The Chronicles of Heaven's War: Burning Phoenix (22 page)

Jonathan fussed that he was
quite
comfortable. Jebbson said nothing in reply, just smiling. Jonathan
countered, readdressing his previous question, “You’re still out of
line with the king’s protocol. Her requests were very clear, and
you are obviously not honoring them. And… and…please stop your
foolish
hillbilly
prattle. You hurt my ears and make my
brain spin in confusion.”

Jebbson laughed, shaking his head. “Alright,
I’ll talk gentlemanly. In principle, I am line with orders. Went to
Mihai, myself, and put my case before her Worship. Although she
wasn’t happy with my choices, the woman graciously relented when I
showed her that I was protected with armor…soft armor.”

Jonathan groused, disgusted, “Armor?!
Soft
armor?! Don’t take me for a fool. You’re just saying
that so you can wear what you want, knowing that our king is
trusting of another’s word. What did you tell our king, that your
armor would
scare
the arrows away?”

Jebbson chuckled. True, he did look the part
Jonathan described, his shoulder-length blonde hair covered by a
dark blue officer’s kepi and long, flowing mustache with a neatly
trimmed two inch beard - and that was only part of his appearance
that Jonathan was referring to. Jebbson’s clothes were designed in
the style of those he wore in his younger years mixed a little with
the style of the day. His blue cavalry jacket covered a red plaid,
flannel shirt decorated with hundreds of brightly colored glass
beads woven into designs reminiscent of the western aborigines
Jebbson often spent time with in those earlier days. Then there
were the modern military Khaki trousers Jebbson was so fond of,
covered by highly decorated leather leggings. He topped this all of
with a giant eagle feather in his cap and soft suede moccasins on
his feet.

“Yes sir, Captain,” Jebbson pointed at
himself. “I’m armored all right. Under this here coat of mine, I
have a doublet made of soft, repellent armor, the kind of stuff
that absorbs and disperses energy away from the kill spot,
spreadin’ out the blow ‘cross a wider area. Works pretty good. Fact
is, most of my clothing has threads of this kind of armor woven
through it. I’m tryin’ to get the military to accept this new
design so as to get rid of the clumsy trash they are wearin’
now.”

Whereas most weapons carried by the
gathering this day were ornately decorative – a common custom of
these people - Jebbson’s tools for war were utilitarian nearly to a
fault. Strapped to his belt on the left was a small fighting axe,
what he called a ‘spiked tomahawk’. On his right was holstered a
double-action revolver with a quick-load cylinder – an invention of
his that he claimed was copied, conceptually, from an older Colt
design. And, in a saddle scabbard there was housed a
breach-loading, double-barrel, rifled weapon that supported several
different varieties of cartridge ammunition. Other than a few small
engravings and stampings on the metal actions of the weapons, they
were rather stark, deadly simple stark. “Came for war, not for
struttin’ my stuff!” was Jebbson’s sharp reply when asked by
Jonathan about them.

Secretly, Jonathan wished he, too, carried
such armament. He had been a guest at one of Jebbson’s
demonstrations before the War Department. The show the man put on
convinced Jonathan of the need to accept these inventions should
war come again to the empire. When confronted by some observers
with the argument that skill with the sword and bow would win the
day, Jebbson curtly retorted, “With these, I can put down a field
of fire thick enough to walk on and then, if necessity forces me, I
will lift my sword to finish the task. It’s not gallantry that will
win the coming storm, but iron and lead!”

Through the urging of PalaHar and Gabrielle,
along with Lowenah’s unwavering support, the Council finally
convinced the War Department to adopt Jebbson’s recommendations and
begin production on many of his designs, also placing him in charge
of research and development. Though few had accepted these new
weapons for their use, warehouses were beginning to fill with these
tools of destruction, which proved fortuitous.

Jonathan looked up, gazing into the sky, his
eyes following the reddish haze darkening off to the east.
Somewhere, many leagues that way, a dust storm raged, sending
evidence of its angry wrath miles into the blue of the sky, turning
the horizon a dull, blood-red. For the longest time, he stared at
the crimson tide floating about the landscape, his face somber in
reflective thought.

