impossible his situation was.

Out of the shadows of the far enclosure, Murmesh walked. Not a man as he had reckoned, Skara recognised immediately the monstrous form of a great beast from the stories and legends that had been told to him as a child. Murmesh was in fact the name given to a great war elephant, those same beasts of old that the Ancients were said to have harnessed and which should have departed from the world following the last retreat of the northern ice. Some twelve feet tall, covered with thick, matted hair and with sharpened tusks stained with dark blood that he could only have assumed remained from previous sacrifices, Murmesh rose up on his hindquarters, bringing both heavy forelegs crashing to the earth with a massive boom which shook the ground and gave a monstrous roar which sent the crowd into a frenzy. Skara stood rooted to the spot, completely frozen by fear and his jaw dropped. Never in his life had he seen such a mammoth beast, and neither in this life nor the next would he have a hope of overcoming it alone. Not with rope, not by spear.. not with a dozen soldiers. “Where and how,” he thought incredulously to himself, “did they find such a creature..?”

Murmesh stood still for several moments, looking around at the crowd and adjusting to the open air of the arena following a lengthy spell in a dark and, what must have been to him, cramped enclosure. The great beast grunted deeply and started a slow meander, looking first back at the entrance behind it and then out across the depression before setting its sights on Skara, alone and trapped within the confines to the arena. Skara began to panic as the creature’s cold, black eyes widened, it snorted and gave another shrill blast from its trunk. It would be impossible for him to defeat the beast in combat, and there was no way that he could scale the arena walls to reach safety. Even if he could have navigated his way to the top, the crowd and soldiers that lined the summit would just as surely throw him back, if they did not kill him where he was. Slowly, Murmesh began to wander across from the far end of the arena and Skara knew he had to do something.

In addition to the spool of rope that He-Xur had given him, there was also a sharp ivory hook that had been secured to one end, effectively providing at least some minor offensive ability. As the creature began a slow trot toward him, he knew that he might only have one chance of stopping or at least slowing the creature down before he could formulate a plan that might keep him from winding up as little more than another darker shade of red on its tusks. Murmesh was enormous, well and truly living up to the title that the people had given him and as he moved closer and Skara edged further back towards the eastern stone slab, the elephant was almost galloping. Skara seized his chance to take advantage of the fact that he was at least quicker than the beast. Moments before Murmesh would have run him down, and hoping that the weight of the creature and the momentum of its first attack would carry it into the remaining stone boulder (perhaps dislodging it), he sprinted and dove left of the monster at the last second, sending it tusks-first into the earth before the stone and its body crashing straight into the wall.

As Murmesh struck the boulder, a great cry rose from the crowd, concerned only that the monster might be injured. The stone itself however was extremely large, solid and only rolled ever so slightly back on its axis before falling once more into place, keeping Skara trapped and the crowd as safe as ever from the spectacle. The beast was stunned momentarily, however it quickly regained its footing and once again and scanned the arena for Skara. Murmesh was enraged, not only by the failed offensive but it had itself been kept a constant state of torment, suffering regular and savage abuse from its handlers within the far enclosure in order to keep it in an ongoing state of frenzy. The giant creature spotted Skara once more, who had by now unwound the spool of rope in the animal’s confusion but before it had a chance to attack again, he was already swinging the hook above his head, and loosed it at the creature’s front left leg. Skara’s aim was true, and the hook swung right around the animal’s limb and on its return buried itself into the heavy muscle of the foreleg, causing it to roar in pain.

Skara knew that the only chance that he might have of slowing the animal down would be to cause Murmesh to lose his footing, and he hoped that he might be able to bind its legs if he could to move fast enough. Holding the remaining rope, he sprinted again as fast as he could to the right of the monster, hoping to run once around it before it could charge again. He was not quick enough however, and the elephant was still too close to the eastern entrance for him to move safely past it. Murmesh caught Skara on the run and with one great swipe of his trunk, knocked him from his feet, straight into the stone boulder and onto the ground. The crowd at this point were all on their feet, screaming for the animal to put an end to the valley man. He-Tauhasa was smiling the broadest of smiles from his position at the way the event was unfolding, while He-Xur watched on beside him, doing his best to mask a growing concern. Skara was a broad and capable man but this, he felt, gave him little chance of an honourable end. The Seers for their part watched on with an entirely emotionless devotion to the spectacle.

