Ravens By Starlight - IonFish
:: 07/16/01 ::
Chapter 8 - Shadows Wandering Off Somewhere
"Nineteen kings for nineteen tribes. These were not the young Kings of the Year, chosen to rule from one great Rite to the next and then to die - these were kings who would rule as long as they could grip a war-axe, some young, some scarred with time and battle, but man-slayers all, their smile wealth, their frown death. The King of the Otters ruled from Blacksands to Umba's River; eight thousand fighters gathered to his muster; for nine years he had knelt to no other king. The King of the West Cats ruled one sparse valley and could call thirty-three men to his war-pole; for nine years he too had knelt to no other king. But now both knelt on the slope of the man-built hill while their tribes watched in silence.
For nine years no High King had ruled. No one had sat on the Stone Chair. Like baiting dogs the tribes had warred mindless. Sometimes one king had decided he had gained mastery enough and had issued the summons and travelled with henchmen and allies to the man-built hill, but before they had reached it they had lost their way among the marshes. There were mists, there were fevers. Guides who had been there before had forgot the route. Paths circled back on themselves. So the kings had returned to their holds and allowed themselves to be persuaded that the time had not been ready. What use to find the hill and to site on the Stone Chair unless they could hold in their right hand the axe Iscal, and that was lost in the Bog of Beara? The last High King was dead, his line all slaughtered, and Iscal lay deep in the black ooze. There would never again be a High King, only endless warfare." - Peter Dickinson, 'Merlin Dreams'
"Chief, you seen the captain?"
The question, spoken a few centimetres from behind his ear, startled Dooman. Halting his scurrying walk towards the Officer's Mess, he turned to see Captain Marnos standing a scant metre away.
"No, he's having dinner on the Onyx with the Admiral."
The Onyx was Task Force 317's flagship, a thirty-year-old carrier; from it, Admiral Leyn Ieuno had directed the Republican battle group's victory over the Imperialist ambush. The mopping-up operation had finished barely an hour ago, the insurgent force fighting a rearguard action as it withdrew to the safety of hyperspace.
"Oh" said Marnos, sounding slightly puzzled "I thought he'd be here, supervising the repairs or something."
Though the Stormhawk's furious attack had shattered the enemy flank and destroyed the Imperialist carrier, it had sustained significant damage in the process. A few enemy strike craft, finding themselves stranded and low of fuel, had kamikazed into the cruiser's hull: one heavy turret was out of action, as were two of the AAA batteries; numerous scrapes and tears were being patched by suited crewmen and repair drones - the Task Force's support frigates and repair corvettes had more serious casualties to attend to.
"He said he was 'going to have dinner with an old friend' and to have her battle-worthy by the time he got back."
Marnos nodded silently, and Dooman examined the Special Operations officer's face more carefully. It was lined and drawn, the features pale. Purple lines rimmed tired eyes: the face seemed haunted, as though something - someone? - was hunting it, following it through every dream and waking nightmare.
"What was it like?" he asked timidly, slightly afraid of the intense, enigmatic man who had come into their midst in such secrecy - a man who demanded, and seemingly got, whatever he asked of the Stormhawk's crew and captain. Even Leedan - a fearless man, if Dooman had ever seen one - seemed slightly unsure of himself in Marnos' presence.
"Out there, I mean; what was it like?"
The repetition did not appear to bother Marnos; he seemed to have hardly heard.
"Bad."
Just one word, but it seemed to be all that needed to be said. Quailing slightly, Dooman reached out and took the other's arm, guiding him down the corridor.
"Come on, have something to eat."
"If… if it's not too much trouble."
Dooman shivered - the transition from tired warrior to timid child only serving to add to the unsettlingly incomprehensible nature of the man.
"I was going to the Mess anyway. Come on, it's no bother - you'll feel better after a bite to eat."
* * *
The air in Leyn Ieuno's quarters was cool; a refreshing breeze drifted serenely through the dimly-lit cabin, making candlelight-cast shadows dance across drapery-covered walls. Thick green and blue threads were woven into twisting waves, seeming to leap from the cream backdrop in a spray of foam.
"Why did you do it, Akar?"
Leedan shrugged, eyes staring unseeing at the wineglass he held. "Because I didn't have anything else to do; anywhere else to go."
