The Chronicles of Heaven's War: Burning Phoenix (46 page)

Lowenah remained expressionless as she
shrugged, “As you wish, but I doubt you understand what you’re
asking for.”

Smiling innocently sinister, Asotos turned
his attention back to that
defiling creature
. “We shall wait
until you are ready to continue.”

Trisha nodded coldly and returned to the
task at hand. The small bilander, Duckling - Captain VazalGurnig
commanding - was settled down in the sand a short distance away.
While the three warships hovered in the sky above, Mihai and her
diplomatic team were escorted toward the Duckling to be delivered
back to base camp. Accompanying them were Tabitha Copeland and
General HoiOnarasis, with orders to ready the Doggie for quick
departure. Trisha quietly watched until everyone boarded the
transport and disappeared inside.

Asotos also stood quietly, studying, not the
Duckling, but this new specimen that needed thorough dissecting,
first in mind and spirit and second in body… what a tantalizing
idea! He now focused his entire attention upon the creature
confronting him, watching, listening, and feeling for any and every
subtle inflection in the harmonics that might reveal some secret or
weakness concerning it. Raising an eyebrow, surprised, he
discovered a great deal more about this creature than it was
knowingly revealing.

He smiled, intrigued. Without Erithia’s
cloak of protection surrounding this
thing,
it was spewing
out all sorts of emotional secrets. He cocked his head ever so
slightly, listening to its troubling music that wafted upon the
breeze. Even without its physical genetic blueprint, Asotos was
able to determine so many things concerning its makeup. Most
noteworthy was the creature’s not so secret scorn, nearing that of
contempt, for many of Michael’s ambassadorial entourage. Indeed,
this creature revealed such deep-seated anger and frustration as to
indicate its resentment for even being in this world.

Disquiet, discontent, sadness, rejection -
these and other feelings were shouted out to Asotos’ senses. He saw
no happiness residing within it. Just how troubled it must be! What
tortures and tribulation of mind and heart must this abomination of
living things have suffered at the hands of Erithia’s
loyal
children to turn one of her personal creations into such a
malevolent being? A trade off, he supposed, so that the creature
might have the power to face this greatest of adversaries. This
thing
was no coward. That was for sure. Now, with Erithia’s
stolen magic removed, it should be an easy matter to exploit the
creature’s weaknesses for his benefit, he having discovered many
chinks in its armor.

Trisha turned her attention back to Asotos.
“Stand your soldiers down, and have them leave their weapons on the
ground before backing away from the line.”

Asotos put up a halfhearted protest, more
for show and bravado than out of concern. He knew the gig was up,
but felt at little risk… at least for the moment. If this creature
intended a coup against them, it would have been a long-done deal,
this
thing
having the upper hand already. Besides, there
were many ways to win a struggle, mortal combat being just one.

Already Asotos mind was percolating with an
idea that might well afford him a greater prize than even Michael.
After all, the capture of that woman would have satisfied little
more than his vengeful spirit. Erithia’s surrender of the Palace
over the loss of her favorite child was not a certainty. But here
stood a new creation of the evil Witch. What could his scientists
discover by careful dissection of its mind and body? What abilities
had she built into this new machine that he might be able to use to
his advantage? Technology was technology, whether mechanical or
biological, and that was what this creation must be, a new
technological invention, a potential super warrior possibly. He
smiled in thoughtful anticipation.

Sirion began to stir, struggling to sit.
Despite Eutychus’ adamant requests of offered assistance, she
refused. From a broken mouth and through bleeding lips, she
demanded to be left alone. Surrendering the moment, he and the
others stepped back to give the girl room, all the while remaining
close enough to help if need be.

Slowly and painfully, Sirion rolled over.
With outcries of agony, she exerted herself, and with all her
strength pushed herself up and onto her knees. After several failed
attempts at standing, she surrendered to Eutychus’ offer and took
his hand, releasing it as soon as she was on her feet. Standing
there proud and defiant, the girl took first one tenuous step
forward, slowly followed by another.