Finally he turned to his friend who had been
quietly observing as he rode beside him. “Tell me, please, if you
can…” Jonathan asked with subdued curiosity, “How does it feel, I
mean, killing someone...knowing that you have taken the life of a
fellow human?” He waxed apologetic. “You have killed before,
haven’t you?”

Jebbson grimly nodded, looking off toward
the reddened sky.

Jonathan suddenly felt ashamed. “I’m sorry
to have been so bold…”

Jebbson interrupted, breaking into a stoic
smile. “No need to apologize.” He looked into Jonathan’s face.
“I’ve done what I’ve done, being neither proud nor loathing of my
actions. I did what I did because of what I believed at the time. I
have some regrets, but little remorse...regrets at times because I
chose a road that led me to those choices, but no remorse, because
I did what must be done at the moment.”

“Do not style me evil unless that is what
you choose. I care little. Yes, I’ve killed men, women, children. I
don’t know the number. After a while, their faces blur into an
indistinguishable mass, uncountable, unrecognizable. Oh yes, there
is the occasional one I can clearly see, but it is a rare person
that I can so recall.”

“
W… w… wo… women and ch… chil…
children?!”
Jonathan stuttered.

A garish grin crossed Jebbson’s face as he
nodded. “Does it shock you and surprise you, a man whose entire
civilization slaughtered millions of innocents in arenas for sport,
to think someone could take up the slaughter for what he believed a
proper cause? Look, I didn’t just kill like one might do in combat.
I
murdered
my enemy - or those I believed to be my enemies -
hiding in their homes or running away, nursing mother, infant, old
man. I murdered ‘em all.”

He looked toward the sky. “I joined the
scouts after hearin’ stories of savages a burnin’ and plunderin’
innocent homesteaders. After seein’ what they did to
my
people
,
I took up the cause and became a real Injun fighter.
For over three years, I terrorized the countryside, burnin’
villages and killin’. In what they called the ‘West’ in those days,
I made quite a name for myself among the locals as an Injun fighter
in what later came to be called the ‘Indian Wars’. I never liked
the killin’ but believed it was the right thing, only thing to do.
I was defending what I considered my home.”

Jonathan began to ask another question.
Jebbson cut him off.

“That’s nothin’! A few years later, there
was this little feud ‘rose between some of my fellow
countrymen...’War Between the States’. I believe you’re familiar
with that history.” Jonathan nodded.

“Well, because of my reputation and some
connections back east, I eventually got me a cavalry post of major
in the Northern Army. After two years of bloody fighting, my troop
and I found ourselves in some little forgotten way-town with the
whole enemy army comin’ down the road at us. Orders came up to hold
our position. Five minutes later, the general was shot dead. Two
minutes after that, the colonel was down, leaving me in command of
seven hundred soldiers, me being the highest ranking officer on the
field.”

“Things got pretty hot after a while and we
had to pull back or risk capture. I ordered two companies of my
cavalry to attack the front of the advancing wing of the enemy on
our right, and sent another company off to our left, giving the
remainder of the regiment time to make an orderly retreat, what
with our field pieces and all. I left three hundred of my boys
behind that day, dead, half of those sent out attacking being shot
from their horses. I have no idea how many of those kids on the
other side my boys kilt before the day ended.”

He rubbed his knee as if remembering. “By
the time I left my unit… my leg shot all to Hell in some little
skirmish… we’d lost ninety percent of our original troop. That’s
war, my friend, killin’ and slaughterin’, that’s war.”

Jonathan sat there, stunned speechless.

Leaning back in his saddle, Jebbson drawled,
“After a while, killin’ becomes a job, a means to an end, the end
more important than the lives lost and ruined to attain that end. A
little hill or rock, some position on a map, that’s what’s
important. It ain’t the tally of the dead it took to capture that
rock that counts for or agin’ you. You get the accolades for taking
the prize, even if it kilt all of the men in your company.”

Aghast, Jonathan blurted out, “How do you…
does one
live
with the knowledge they have induced such
death and destruction?!”