"You had me." Her voice sounded hurt and sad, as though his words were shards of glass, stabbing deep into her heart.
"I… you know I couldn't. Not so soon. It wouldn't… wouldn't have been right."
"I would have been what you needed - a shoulder to lean on."
"No. I would have felt I was betraying her."
Leyn's voice was laced with frustration and sadness. "Why do you always have to be so goddamned loyal, Akar!" she almost shouted, immediately falling silent, eyes cast down to the floor. She spoke again, he voice broken like cracked ice. "I'm… I'm sorry. It's just…"
"I know. I'm sorry too."
She glanced at him, the tears in her eyes glowing in the candlelight. "Do you think - maybe? If things hadn't…" she trailed.
Leedan nodded. "Maybe. But they weren't."
"No."
They sat in silence, glances carrying unspoken words across the space between them.
"You want another drink?"
"Why not."
He smiled up at her as she stood, naval uniform abandoned in favour of a loose white shirt and baggy trousers.
"I'll be back in a sec."
She seemed slightly remote when she returned, her mind focussed not on him but on something in the far distance.
"Here." She poured the wine from the elegant carafe into Leedan's glass, then her own. Placing it on the table, she sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged on the rug across from him, just out of reach.
He raised the glass to his lips. "To old friends, and battles long past."
A smile. "To old friendships never forgotten, and the battles we still have to fight."
They drank, and in drinking seemed to forget the years of pain and loss that lay between them, their toast a salve for ancient wounds.
"What's this secret mission of yours, anyway?"
"I have no idea. I was assigned the Stormhawk a month ago, oversaw her final fitting-out, then I got orders from Central telling me to pick up this Captain Marnos and take him wherever he wants to go."
" 'Wherever he wants to go?' "
"Yes. No questions; just take him. So why are you here?"
"43rd command sent me a tight-beam transmission four days ago, highest security levels - unbreakable ciphers. Told me to be here at a certain time to escort a ship into the Lost Regions via whatever route seemed appropriate."
"So you've no idea what this guy's mission is either?"
"None whatsoever."
She sighed. "Time to go… we've got this conference. Maybe we'll get some answers then."
Leedan nodded. "I suppose so."
He rose, Leyn following, dark eyes flickering toward his face. "When will I see you again?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe in a couple of months. This one's going to be tough - I can feel it."
Taking a deep breath, she took a step forward, enfolding him in an awkward embrace. She rested her head on his shoulder as his arms came up and around her, stroking her back. "It'll be alright. Don't worry, Leyn. I'll be back."
"I know."
She pulled back slightly, looking straight into his eyes.
"I… I loved you, you know."
He nodded, words unnecessary; reaching up, he stroked her cheek - she closed her eyes at the touch of his fingers.
He leant forward, bringing his palm behind her head, pulling her into the kiss. As their lips touched, he felt a tingle run down his spine.
Lost in the moment, they stood there, silhouetted against the stars - time enough.
* * *
Dooman, Marnos in tow, made his way to the food dispenser; the regular meal had been some hours before, and the counter - across which the Chef doled out exquisitely cooked banquets concocted from fresh ingredients (the products of the ship's tiny garden) - had been battened down, steel shutters closing it off from the Mess.
Jen Daima, the Operations Officer and second-in-command of the Stormhawk, passed them as they walked toward one of the grey metal tables that were scattered liberally throughout the Mess. Walking swiftly past, she shot Marnos a black look.
"She doesn't like you" Dooman observed.
"I noticed" was Marnos' only reply.
"Don't let her get to you - she doesn't like many people."
Someone else had noticed Daima's withering glare: rising to his feet, Koltor, the Intelligence Officer, waved them to his table.
He smiled at Marnos. "I'd be delighted if you would do me the honour of sharing this humble repast with me, Captain."
He glanced at Dooman, still smiling. "And you as well of course, Lieutenant."
"Thanks." Marnos seated himself, placing the plate of reheated military rations on the table in front of him.
"I apologise; some of us -" a meaningful glance toward Daima's departing form "- have made you less than welcome here, Captain. Not an attitude we encourage, I assure you." He chortled. "I suppose she must feel threatened."
Marnos gave a weak smile.