The people opposing Asotos’ camp went wild
with jubilation, shouting and waving hands high in the air.
Although not yet understanding the real emotion behind it, what
they were witnessing was the spirit of defiance rising up in the
hearts of the children of the New Age, Sirion a current example.
The message, not yet fully comprehended by the many, was that the
old ways were finished and that a new and savage leadership was
ascending the throne.

Every step Sirion took toward her
approaching destiny was a declaration that her kind no longer
carried the banners of protocol and diplomacy, would not. Her feet
were trampling them into the dust of forgotten dreams and false
hope. Blood, fire, and slaughter were the new colors for the coming
commanders of this universe.

The future would witness death and
destruction on a scale unimagined even by the hardened veterans
watching the girl haltingly make her way toward them. Entire armies
would wither away like spring grass under the scorching heat of a
torturous sun, star systems would long echo empty the sound of
mankind, and cities would become forever charred and ruined, yet
the voice of the chandler calling all peoples to a violent end was
not to be silenced. ‘Buy my goods with your lives, your souls, your
very breath. Death! Death I promise you, and for a good price too.
A fair trade, I assure you.’

(Author’s note:
Long years later, that
same woman coldly replied when responding to an armchair critic
regarding the ‘wanton violence’ her kind ushered in upon the world,
‘In that hour, a blood moon rose above the universe. To this day,
its crimson pall remains, covering my world. We, the children of
that age have not forgotten, nor shall we. Our swords are ever at
the ready to destroy evil before it comes to power. We - my kind -
still practice the arts of war so that your kind may never have to
learn it, endure it. We live with the memory of what we have done,
asking no absolution, so that our nightmares do not become
yours.’)

Sirion slowly, painfully, shuffled toward
her eagerly awaiting companions, each step a concentrated struggle
of a determined mind fighting the frailty of a tortured body.
Without warning, she came to a sudden halt, rocking back and forth
on wobbly legs. Before Eutychus could reach out to offer a steady
hand, a violent shudder ran down the woman, shaking her from head
to foot. Grasping her head, she let out a cry and bent low.

Eutychus grabbed Sirion’s arm in hopes of
preventing a fall. To his surprise, she shook free of his grasp and
turned toward Legion, fists clenched. Filled with renewed energy,
this bony, brutalized little creature marched up to him and,
catching him unawares, clutched hold the talisman bag secured over
his shoulder.

Yanking hard Sirion screamed,
“Give ‘em
back! Give ‘em back! They’re mine! They’re mine!”

Legion began to resist, telling Sirion to
leave him be. He would undoubtedly have become violent had he not
been staring down the barrels of the gunners’ heavy caliber
projectile weapons. “Leave me be! Go away! Go away! You’re free to
go! Now go away!”

Eutychus observed, perplexed, at the
desperate struggle Sirion was putting up to get that shoulder bag.
As he watched the two fighting for possession, his attention was
drawn to the bag itself. When the realization hit him that the bag
was the product of the girl’s very flesh, he howled in rage,
lunging forward while drawing his fighting knife.

“
Give it up, you bastard, or I take it
off you!”
He roared, raising his blade.

Few men dared face Legion, let alone
threaten or confront him. Now an angry giant of a beast, nearly the
size of one of his own creation, a feller, was intent on his
destruction should he not surrender what was rightfully his to
possess. The bag and contents within were his
trophies of
war
, his badges of courage. The mummified fingers, toes, ears,
noses, and other body parts were his talismans, proof of contests
won, his heroism proved in the face of his enemies. They were part
of him, his very soul.

The blade was only inches from Legion’s face
when he cast off the purse and jumped away from certain death. This
was madness! Now it was his turn to howl, but in dismay and defeat.
Asotos was in no position, or in any mood to defend his
loyal
lieutenant. No need risking them both... After all, if
Legion met his demise, someone should be there to sing a pining
eulogy. Besides, Asotos was developing other plans, and his
intervening in this affair might upset them. And… it was partly
Legion’s fault for earlier failures. If the fellow was kilt, it
would be a personal loss, but not an unjust reward for his
ineptness.