Skara lay in the dirt for several seconds, dazed somewhat from his head having smashed against the stone and searched the ground around him for the end of the rope. He could not find it for the dust, and raised himself up for a better look however as it cleared, he noticed that the dark shape of the beast had already moved out from the edge of the arena, dragging the rope with it and now stood at its center. Murmesh had created distance between itself and what it reckoned was an already defeated opponent, and was now lining Skara up for one final, fatal charge. A charge that it knew he was too battered to evade and, without his rope and weapon, would be unable to contest.

The creature sized him up from a distance, and Skara realised that this would be his last stand. He raised himself up to his full height and glanced in the direction first of the Seers, and then straight toward He-Tauhasa who only raised his chin slightly skyward as if to acknowledge the gesture. Skara moved back towards the boulder and held both arms outstretched, gripping the rock. Time itself seemed to slow down as he stood clasping the cold stone blocking the eastern entry to the arena and as he did, he recalled the words of a friend, words that suddenly took on a new meaning:

“Should you find yourself somehow trapped, and the only way of escape to move through solid stone.. you will do well to remember to use this. Of it, I can say no more that you would understand.” They were the words of Yamnaya, and they were spoken in reference to the same small, spherical vial that he had chosen to keep with him at all times following their meeting. He had buried it in his robes when he was led from the village, and had brought it with him on this day, tucked into his tunic. Though he might not have understood much about the compound he carried, he knew somehow that it was meant for this moment.

He fumbled within his clothes as the shadow at the center of the arena first kicked at the earth before it, and then broke into a trot and then a gallop toward him. “The vial..!” He panicked, “Where in Anu’s name is the vial..?!” The compound must have slipped from the hidden pocket within his clothes when the beast had belted him against the wall, and as the dust cleared completely he could just see it glinting in the sunlight some ten feet away of him in the direction of Murmesh, who was quickly gaining speed. Knowing that it might be his only chance, his legs sprang quickly and thankfully into action this time, and he immediately dove forward to take it.

With the creature quickly closing in, he leapt forward and landed face down in the dirt in front of the vial and with his outstretched right arm picked it out of the dust and in the same motion, turned and threw it as hard as he could, as accurately as he could at the stone boulder behind. Those in the crowd had sensed that there was something more to the prisoner lunging forward in the direction of the beast, if not just an act of pure insanity and as it closed in held their breaths as one. To Skara’s astonishment, his aim was true and the crystal vial shattered directly in the center of the massive stone boulder.

What happened next caused not only the spectators in the arena to gasp audibly, but the creature itself to stop dead in its tracks. As the invisible contents of the vial erupted over the boulder, an incredible flash of violet light burst forth from it in every direction, as if coming from the stone itself. Many shielded their eyes including Skara, and Murmesh stopped some twenty feet short of the prone man, rearing up onto his hind legs and bellowing in fright. The flash of light persisted for several long seconds, blinding everyone before returning to the surface of the stone, which began to glow a deep and fiery red, giving off an incredible heat as it did.

The boulder flared intensely for another several seconds, before an amazing change began to take place in its composition. Much the same as ice might be heated directly into steam when struck with a hot iron, the stone itself appeared to sublimate in reaction to the compound, becoming lighter than air – the boulder literally dissipated into a thin vapour which was taken by the wind and before anyone realised it, it was simply no longer there. It truly was an incredible moment, the sort for which there is no appropriate human reaction. It might have been reasonable then that Murmesh was the first creature in many long moments to move, as it immediately saw its ticket out from the arena, trumpeted loudly and galloped out through the entrance into the space beyond where before the way was blocked. The great creature roared and thundered past Skara and as it did, the crowd suddenly realised that he was free and immediately descended into uproar.

Skara himself was also stunned, and could not believe that in the massive opening through which the creature fled had stood a giant wall of stone only moments before. As the panic intensified however and the sound of barking orders from He-Tauhasa’s bodyguards filled the air and mingled with the screams of the spectators, Skara leapt to his feet and he too ran out through the opening and into the city beyond. Ihreikas shouted loudly for his soldiers to restore order, and as Skara bolted through the gate he locked eyes once more with the solemn champion of the King for only a moment as he stood beside his master, feeling a cold chill run down his spine as the other man remained motionless, simply staring after him as he ran.

