The Rising Sun: Episode 2 Page 3

  The other cloaked figures nodded, observing the respectful silence that they usually did when facing their leader.

  “Oh, and speaking of last things,” said Zardin, smiling as he reached into his pocket. “Here’s a parting present to our beloved friends.” He pulled out a familiar small device with a red button on it. And he pressed the button.

  __________

  Cruiser 802 exploded with a radiant blast of orange that devoured miles of black space around it. The collected debris that was the cruiser went scattering across space for miles across,spreading its fiery remains all over…

  5

  The ground rose and fell sharply in a harsh, rocky terrain.

  Crouching low beneath one of the outgrowths on the land were two figures clad in deep blue robes. Their faces were wrapped with a black scarf, leaving a mere strip open for their eyes. The two of them sat hidden behind the large rock, scanning the distance beyond them. It had taken Qyro and Vestra almost half an hour or so to reach here. A journey between planets within the inner spectrum might have taken nothing more than a few feeble minutes. But a journey from the outer spectrum, to a planet in the inner spectrum would require at least half an hour. Farnor, the planet the Nyon hid in, lay at the beginning of the outer spectrum. If it had been deeper into the outer spectrum, this journey could have even taken hours.

  The two of them were now sitting less than a few miles from their destination. Their hover boards lay on the ground behind them, while they peered across the rocky lands. To any stray dweller, nothing would have been visible except for the horizon. But to them and their powerful mystical eyesight, there was more out there, across the lands they were now gazing at. They could trace the faint edges of the buildings that rose in the village, sprouting against the horizon far beyond. Their target village. The rebel controlled village. It could be made out very faintly. They estimated the distance between where they sat crouched now, and the village, to be nothing more than three miles.

  “Well, we’re here.” said Qyro. “Let’s not keep the rebels waiting, shall we?”

  “Absolutely not.” said Vestra.

  And the two of them sprang forth and dove into a high speed, cross country sprint towards their destination. The completely unsuspecting village.

  As soon as they had arrived at the border of the village, they knew. Something was not right…

  The entire place was immersed in the strangest, gloomiest silence.

  “What the hell’s goin on?” whispered Qyro, looking at Vestra. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was a cemetery, and not a village. Why’s everything so quiet?”

  The two of them edged by the back of the wall of the first house that came in sight, inside of the village as they entered it.

  Vestra let her head twist around beyond the wall backing her, and ran her eyes down the completely deserted lane that came ahead of them.

  Qyro continued looking ahead. And he thought he saw a figure in a long white cloak strolling down a nearby lane … and he also thought he saw a Sparkler in the man’s hands.

  “Err, Vestra-”

  But she silenced him with an upshot hand, continuing to peep out from behind the wall. Qyro gulped, trying to ward off a growing anxiety. It felt as though the entire situation had loosened all reins of predictability it could have had.

  Vestra continued to silently gaze across the street behind the house. Finally, she turned back and took in a deep, steadying breath.

  “The village’s been put on curfew.” she breathed into Qyro’s ear.

  “Curfew?”

  “Yeah,” replied Vestra. “The rebels don’t look like they afford their villagers alotta freedom…” Her voice roughened with anger. “Leave alone taking over their homes, and making them all hostages.”

  “If the place’s in curfew,” said Qyro slowly, feeling a rising sense of panic. “Doesn’t that mean our job’s gonna be … slightly harder? How the hell are we gonna get in and get out of here, without alerting these madmen watching over the curfew?”

  “See those guys in long white cloaks walking around?” said Vestra, extending her arm to point down the street beyond them.

  Qyro saw one of them, the white cloaked men, striding by down almost every street. All of them were holding Sparklers and masked.

  “Yeah, I see ‘em.” said Qyro, his eyes shrunken to slits as he surveyed them. The figures wandering around at the distance. “They’re probably the rebels controlling the town. The ones working for Razvol.”

  Vestra nodded and said, “Yeah. And they’re the ones we’ve gotta keep ourselves off. The job’s done as long as we creep by without letting them see us.”

  Qyro swerved around slowly to look at her. “This is a joke, right?” He turned back, watching the rebels stalk by each street, and made a quick calculation. “There’s probably a rebel to glance wherever we move every three seconds. This is impossible!”

  Vestra seemed to be holding back the same fear. But when she spoke, the steel in her tone seemed to outweigh all fears. “Listen, this is not something we can back out on, Qyro, and you know it. We both know that there’s something a lot bigger than it appears going on. By the look of things, we’re carrying the weight of the entire world on our shoulders now. This task has to be accomplished.”

