Origins

The Sigma Chronicles - Part 2

An old man looks into the sky; beside him a small child glances upward
toward the stars, straining to see where the old man is looking. A star
shines there, brighter than the rest, with a strange blue tint.
Noticing the child's puzzlement the old man crouches down to his level,
his weathered face showing signs of pain as he strains to a crouching
position. The child turns to him as the old man begins to speak; his
speech laboured and deliberate, his voice grainy and wise. The young
child listens intently as the old man relates to him the story of the
stars, and the history of their world. As he speaks the child's young
ears prick up, a low rumbling starts far off, building into a mighty
clash of thunder. Another great boom follows bringing with it the first
few raindrops of a building storm. Rising to his feet the old man
hurries the child toward a small cave in the mountain, from within an
inviting glow radiates out, the warmth of the fire like an inviting
blanket, enveloping and comforting the two figures.

Sitting in the cave, wrapped in blankets, the flickering flames of the
fire dancing across their faces, the old man and child stare out into
the rain. The child turns to the old man, his face inviting him to
continue with his story. After a few seconds the old man sighs and
turning to face the child begins afresh his story, the story of his
past.

'This planet is old my son, it is older than I am, older even than your
great ancestors. We live in a time of great change, great strife and
great conflict. Our future is in our hands, and to save it we must look
to our past, I will tell you the story of our past, not just our tribes
history, but the history of our very essence, our being, the great
binding story that links us all. For me my beginning lies many years
ago, after the sixth great conflict of our tribe, when the tattered
remains of our people lay scattered amongst these mountains. We were a
broken race. Whilst victorious in battle, the cost to our people was
great. I came into being the night after the battle, born to the wife
of the tribe blacksmith. I had no parents, my mother died in
childbirth; my father was killed in the battle. According to our custom
I became a child of the tribe. I was raised by the holy leaders, taught
the arts of magic and healing, entrusted with the knowledge of the
tribe.

'We recovered from that battle, though our tribe was weakened, I learnt
much in those early years, I had a yearning to learn of the world, to
understand the magic of our planet. At age fifteen I left on a journey
of discovery, I travelled far, encountering many other tribes. In one I
met an old man. He was once a young boy, eager to learn as I was then,
he told me, like I now tell you the secrets of our past. His story
tells of the tribes of the North and the East, after centuries of
battle, just over a hundred remained. Ours is one of those hundred
tribes, left over after centuries of evolution. We survived by
adapting, by remaining the fittest, by being stronger than all others.
However times are changing. We are entering a new stage in our
evolution, new arts, new magic are invading our world. The innocence of
our ancestors is being destroyed; already our enemies have harnessed
power beyond the comprehension of those who preceded us.

'I am scared for our future. Without understanding of our past we risk
destroying our future. These other tribes have forgotten their past;
they think only of the present, they do not consider the dangers of the
forces they unleash. A great alliance is forming in the Northern
continent; an empire is being founded that threatens us all. We must
bring the tribes of the East together or our fate is surely sealed. I
was unsuccessful in my early attempts to educate the leaders of the
Eastern tribes. However I fear that soon my time on this planet is
coming to an end and I must find someone to continue what I have
started. I want you to continue my work. I have chosen you to unite the
East. This is a task in which you cannot fail, I sense that soon the
planet will be engulfed in war; if we are not strong by then, I fear we
shall destroy ourselves.'

At this point the old man turned back towards the mouth of the cave,
the storm clouds had cleared, and the starry sky was once again
showing. The child followed, and looked up at the old man's face. The
man turned and pointed toward the brightest star, high above their
heads.

'That star, the brightest in the sky, directly above us is the eye of
the constellation of Pendraxsora, the Princess of the Southern sky. It
represents foresight and reason, it is said that this star is no longer
visible to some; the purity of their sight has been clouded by
corruption and power. We must remove this veil from the leaders of this
world, or all that makes us who we are, the very essence of our
existence is at stake.'

At this the man stopped suddenly and turned again to the enquiring face
of the child, seeing the look of one who has been overwhelmed in the
boy's eyes. He sighed and leaned back against the wall of the cave. The
fire was glowing less brightly now and a chill wind was blowing from
the mouth of the cave. The pair, one old one young sat huddled in
blankets in the cave. For a few minutes there was silence, then the
child turned to the man, and asked:

'Why me, why must I complete this task?'

The old man considered this for a moment before turning once more to
the boy. He began once more to speak, his voice serious, and full of
the sound of great wisdom.

'You have been chosen for this charge by forces beyond our control, or
our comprehension. You were given life with a purpose in mind, a task
to perform in your life. You have been put on this planet to save it
from those who might forget its past. I cannot explain how, or why but
I know that it is your job, your destiny to save us from our own
destruction.'