"We do try to maintain a civilised existence here, of course -" here he prodded the contents of his plate with a fork "- despite the Navy's best efforts to destroy our palates."
Another smile: Dooman couldn't decide whether it was real or affected.
"We have quite passable food at dinner, but the Chef keeps the fresh provisions under lock and key the rest of the time, so we must make do with this regurgitated mush if we are not to starve." He winked.
"Don't worry, I'm used to it."
"You've been in the military some time then?"
"Yeah."
"Really? I joined just after the revolution. Did you… play any part in that?"
"Not really; I was on an extended surveillance op when it all happened - got back to base, broke comm. silence for the first time in two months, and everything… everything had changed."
Koltor nodded sympathetically.
"It must have been disorienting. And after that?"
"Not much to it; transferred my commission to the new Intel Division, been there ever since."
Koltor, Dooman saw, was - somewhat unsuccessfully - trying to pump Marnos for information. Maybe he can't help it, he thought. He is an Intelligence Officer, after all. Or maybe he's just curious like the rest of us.
"So what did you do, before the revolution? Were you in Special Operations then?"
"No, I was in a Marine unit, attached to a frontier patrol fleet. Boring duty: we didn't see any action, even in the war - the Kushan fleet bypassed us completely."
"Oh, I see." Koltor sounded disappointed. "So, did you…"
The rest of the question was cut off by a curt wave of Marnos' hand; looking, Dooman could see he was receiving a transmission via his headset.
Marnos stood abruptly - "I've gotta go; thanks for the dinner."
"But you've hardly started" protested Dooman.
"Sorry - duty calls."
Marnos turned to Koltor. "Thank you, Lieutenant."
"My pleasure" the Intel Officer replied. "I only hope we can continue this some time."
Marnos nodded curtly to both of them, and strode from the Mess.
"I wonder what that was about?" Dooman pondered aloud.
Koltor looked thoughtful. "Must be a conference of some kind; maybe the Captain wants to know where he's got to jump to next. Still, he's a strange one; I suppose they must all be bit odd, in Special Operations; the stuff they do, you know…" he trailed off.
They ate the rest of the meal in contemplative silence, leaving unsaid their thoughts and fears.
* * *
Exiting the lift that had carried him down, Marnos looked warily about one of the Stormhawk's two hanger bays. It was about two hundred metres from the massive bay doors to the far wall - twice that between the bulkheads to either side. Roughly in the middle of the landing surface sat a small transport shuttle, its stubby body reminding Marnos of the corvettes it was descended from.
Beneath his feet, grey metal - to left and right, high walls: gigantic bulkheads, stretching fifty metres up to the ceiling, panels hiding automated repair and refuelling equipment. Suspended by vast metal cranes, as though held by the claws of gigantic crabs, were strike craft; Merlin-class Interceptors, Kestrel Scouts, black armour glistening in the bright blue-white light that saturated the hanger.
The cold grey floor was featureless, save the panels that Marnos knew slid away to reveal fuelling points, power cables, interface wires. An occasional blemish also blighted the smooth metal; scorch marks from the superheated exhaust gases of fighters and corvettes. Marnos took a deep breath, inhaling the vapours that filled the vast room. The smells of coolants, fuel, lubricants, recycled air; all blended together in a fascinating cocktail, each aspect telling a different story. He closed his eyes, remembering.
Images flashed past in his mind's eye, rendering myriad scenes of hope, despair, love, war, death. A small child, pushed roughly aboard a transport, fuel lines giving life to the ship, the sickly-sweet smell mingling with the odours of the grime, the sweat of the other passengers. Packed so close they could hardly breathe; suffocating as the ship lifted off, the roar of the jets deafening.
Glimpses, out of the shuttle's viewport; green trees, grey sky darkening as rain clouds closed in. Then, as the ground receded further into the distance, the blossoming of red-orange roses of fire, as explosions rent the surface. Thrown wildly about the cabin - standing room only, the seats stripped out so it could carry more passengers - as the ship shuddered violently, tearing upwards through the atmosphere, frantically manoeuvring.
The hull clanged, the sound horribly loud in the confined space, as mass driver rounds struck the transport. Staring, entranced, out of the viewport, as grey ships striped with yellow hurtled past, coming around for another run. A thunderous bellow as the shells tore into the shuttle's engines; a flash, blinding; then nothing.