What followed in the great arena was the longest period of anarchy seen within the walls of the capital since the foundation of the city, as men, women and children all scrambled from their positions and made their way desperately either to safety, or back out into the city to warn their friends and family that the beast had been loosed. Skara sprinted straight for the nearest northern exit in the city walls, and as the guards had quickly abandoned their posts to assist in controlling the population, managed to slip away unchallenged.

Here is a Fourth Excerpt from Alluvion

04. A Grand Decree

“My brothers, my sisters and my dear friends,” He-Xur began, with his trademark flair for the dramatic, “people.. of Nevalı Çori. I bid you all a good morning, and trust that in the absence of your fearless leader your needs have been well met, and your bellies filled. I thank you,” he turned to face Skara, and with his right hand outstretched bowed his head slightly at the other man, “and I salute you, who would rise to his duty and preserve order and balance to our home in my absence.” Skara, still confused but honoured nonetheless at the mention returned a bow of his own head, offering fealty once more to He-Xur amidst cheers and applause from the rest of the village.

“Though pleased as you are no doubt to see me,” he continued, “I am sure some of you question, ‘Why has our leader returned now, when two more Moons were promised first to pass’..?” He stepped down from the elevation and slowly moved closer before the crowd, whose excitement was clearly beginning to build. “Why has He-Xur (he would frequently refer to himself in third-person, an idiosyncrasy that had often perplexed Skara) come back to the Valley before his time..? I will answer you this, though it might surprise many of you to hear of what it is I have come to know from those learned and esteemed leaders of the capital,” Several villagers called out, “Tell us..!” and, “What of He-Tauhasa..?”

“People of Nevalı Çori,” he wasted no time then in cutting straight to the chase, raising his voice beyond a reasonable volume and bellowing with a fierce and resounding roar: “war is upon us..!” His eyes bulged from his head and the veins on either side of his neck swelled as he delivered his proclamation. Immediately, audible gasps, moans and murmurs erupted from the crowd. Several small children began to cry only to be hushed by their mothers, and voices could be heard exclaiming, “War..? War with who..? Who would declare war on us..?” The people of the valley had not been faced with any sort of conflict for generations, enjoying a remarkably long and prosperous season and none among them could have expected this now.

The chieftain went on: “I have met with our Divine King He-Tauhasa Ihreikas himself, and he has told me of the visions of the Seers of Çatalhöyük.” More murmurs, because if they were being honest, the townsfolk themselves were somewhat divided as to the true intent of those Seers, members of an order who claimed to be the divine interpreters of their Godhead. An order so many leagues to the west as to almost seem fantastic to those who had never made the journey.

“The Seers,” he roared on, desperate to retain control of the crowd, “have witnessed, as we all have that the Cygnet among the stars bleeds and has bled for a full Moon. They have seen the signs and warn us that an invasion comes from the west..!” This sent the crowd into a frenzy. Every man and woman of the valley and indeed the entire population of the Southern lands had been raised from birth to hate on instinct those that dwelt to the west. A barbaric, incestuous foreign tribe of murderers and usurpers, they were told, who in their godless lust for war were always plotting the downfall of the Eastern tribes. He-Xur knew this well, understanding that it would be all too easy to incite his people to rally behind him, should a war with the West be his banner. He knew now that to bring his people completely on-side, he need only offer them glory and security as reward for such a risk as an ingress into enemy territory.

“Brothers and sisters, the Seers have decreed that we of the East would be victorious against these marauders from beyond the lowly wastes,” he began to pace up and down in front of the crowd, their eyes following him as he went, “if we would strike first this serpent that threatens our kin, and cut off its head. The Gods favour us my friends, but more importantly, the Gods favour our honour, our power and our loyalty to those we call our own. Today I have returned to you to ask that you honour your king, and not just if it pleases you, for you honour your family, your kin and yourselves if you will follow me in this glorious campaign.” The crowd by this time had swollen to include almost every single man, woman and child in the village, their faces now reflecting soberly not only on what would be left behind should they follow He-Xur to the capital and to war, but what they might risk losing if they did not.