'I will soon no longer reside on this world; I am over a hundred and
twenty years old, a fair time to be of this world. With my remaining
time I will teach you of this world's magic, and tell you more of our
history, our heritage and most importantly, your task. The most
important thing I have learnt is to never forget what you gave up to
obtain all you achieve in life, by saving our planet you will be
sacrificing yourself in the process, you must give yourself fully to
the cause, there can be no doubt in your mind. I hope that you can
understand the importance of the task that has been laid before you, I
do not wish to force this task upon you, but I have no choice. You are
the only person I have found during my travels who has not been
corrupted by the petulance of the Northern forces. I must ask you to
help me, help all of us.'

The old man glanced to the face of the child, his eyes tired, a look of
confusion on his face, realising the weight of the story he was telling
the old man relented, and changed the subject of the conversation,
settling himself in his blanket he threw a couple more logs onto the
dying fire, he gestured the child to sleep, saying this to him.

'Do not think of this now however, the hour is late and we need to
sleep, tomorrow you will begin your training, do not worry. Sleep now
Sinron for tomorrow we must wake early to travel to Rinwezel, I must
meet with the leader of the local tribal council, it will be a good way
to begin your training. Goodnight Sinron, sleep well.'

The old man and the young child lay, huddled in the cave as the wind
started to blow up another storm outside, as the rain began to fall the
brightest star disappeared in the sky, obscured by the clouds, the
storm howled on blowing across the valley.

* * *

A red glow falls upon the mountain as the great fiery sun drags itself
above the horizon. A small bird sings, sitting on the branch of a great
pine. The cave is now basked in sunlight, the softly glowing embers of
the fire now the only reminder of the darkness of the pervious night.
Overhead a few wisps of cloud float over, and a flock of red and yellow
birds fly overhead, circling and soaring toward the rising sun. The old
man and the young boy stand at the entrance to the cave, the sun
glinting in their eyes.

They start to walk down the mountainside, their steps taking them away
from the rising sun. They walk through the forest at the foot of the
mountain. The canopy overhead creates dancing shadows over them, and
far off a hawk screeches as it circles overhead. The young boy again
looks toward the sound, the shriek like the death cry of some terrible
beast. He turns back to the old man, but does not say anything. They
continue to walk silently, both knowing their destination. Far in the
distance the sound of metal banging on metal, clanging violently, the
sounds of industry ring through the once peaceful forest.

The sounds grow louder, until; emerging from the forest the two figures
look out upon a vast industrial city. Towering blast furnaces glow red,
showers of sparks and fire rain down from vast overhead gantries. All
around the infrastructure of industry lies, randomly placed around a
few winding streets. Polluting smoke spirals into the sky, and a thick
smoggy haze hangs over the city. Walking through these streets the old
man coughs and chokes on the thick acrid air. Thick, viscous pools of
tar lie like rainwater on the ground. The sun plays rainbows across the
oily puddles, the sticky liquid clinging to the feet of the two
figures. The old man turns and looks down to the young child.

'You see now where this new magic gets us. This whole area is polluted,
the forest cries out in pain. We must find the leader of this tribe, a
man by the name of Galtjin. I will introduce you to him, you can learn
much from him, about what not to do with the new technologies of our
world.'

At that moment one of the vast blast furnaces explodes in a spray of
sparks as the thick, hot metal from within is released. A terrific roar
of hot air blows across the street as the red white metal pours out of
the tall, oppressive structure. A team of technicians scramble over the
towering structure, clothed in thick leathers, blackened by the
choking, smoky atmosphere, and wearing thick glassed goggles to protect
their eyes from the smog. Shielding his eyes from the intense heat the
old man beckons the child to follow him as they press on through the
winding streets.

As they approach a vast building the man indicates to the child to
stop. A towering edifice of blackened stone, and intertwined pipe work
stands before them. Hanging around this great structure like a blanket
a massive sulphurous cloud chokes the building. The yellow cloud spills
out of the five great chimneys of the building, bringing a pungent
odour of rotting eggs to the already decrepit city, like a vast,
polluted, twisted hell. The old man turned to speak, his voice
containing a glint of humour.

'When you search for a leader, the best place to look is the largest
cesspit in the city. I think this qualifies, don't you?'

'Well, it certainly smells like a cesspit. Is this, a palace?'

'Yes, a palace for corrupt evil. Come; let us go inside, I am sure the
atmosphere cannot be any less pleasant than it is out here.'

Walking through long corridors with high vaulted ceilings, a low hum
surrounded the pair as they progressed through the palace. Inside it
was considerably different from the petulant exterior, tall velvet
curtains hung over darkened, sulphur yellow stained windows of leaded
glass. The floor was black marble; red streaks zigzagged through it,
like streaks of spilt blood. A heavy scent of incense hung in the air,
the hall lit only with candles, the light cast against the walls
flickering with the flame.

The two figures approach a vast wooden door; two guards stand before
it, dressed in purple robes and silvery glistening armour. They hold
long rifles, highly polished like their armour. Like the palace they
exude opulence, reflecting on the wealth and fortune of the leader of
this tribe. Approaching the door the pair receive no resistance as the
guards step aside and open the door.

'It would appear that we are expected, we should be careful with such a
knowledgeable leader.'