A voice interrupted his reverie: the shuttle pilot. "We'd better get going, sir."
Marnos sighed and nodded, following the man towards the shuttle. He had an appointment to keep, but it was not one he was going to relish.
* * *
"This is our current location," Admiral Ieuno gestured with a thin metallic pointer to a cluster of green dots on the tri-d holographic display, looking at the room's three other occupants: Leedan, Marnos, and a tall, thickly-built man who had been introduced as Ieuno's chief of staff, Major Haikar. "and here you can see the Kalari-347 system. From Intel reports -" she glanced coldly at Marnos "- and probe data, it seems clear that this is the base location of the fleet that attacked us."
"Major?"
Haikar stood, taking the Admiral's place before them; he pressed a few buttons on the display unit's control panel, then looked towards Leedan and Marnos. The display shifted, zooming in on the selected system. Red icons glared from the centre of the holographic sphere.
"We believe that system defences consist only of the ships that survived today's engagement, a Imperator-class space fortress, and a few minor sensor arrays and outposts. However, it seems highly likely that they have signalled for reinforcements from their sector command. Therefore, a quick strike would appear to be the best option, eliminating a large enemy force and paving the way for further offensives in this region."
"How long have you known this base's location?" asked Marnos.
"About two weeks."
"So why haven't you attacked it yet?"
Ieuno chewed her top lip. "We've requested additional forces, but the 43rd is pretty stretched already, and there are no reinforcements available from other sectors of the front either. Until now, they've been pretty well impregnable - as long as they stayed close to that fortress, we haven't been able to do a thing. Until now. Any thoughts on what would make them abandon their advantage like that, Captain?" She gave Marnos a pointed look as she asked, but all he did was sit silently and give a slight shake of his head. Why in hell would I know? he wondered. I'm as much in the dark as everyone else.
"What's their approximate fighting strength?" he asked the Major.
"Two Raptor-class destroyers managed to withdraw from today's engagement, as did ten assorted frigates - approximately half their original strength. There are two Imperialist frigate squadrons within a few hours of the Kalari system, so we must assume they have been called in to reinforce the base. The fortress itself, as well as housing three dozen strike craft, is roughly equal - in terms of firepower at least - to three Devastator-class heavy cruisers."
"What about us?"
"Three Raptors, one of them too heavily damaged to join an engagement. Two heavy cruisers, both with minor hull damage - they'll be ready to hyperspace in an hour, any other repairs can be completed en route. Twenty frigates, including four support frigates, seven ions and seven assaults. Plus of course this carrier; four squadrons of fighters, two of corvettes - minimal damage to both, should be full strength by the time we reach the target."
"And with this we're supposed to take out not only a considerable enemy force, but an Imperator fortress as well?" asked Marnos cynically.
"Of course not, Captain." replied the Admiral acidly. "I've been in communication with 43rd Fleet Command; they have assigned us five destroyers and another ten frigates from their reserve force - this is an unparalleled opportunity to finally break this stalemate, we don't intend to waste it."
"Just one thing, Admiral: how exactly does this attack constitute the effective satisfaction of your mission objectives, which are - as I understand them - to deliver us safely and covertly into Imperialist space?"
"The attack will be the perfect cover; you'll slip through Imperialist lines during the engagement. Our forces will eliminate all enemy sensor arrays to destroy any chance they have of spotting you."
Marnos sat back, satisfied. Leedan, however, edged himself forward. "I believe there is one matter which we have not properly addressed, Admiral - the matter of how the Imperialists knew we were here. Captain, I believe you heard the last words of the captured destroyer's captain; would you care to share them with us?"
Marnos swore under his breath. How did they know? That little snake Urnai must have got the story from one of Alpha squad.
"I'm afraid there was no information we could use - just the ramblings of a dying man." He frowned, feigning concentration. "He said something about flowers… then died."
Leedan and Ieuno shared a look - the Admiral cleared her throat. "Unfortunate he died before he could give us any useful information - however, we may yet learn something from his crew, they're being processed in the interrogation centre as we speak. Perhaps we'll have something before we reach Kalari."
She looked to Marnos. "Anything else, Captain?"
"Yes." He pointed to a few spots of green, deeper into Imperialist territory. "What are those?"