“If we do not strike at the serpent, the serpent strikes at us. Now is the time for us to make haste to the capital to meet our king, and to defend our homes and our lands, before it is too late. The Seers have foreseen our victory – the blood of the West must be spilled, their forces broken, their women raped and their villages plundered. It is the only way. Who will join us in this glorious fight..? Who among you would follow me now, your blood lord into battle and would see their oldest enemies crushed into the earth, once and for all..?” His voice rose with every sentence, the intensity in his speech and in his eyes increasing with every syllable as he paced before the crowd, staring piercingly into the sea of faces as if weighing the value of their very souls. The people of Nevalı Çori were not soldiers, nor were they warriors. They were not marauders nor killers – they were hunters, they were fathers and they were simple men of the East. But they had made up their mind.

With a thunderous roar that shook the ground, the villagers as one shouted for their lord, proclaiming their support for the coming war and giving praise to the Gods for the chance to honour them. It would otherwise have been an inspiring moment for Skara, to see his kin raise their fists and weapons high above their heads, clasping their brothers and sisters beside them were he not so recently made aware that the entire premise for the war for which they cheered had been a false one. He-Xur stood proud and defiant before them, returning their fealty with both arms outstretched and basked in the wave of support from his people. ‘His people’, he as all rulers through time had grown to believe this, never pausing to consider that there might be those among them less eager to follow their blood leader into the carnage that was promised. Skara turned and locked-eyes with the other as he tried unconvincingly to calm the throng about him, and he knew then that he must make a stand.

He knew only too well the price of disobeying his king, and until this time had sworn only complete and utter loyalty to He-Xur. Skara had known him since they were both children, and as far back as he could remember he had been entranced by the showmanship and passion the line of Xur had commanded, and the hold that it had had over his kin. He had also seen many a great man fall, stripped of titles, wealth and most often eventually executed in that very same plaza for daring to defy the one the Gods had appointed. It was with no small measure of faith in those same Gods that he stepped forward, and addressed his lord and the people of his village. Sura’s face dropped as he did, not trusting that her husband knew exactly what it was he was doing, and knowing the consequences that might inevitably follow if he failed to present a sound and acceptable argument.

“My friends,” he began, turning to He-Xur, “my lord.. I wished not yet to bring to you tidings from our most recent journey into the wilderness, at least not like this and I honour our blood-ruler for the wisdom he returns to us from the capital. However I feel I must speak now of those events that have transpired at that grassy plateau to the north which I have come to call Uru-Mah.” The crowd went silent as he stepped forward to speak, and now also seemed confused at the name assigned to what they knew to be a rather innocuous area of land, and hardly becoming of the label, the ‘Magnificent High’. He went on: “While we camped at the foothills to the south of the plateau, and as I stood watch over my brothers in the dead of the night I was visited by one of the order who call themselves the Watchers,” more murmurs and gasps from the women and children as he continued, “who bade me to speak with them at their council beneath the high-hills, in the city that is theirs. I have no doubts, as you might that these were indeed the Watchers of old, as he did reveal to me his face, and by his stature alone appeared as no man I have ever seen.”

“The next morning, while hunting the lands surrounding the plateau, my brother and I did venture north over the rise and into the flatlands beyond, where I took council with the Watchers, who told to me of the true meaning of this signal in the sky.” He-Xur scoffed loudly, interrupting Skara in the middle of his speech and roaring above him, “The Watchers, he says..!” Turning to address the crowd, “No-one has seen their kind in an age, and nobody would dare break the forbidding that I and the rulers of the East have put upon that place beneath the hills, a land forsaken by the Gods themselves..!” He then spat at the earth and pointed aggressively at Skara, “What right have you, Skara Tau to venture into those lands forbidden by your forebears, where no other has strayed, and pray tell us what your Watchers,” he sneered as he rolled the name distastefully on his tongue, “those freaks of nature, if that is who they really were, have told you of those signs, truthfully read and deciphered by our own Seers..? Come now, entertain us..!” Some in the crowd laughed, others muttered uneasily amongst themselves, knowing that the next words to come out of Skara’s mouth might well seal his fate. Skara went on:

“The council of the Watchers too have seen the sign, and in their wisdom have revealed a greater catastrophe that will take place than your supposed invasion from the west. The signs speak not of war, but of a great dragon which will fall from the sky, and burn the valley and indeed all of the Eastern lands to ashes. Those of the council have told me that in two weeks hence, if we are not safely within the high walls of their city, we will all be destroyed by this weapon which comes, and comes quickly.” More gasps, and the sound of several villagers booing could be heard from the crowd as he paused, but he went on. “Your war is a lie, the Seers have falsely interpreted the signs and would have our people spread far from safety where they would be destroyed by the dragon of seven tails. Listen to me brothers and sisters, my Lord you have been deceived..! We cannot march West, you must not listen to this madness..”