Jebbson laughed bitterly, sardonically.
“
Death?
Who can escape death?! Tell me, my friend, can one
escape death? For how long did you retreat from its ever-search? A
hundred years? You still lost. It found you. In our old world, it
finds
everyone
. No one escapes. The lucky die soon enough to
have no regrets, feel no guilt. Others go on until they go in
search of death, for life has become too dismal to endure.”

He tipped his head back again. “We are told
that all those innocents who perished at the hands of people like
me… and the likes of those in your day… will once again return when
the universe is made a new.”

“Well!” He slapped Jonathan on the leg.
“It’s been put up for you and me to make that happen, to set things
aright. We got a whole lot of fixin’ to do, and to get it done,
we’re gonna have to do a whole bunch more killin’… murderin’, if
necessary. Better get used to it my friend... for a slaughterin’
and a butcherin’ we will go. That’s what this whole Prisoner
Exchange is all about, to set us up for the next stage, the
slaughterin’ and butcherin’ and all.”

Jonathan had paid little heed to Jebbson’s
abuse of the language this time, his mind set in a whirl from all
the things he heard. Yes, through the fog of uncertainty, Jebbson
had shone a light on things to come. The man was beginning to grasp
what his future here would eventually entail. No, his was not going
to be that of an orator or statesman. Lowenah had delivered him to
this place because of the savagery of his kind. Jonathan was also
supposed to ‘deliver Hell upon Heaven’ one day, and in his own
special way.

He was shaken from these momentous
revelations when a rider reined in close and shouted, “Mihai says
to get up front on the double, wants your company for awhile.”

Jebbson tipped his hat to the soldier,
returning a salutation. Spurring his beast, he shouted for Jonathan
to follow him. The blood-red dust kicked up from the horses was
blown high into the air, drifting away in tiny, crimson clouds,
silent harbingers, troubadours proclaiming the future.

* * *

(
Author’s note:
Jebbson’s history
was unique, even for the people of his day, or so the story was
told. He was born an illegitimate son of a powerful nobleman.
Seeking to keep the matter secret, the man made arrangements for
Jebbson’s still pregnant mother to emigrate to a new land far
across the sea, promising to provide for her needs. When born, the
boy was given the name ‘Jebez Ransom Garlock’, Jebez meaning
‘pain’, for the pain his mother suffered needing to raise a son
without a father, ‘Ransom’, for the price she was willing to pay to
give her child a decent life, and ‘Garlock’, after a Celtic great
grandfather. When Jebbson was nine, his mother married a lawyer.
From that union, he gained three half-brothers and two
half-sisters.

Living up to his word, Jebbson’s biological
father continued to send monies on a regular basis, permitting
Jebbson to attend private schools and eventually enter university.
His course majors consisted of chemistry, metallurgy, gemology, and
ancient history. Upon graduation, he headed west, to the wild
lands. Gold had recently been discovered there and he thought he
might be able to put into practice some of his new-found
education.

For the next decade, he wandered up and down
the wilderness country, exploring high mountains, traversing barren
deserts. John marveled at the endless stories this one man could
tell of his personal experiences, from boating raging rivers to
fighting painted, feathered warriors. It was during those years
that Jebbson acquired his new name, but that was another story.

When a great civil war erupted in the East,
Jebbson found it impossible to hide from its tentacles. Finally
choosing sides, he enlisted in a mounted cavalry division, serving
first in the West and gradually moving east until, by the war’s
end, he was stationed in the country’s capital, working for the war
department as a munitions expert. Combat injuries hampered his
health, so, when given an opportunity to stay on with the
department after the war, he did. For the next twenty years, he
studied the designs and inventions of weapon makers from all over
the country, using his education to help create more effective ways
of slaughter.

It was while on a visit to one such
manufacturer near a city known for its iron works that Jebbson fell
into what he called ‘religion’. Having nothing to do one evening,
he chose to go for a stroll. Passing by a small theater, he paused
to read the marquee. ‘There is No Hell’, read the sign. Out of
curiosity, he entered. What he heard moved
him so much, he
never even returned to his place of work. Sending in his
resignation, he focused all his attention and power on advancing
his new-found religion. It became his way of life for the remainder
of his days in that realm.