Sirion did not leave. She held the bag close
to her chest, a garish grin growing on her face. Legion was so
perplexed at what he was seeing that he stopped his ranting and
began to stare into this woman’s horribly disfigured face. There
was something very disconcerting about her looks, uncanny, even for
his world. Then he saw it, another being staring out from behind
the girl’s undamaged eye.

Through Sirion’s broken mouth, a voice from
inside the woman spoke out in cackling contempt. “It has waked...
It has waked... ‘Oh, give me mercy! Give me mercy!’ It cries,
though nothing but the butcher’s dogs does it receive. Oh, but now
it smells the blood of the one murdering it, it does! It does!
Daughter of the Gorgons, it is. It takes what it wills and when
it wants. Numbered are the days of the walking dead
.”

She broke out in hideous laughter, finally
cooing, “Pleasant dreams, my brother.”

Sirion turned and hobbled away to be
gathered up in waiting arms. Eutychus threateningly stared down
Legion as he backed up a safe distance, and then quickly departed.
Legion could only stand there, attempting to salvage what little
dignity he had remaining, all the while silently puzzling over
Sirion’s disquieting riddle. Asotos did nothing, his attention
again focused upon the creature opposing him, pondering curiously.
While the others celebrated with outcries and tears, this strange
creature showed no emotion, only watching quietly as the others
jubilantly rejoiced at the return of their sister.

Pointing toward the Duckling, Trisha quietly
gave orders to two of her gray-cloaked lieutenants. “Get Sirion and
the others aboard, and then re-deploy your line. Finish this up
quickly, for I’ve other business to tend to.”

Her lieutenants acknowledged the orders and
hurried away to execute them. Turning her back on Asotos, with
hands clasped behind her, she silently watched as her commands were
carried out.

Asotos was completely intrigued at what he
was witnessing. Did this creature have a soul, or was it little
more than an intelligent machine? No...it had feelings, very bitter
feelings, hurt and anger. This was knowledge he could use to his
advantage.

The gun trucks’ turbines suddenly cut out,
the machines settling down upon the sand as the whine of the
engines slowly fell silent. When all was quieted, the trucks’ crews
stood down, quickly exiting the machines and taking up their
stations beside them.

Trisha’s stoic deportment was so outlandish
to Asotos that he failed to contemplate the scene unfolding about
him - a serious mistake. Had he been paying close attention, he
would have become aware that everything taking place had been
anticipated, carefully orchestrated, and precisely executed.
Arrogance and self-aggrandizement can paint dark shadows over the
keen perception of the greatest intellect, especially in people
like Asotos, who never saw those traits in himself.

As the gun crews stepped out into the fading
late afternoon sun, the Duckling gently lifted up and drifted off
to the west, the three gunships following closely. What a fool! One
moment this creature had the upper hand, controlling the very life
and breath of the entire assembly, and now, except for a few
marines and a handful of those gray-cloaked privateers, she and her
people were at the mercy of a still very functional military force.
Still… Asotos pondered matters… it would be wiser to carry out his
plan and spring the trap before setting his army loose. He glanced
over to his right at the strange fellow with the threatening smile.
Yes, it would be wiser to carry out his plan and spring his trap
first.

Trisha slowly turned around, hands dropping
to her sides as she stared into Asotos’ face. She directed her
attention toward him, ever so calmly speaking. “The sun waits upon
none, be he wise or a fool. Shall we conclude our business this
day, and then be done with it?”

Now was the time to request the return of
his fellows, but Asotos was not concerned about them at the moment.
No - not after having chanced the creature’s countenance, seeing
the drawn face and sadness in its eyes. This fleeting opportunity
could not be wasted. Asotos had seen this same resigned and
troubled look many times before. Although having won the moment,
the creature was tired and distraught - tired over having to deal
with the foolery of the day, and distraught because of the way the
leadership viewed its very presence. The time was now – now, at
this creature’s peek of emotional weakness. He knew what to do and
how to do it.