He-Xur roared, “Enough..!” His face had turned bright red at the assertion that he, the highest among them had been taken for a fool by the learned men of the capital. He moved towards Skara and proceeded to make an example of the huntsman, who now felt as though his legs would turn to jelly:

“To think that I should ever live to see such insolence, such wanton treason from you, Skara Tau. How dare you, a mere huntsman from the valley speak such heresy, such slander of the Seers, who are by divine decree the very voice of the Gods. And to defy me, your lord..! I will hear no more of your Watchers and their talk of dragons and other such nonsense – rescind those words that you have spoken, promising no further talk of those abominations to the north and by and only by the loyalty you have shown me until this day will I spare your life.”

Skara went white, knowing too that there would be no turning back, no second chances if he continued by Yamnaya’s directive. He looked down at his children, cowering by their mother’s legs and then at Sura, who herself did not completely understand what her husband was saying. Her features dropped as she looked deep into his eyes and saw in them the path he would take. Skara glanced too at his brother, Andar who gritted his teeth from across the plaza as if to say “Idiot – stop this madness before you get yourself killed..!” Skara however had made up his mind, and shouted once more to the crowd and his lord:

“I will not – the words of the Seers are false, the dragon arrives and the Watchers offer us salvation. I will not follow you, He-Xur into this war of your master’s making, and I would not condone the slaughter of our kinsman where such actions are unnecessary. I am sorry.”

The crowd erupted then, incensed by the tone of defiance in his voice and responded by pointing toward, shouting at and taunting the other man. He-Xur arched his back and threw his muscular arms wide, declaring, “So be it..! Skara Tau, this day you have defied your Lord and will be punished accordingly.” He wasted no time as the crowd swelled around them, threatening to stone him there and then. Several rocks flew at the huntsman as his lord barked his order; “Take him and tie him in the Northeast quarter. We will march at sunset for the capital so as to meet our King two mornings hence, and will take the prisoner to his divine court for judgement..!” Skara gulped, for he knew just what this meant. Justice in the valley was and had always been dealt swiftly and with mercy, however from the capital he had heard a great many tales of the maiming and execution of traitors in the public arena, purely for the sport and entertainment of its citizens as spectators.

Skara was stripped of any blades he carried, seized sharply by both arms by two of the more burly soldiers that had returned with He-Xur and as his children screamed and cried for their father, was led away to be imprisoned until the men of the village were prepared to march. Sura wept, and screamed clemency for Skara who could only look back at her for a brief moment with wide-eyes concerned and filled with fear before he was taken for his fate. She dropped to her knees in defeat, unable to believe how quickly her joy had turned to despair.

All Skara could think as he was led away to face his fate was whether he would have enough time and indeed be given the opportunity to convince his King of the folly of the Seers before it was too late. This, and of the small and mysterious vial provided to him by Yamnaya, which he had managed somehow to carefully keep concealed within his robes.

Skara was led away and bundled roughly into a small wooden enclosure that had been erected at the rear of the Lord’s quarters to house prisoners awaiting punishment. No family or friends were permitted to see the captured man, and as the hours wore on before his transport west he began to reflect on the events that had brought him to this point. He cursed himself for not waiting until a more opportune moment to come clean about his visit to the plateau, and for allowing Sura and the children to see him captured and taken away before the rest of the village. He could only imagine the worry that his wife had felt in the hours since he was imprisoned, and hoped dearly that Andar had intervened to ensure that they too came to no harm.

As the sun set through an opening in the rear of the enclosure, he heard footsteps outside the gate and a voice which called to him, “Come forth, Skara – it is time.” The latch was opened and he was removed from the chamber, and made to join a large group outside the Western edge of the village. Sura and the children were nowhere to be seen.

Before the group departed, He-Xur approached him at the rear of the party under heavy guard, and spoke in confidence to him; “I would have never taken you for a fool, Skara Tau. Not until this day. What events have truly taken place that would bring you to such an act of suicide as slandering the words of your lord and king I do not know. But know this; where I have a softness within me for you and your family, the Seers of He-Tauhasa have only the divine law, and for your actions this day I do not expect you will be let-off lightly.”