"A recon detachment - four frigates on a scouting mission. I suggest you jump to their location once you leave the engagement at Kalari-347; they'll escort you deeper into enemy space."
"Fine."
"Is that it? Captain Leedan?"
Leedan shook his head.
"Very well then. Consider this meeting adjourned - we'll make the jump to hyperspace in an hour."
* * *
The blue glow of hyperspace portals opened as the fleet jumped, sleek ships enveloped in a cerulean radiance, then fading from sight as they disappeared into the depths of hyperspace, leaving only the darkness of the void, the glimmering of the stars, and the decaying wreckage of the devastating struggle that had scorched the cold depths short hours before.
* * *
Marnos sat cross-legged on his bed, staring down at the datapad he held; Garshak's record. That harsh voice, slowly imprinting its insanity on his mind, played in the background - one of the recordings Raenar had given to him.
"We fight our endless battles not with ion cannons and mass drivers, but with our very thoughts - conflicting ideas striving to destroy one another. Our war is not 'us' against 'them': it is us against ourselves. Self-destruction is what we are; that thought, that concept, made flesh. And so we fight - as we must fight. We fight forever…"
The voice trailed on and on, threading a narrow path between darkness and light - a whisper in the silent agony of hatred. Exhaling, Marnos tuned out the words, hearing only the discordant tones: a muted song of everlasting death. The letters on the screen before him blurred into grey nothingness as he read, mind lapsing into oblivion as shards of reality and unreality dug deep into his brain, overwhelming him.
Darkness.
The child stood alone on the clifftop, rain stinging his tearstained cheeks. The unforgiving sky raced past, oblivious to the aching pain that had clenched its cruel fist around his heart, squeezing it into a black hole of fear and grief. Great jolting sobs wracked his small body, unheard over the screaming wind - alone, no one to hear or care. Abandoned to the elements, he wandered, lost, across the empty plain of hard black rock.
His matted hair was blown by the cruel wind's caress across features so lost in hopelessness they no longer saw, heard or felt, the storm's assaults insignificant against the tearing finality of the pain that tore at his very being. No maternal warmth to shield him from ravages of body or mind: alone, so utterly alone, traversing the darkness on weary feet. Sharp rocks slashed at his bare soles, gashing the soft flesh. Weeping, he ran, ran, ran - onwards, into the very heart of the darkness, uncaring as the storm closed in around him, the sorrow in his heart transcending all external fears. He wept alone, tears winding a damp path down his cheeks, the wind freezing cold as it chilled the wet trail.
A harsh cry startled him; looking up, he saw the raven, silhouetted against the gloom. The great bird's sharply pointed beak opened once more in a screeching caw, the stark sound mimicking the storm in its primal intensity. The boy watched the glittering black eyes, sparkling with reflected light as a shard of lightning crashed to earth with a shuddering roar.
The monstrous avian's murderous talons flexed, grasping tightly the tall rock it stood upon, one omniscient eye transfixing the child with a stare that spoke of a mind old beyond reckoning; anciently powerful, constrained by no primitive morality - unshackled, a will of stone and strength of iron. Captivated, he walked slowly closer, staring into the gaping maw of the raven's pupil. Like a deep well, the darkness seemed to go down and down, into inky, uncharted depths. Tiny points of light flickered and slowly expired into nothingness, as he fell.
Falling.
Through light-spattered dark he fell, onwards, downwards.
Suddenly he hit the bottom, blinding light flaring around him, brighter than a thousand suns.
Then there was nothing.
Marnos awoke shivering, lying curled in a foetal position on the small bed, memory cards scattered across the blue coverlet. Sitting up, he hugged his arms tightly around his knees, staring unseeing into the middle distance. A haze of half-remembered images cascaded through his mind, a shudder running down his spine as the memories coursed across his synapses; looking at his arms he saw the tiny hairs that covered them raised in a silent plea, goose bumps rippling across his flesh.
He looked out towards the stars, glittering jewels littering the firmament, and wondered: why? Why did this thing, this incarnation of darkness, haunt his sleep? What was it? What cold terrors did the beast portend?
Sinking back onto the bed, he closed his eyes, trying to snatch a moment's fitful sleep before the engagement.
<< Ravens By Starlight: Chapter 7 <<
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