The old man maintained his gaze straight ahead as he spoke. The child
too stood looking ahead. His eyes transfixed on what stood before him.
High atop a vast throne the leader of the tribe sat, surrounded by rich
purple velvet and sparkling gold. The throne, a good three metres high
and covered with intricate carvings and luxurious decoration, glinted
in the light from the sole window in the chamber. This window was
different from the others, its lead crystal surface clean, unlike the
yellow stained windows elsewhere in the palace.

From the window a view of the great vista of the city could be seen. To
the left the forest from which they had come, to the right a great
lake, glistening in rainbow colours from the oil floating on the
surface. The whole room was darkened, as the only light source was the
window. However it could be seen that the room was even more
sumptuously decorated than the corridors and chambers of the palace.
Great tapestries hang from the walls, depicting immense vistas and
battles. The history of this tribe hanging there, the tribe now
controlled by the man atop the throne.

This man now turned toward them, his face fattened like his body. As he
spoke his features contorted and rippled as his multiple chins danced
from side to side.
'What do you want now Banron? This time you bring a boy as well, surely
you are not corrupting the young as you do the poor?'

'This boy is Sinron Valzinik, the last of my tribe, you would do well
to respect him for he will succeed my task when I am gone.'

'So why are you here Banron, have you come before me once again to
taunt me with talk of peace?' Galtjin's face contorted into a
laugh.

'I do not taunt you Galtjin I just tell you of your future. If you do
not cease your conflict with the tribe of Caltan'ik you will both be
destroyed.'

'Ha, look around you Banron. You see this city? I am in control of the
greatest industrial power in the region. Why should I surrender to that
scum? They shall insult me no longer, soon they shall be
destroyed.'

'With them you will destroy your own future you are deeply mistaken in
your course of action. You would be foolish to pursue this conflict. I
have visited the tribe of Caltan'ik, they have new weapons, and like
you they are fools who will not listen to reason!'

'You dare to call me a fool? Be quiet, I am tiered of your ranting.
Leave now or be thrown out!' Galtjin now shouting, slowly shifts
himself to his feet.

'You make a mistake, listen please I&;#8230;'

An explosion and the shrill ringing of an alarm bell then cut off the
old man's speech. Low rumbling booms came rolling across the city as
three huge plumes of smoke snaked upward into the clouds. As the black
smoke swirled upward three small specks in the sky started to turn and
come toward the palace, closer and closer until, with an almighty roar
and explosion the three rockets smashed into the edifice. The first two
struck at the base, two of the great chimneys collapsed destroying half
the palace. The third missile struck higher, near to the apex below the
crystal window. As it shattered the explosion blew shards of crystal
through the throne room, slashing the tapestries, cutting through the
wooden throne and impaling themselves on the far wall. The wall was
blown outward, leaving a vast smoking hole in the throne room.

The boy looked up from where he had been sheltering in the corner of
the room. Looking across he saw the prone body of the old man, Banron's
body cut and battered. Fire licked around the hole in the wall, the
flames were close to engulfing the palace as Sinron ran over to his
teacher. The great throne had fallen through the hole in the wall;
Galtjin's body lay, consumed by the fire at the base of the palace.
Crouching by the old man's body the child tried to help him, a nine
inch shard of crystal protruded from his stomach, a pool of blood grew
in size on the floor as Banron's life force seeped away. Holding the
old man's head in his hands the boy tried to comfort him. Banron
strained to speak, his voice weak and strained.

'It is unfortunate, I was hoping for so much&;#8230;'

'No, try not to speak, I will find help.'

'Wait, it is too late, it is my time to die now. Listen carefully to
me; you must not let me die in vain. Continue my work&;#8230;'

The old man cried in pain, contorting his face in a scream before
settling again, his breathing laboured. Far off another explosion
boomed, like a clap of thunder shaking the ground and dislodging more
of the palace, the huge blocks falling a hundred metres to the ground
below. The old man's voice now took on a sense of urgency as he
continued to speak.

'Do not negate my legacy, and remember one thing my boy, you are our
last hope. You must go now. This city will soon fall. The Caltan'ik
tribe will conquer this industrial metropolis.'

The old man was now very weak, his voice reduced to a whisper as he
strained to talk. The rumbling explosions had increased in number and
small arms fire could now be heard from the lakeside as landing craft
were deploying the Caltan'ik army directly into the heart of the city.
The far side of the throne room was now on fire and the flames were
licking ever closer. The old man strained to talk but could manage only
a weak whisper.

'Go, get away from here while you still can&;#8230;leave me, help us
all. Remember your task, resist corruption, let the
star&;#8230;guide you&;#8230;'

The man's speech was cut off as his body became limp. His struggle
through life was over. As the boy stood from his side the second wall
of the throne room fell away, leaving a wide vista of the burning city.
Sinron turned and fled the throne room, escaping as it collapsed into
fiery conflagration. Fleeing into the forest as the city burned, the
boy didn't look back once. The evening had come, and high above, all
other stars shielded from view by the dying glow of the sun, the only
star visible was the eye of the constellation of Pendraxsora, the
princess of the southern sky.