Skara raised his head to address the other man, but he had already left his side and taken up position at the head of the group. He-Xur surveyed the force of several hundred behind him – every able-bodied man and boy of age that could handle a weapon had been taken from the village and surrounds to join the soldiers of the capital, and only a handful of hunters including his brother Andar were allowed to remain with the women and children, promised to keep them from harm and hunger until their fathers and husbands would return victorious. He raised his right-arm to them palm lowered and hand outstretched in a gesture of solidarity and with a mighty yell, commanded, “People of the valley, we march west for Çatalhöyük..!”

The group moved, slowly at first and then finding a rhythm in their step began the long and arduous journey to the capital. The road ahead was better-made and less treacherous than others surrounding the village, and the journey would take no more than two night’s passage. As they left sight of their homes and loved-ones, the group took up another song, to fire their resolve and prepare them for the dark days that were to come:

“You cut them down in the fray of battle
With your fierce wings, O God of War
You tear and hack their throats like cattle
Disguised, a dark and raging storm
Growl and roar..! O hurricane
And yell as a tempest boldly yells
Thunder, rage, roar, and rain
Expel thy winds from seven hells..!

Your feet are anxious as they tread
Your lyre it wails and moans
We hear your loud dirge scream and cry
O monster, sing that we may go home

As thunder, you growl across the skies..!
All trees and creatures bow before you..!

You are blood rushing down a mountain
Spirit of hate, greed and anger
Dominator of heaven and earth
Your smoke, it hides our black banner
Riding-forth on a beast of war
With indomitable commands
You decide all fates to come
And triumph over our enemy’s lands

Who can explain why you go on so..
Nergal keep guide of our axes, sling and bow”

Skara recognised many items of weaponry borne by his kinsmen as they walked, battle-axes and barbed spears that had become little more than heirlooms displayed in the homes of his neighbours who had no use of such things until now. He shook his head and lamented the outcome of their participation in a full-frontal campaign against their enemies, who were by all accounts far better equipped and much less green on the battlefield. As the trip wore on into the night, he took note that the rolling hills of the valley lands had changed into a long and gradual descent, the landscape flattening out as they reached the lower ground which would eventually lead them to the tributaries and then the estuary which marked the entrance to the port-capital. They marched on through the night, finding their road with little difficulty and made great progress on the back of high-spirits and enthusiasm for what would be for many among them the first time they had visited the heart of their empire.

They group camped once by a riverbed in the early hours of the following morning, allowing for several hours’ sleep before they carried-on with their journey. Skara was tied to a heavy stake that had been hammered into the earth at the outskirts of one of many small fires lit to warm their numbers and his hands freed from thick leather straps so that he might feed himself. The group had brought with them much of a store of cured meats, roots and vegetables gathered at the village before departing, and had sent several small groups forth as they marched to hunt ahead, so that they might also enjoy fresh meat. As they ate, some members of the group had taken pity on Skara, bringing him cuts of game to supplement the bland vegetables that he had been rationed, and of this group three had stayed with him in spite of command and their better judgement to enquire as to his well-being. The three were in fact Gidri, Gizzal and a craftsman from the Eastern quarter who was called Bacchi, son of Stol. After they had eaten, he was the first to speak, asking Skara:

“You do know what they’re planning for you, at the capital, don’t you..?” He began, “He’s not commanded that we bring you with us to see you slapped on the hand for defying his decree, you know. What manner of madness possessed you, anyway..? Have you no regard for your own life, or the livelihood of your family..?” He shook his head in resign. “We all love you like a brother, and you’ve always done the best by us in return. Why did you take opposition to He-Xur in an open forum..? Surely you knew that this would happen.”

He spoke both as if he were chastising the other man, but also with a tone of genuine concern which softened Skara. He replied quietly, careful not to raise the attention of the soldiers closer by the fire, “Brothers, those words that I have spoken before are the truth. I have told no lies of the Watchers, and what they have shown to me calls for no delay in sharing it with you. Trust me when I say that the threat these signs have shown comes not from the West, but from the skies. You might well think me mad, but what I have done I have done for my family, and for the rest of you. Take heed that the words of the Seers are not entirely selfless, and that what they say may only be said for the benefit of their order.” He turned to the fire and gazed at the flames for a moment, before adding, “You will see when the time comes, and I pray to all the Gods that you come to your senses before all is lost.”

The three looked at each other and shook their heads, before gently patting Skara on the shoulder and moving back to join the rest of the group. Skara stroked his thick black beard, and thought at length of the hopelessness of his situation before violently casting aside the food he had been given, the taste of which had turned bitter in his mouth.

At mid-morning the group set off again, passing through the many green glades and grasslands now lush with the spring climate and by late afternoon began their final descent towards the lowlands. As the sun set on their second day of travel, the landscape had begun to change dramatically, and the dark silhouettes of isolated dwellings had begun to intermittently jut-out from the horizon either side of the road on which they travelled, signifying that they were at last leaving the wilderness between the two settlements and were nearing the more densely occupied lands surrounding Çatalhöyük. Above them, the Spring skies were blood-red and striking around the enormous descending solar disc and the heralds of He-Xur ordered the party to pause for a quick prayer to Anu, the head of their pantheon and of whom such skies were a blessing before they continued.

The throng carried-on through the evening, electing to make one final camp beside a copse of oak trees just east of the city before arriving at first light. Again Skara’s bonds were loosened so that he might feed himself, however He-Xur’s soldiers kept a closer watch this time. Word had travelled quickly through the group that some of his fellow valley-men had confided in him the previous night, and their leader was determined that his treasonous ideas would not be spread amongst his friends and neighbours, with whom he knew the prisoner had a greater rapport than he himself. Skara ate his fill, famished from the long and arduous trek that the group had made swiftly to make time and prayed a silent prayer of his own to the pantheon that he might find wisdom among his accusers when brought to trial. If indeed a trial was to be arranged, for he knew that those elders of the city had not endured for so long by entertaining dissident voices.

He slept warily through that night, ever watchful for those soldiers that might exact their own justice on the King’s behalf and at daybreak was yanked sharply to his feet by two of their number eager to press on and rejoin their brethren at the capital. The party marched a dozen men wide to the entrance of Çatalhöyük to meet the city watch, and Skara was awed by the great arch which surrounded the large wooden gates of the city. Massive oaken doors finished the road from the east, grand gates which stood almost twenty cubits tall and around the arch above it was carved the city’s grandiose claim, in great black symbols which read:

“HERE LIES THE GLORIOUS SPLENDOUR THAT IS ÇATALHÖYÜK; THE VIBRANT BEATING HEART OF SILUR-MAH WHERE EVER REIGN ANU’S DIVINE BLOOD-REPRESENTATIVES ON EARTH.”

After a quick exchange, the gates creaked open and the group were permitted entry into the city beyond. The capital itself was a vast collective of halls and dwellings built from an assortment of wood, stone and stretched animal skins, some carefully erected by artisans to the wishes of the more affluent and respected elders of the settlement and others resembling more the modest wooden huts of Nevalı Çori and the lesser villages to the east.

The city was criss-crossed with made and unmade roads, and plumes of smoke rose from many corners and hearths and clouded the sky above in a thick haze which choked Skara and others among them not used to such an atmosphere. They had been warned of this, and told that they would get used to it but Skara could not believe that he would ever come to prefer the smog of city life above the crisp, clean air of the valley. As the small army moved through the streets in the direction of the center of the settlement and towards the largest of its halls where dwelt the ruling family of Çatalhöyük, a herald from amongst them sounded two long and sharp blasts from his horn, intended to catch the attention of the household of He-Tauhasa Ihreikas.

The blasts prompted emissaries of the King to immediately march forth and confront the group, sharing a quick word with He-Xur before escorting them past a growing throng of onlookers, curious to see who had been welcomed into their city. Several dozen yards from the city square, the more distinguished among the group, including He-Xur, Skara and his minders were led into the massive Hall of Kings, and brought into a long space at the rear of the building. Skara was taken then before a large wooden throne draped with vibrant red cloth and decorated finery, where sat the king of the Southern lands, who was himself bare from the waist up save for several brightly coloured arm bands and other assorted adornments, and surrounded by handmaidens holding food, wine and other luxuries reserved for the ruler of their world. Skara was forced immediately to kneel in submission to the throne by a swift kick to the back of one knee, and He-Xur bowed his head in a gesture of respect before once more addressing his ruler for the first time since leaving the capital.