  Qyro frowned, feeling the resolve in her voice reach him as well. “And so it is.”

  “We can do this,” said Vestra, a sturdiness in her voice. “We have to.”

  Qyro knew she was right. He took in a deep, panic quelling breath and looked sideways at her. “So what’s the plan?”

  “Same one as always.” Vestra said, her black eyes sparkling. “Improvise.”

  Qyro smiled. “The only plan that ever works.”

  And the two of them slowly crept down the village, passing lane after lane without alerting the attention of any of the white cloaked, masked figures.

  __________

  Rambo tapped his Sparkler over one hand as he moved down the deserted village lane, his eyes peeled for movement. Of any sort. His job, as a member of his rebel organisation, was to ensure that the villagers were kept under their well restrained leash. As a person working for Razvol, he had learned to guide himself ruthlessly over the years, just as the rest of their entire squad had to, if they wanted to survive.

  He knew that this hour of curfew was the one where villagers were most likely to be spotted moving about. And that was when the fun began, for the rebels. Finding villagers lurking about during curfew was a source of gleaming joy for the rebels … That was the very reason they were here. Because they thrived a living out of bullying other innocent people, to get what they wanted.

  As he reached the end of the lane his path crossed with another cloaked rebel, who paused for a moment as the two of them met.

  And then, with a nod through his mask, the other one said, “Found anyone?”

  Rambo recognised the voice of his fellow rebel, Dariaz. “Found any villagers breaking curfew, you ask?” He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “Keep your eyes peeled for the alleyways.” Dariaz informed him. “That’s where we usually find them hiding.”

  Rambo knew he was right: it was common to find the villagers hiding behind dustbins in dark alleyways. Where they think they escape the rebels’ watch. How very foolish of them.

  The two of them strolled down his lane, talking.

  “You know,” said Dariaz slowly, an edge of uncertainty in his voice. “The boss … seems kinda off his nerves lately.”

  Rambo snapped his head around, knowing that this was no topic to be taken lightly for discussion. The boss. Razvol. He was kept as a sealed segment of discussion, and conspiring or talking trash against him was indeed very badly punished. Razvol scared the wits out of everyone in the village. Not only the villagers here, but his own men as well. The rebels too knew enough of him to know not to break any of his ground rules.

  But as Rambo studied what he had heard, he felt a veil of
fear driven silence break apart in front of him…

  He realised that he had been feeling the very same way off late: Razvol truly did seem out of his nerves lately. And now, hearing someone else among the rebel squad voice it, he realised that it hadn’t been his own imagination: something really was up with their steely leader all of a sudden.

  “You’re right…” he said slowly. “I thought he was too.”

  Dariaz turned, and Rambo could sense the gleam of a satisfied smile beneath his mask, now that the two of them were agreeing to open the borders on something that had been closed by convention.

  “Yeah,” Dariaz said a little more loudly, nodding. “He keeps to himself - that is to say, more than usual.”

  Rambo uttered an amused chuckle. “More than usual. Yeah. True.”

  “I think something’s been happening off late, don’t you?”

  “What do you mean?” Rambo gave a glance down every alley as he passed, to make sure there weren’t any villagers hiding beneath the garbage cans as they usually did during curfew time. “What’s been happening?”

  Dariaz sent a well rounded look about them, before turning to Rambo with his voice lowered. “There was this strange attack, I heard, in this planet, Tansof. And I heard it involved,” His voice dropped even softer, a bare hiss. “involved … mystics.”

  Rambo gave a slight start and spun to face his comrade “Gosh! Don’t say that word, would you?”

  Dariaz nodded fervently. “I know … that word gives me the shivers too. We’ll just call them … The freaks. The M freaks.” His voice fell back to a bare whisper again. “Anyway, the attack seemed to involve-”

  “Hang on, hang on just a second – there’s a villager behind that dustbin in that alley, I can see him hiding.”

  “What?”

  The two of them turned and entered the alley by the right, and sure enough, there was the undistinguished shadow of a villager stirring behind it.

  “Come out, pal!” yelled Rambo, raising his gun. “You’re cornered and over. Who are you?”

  The rubbish can suddenly toppled forward. And behind it, Vestra and Qyro stood with blazing swords in their hands.

  “We’re the freaks,” said Vestra.

  “The M freaks.” smirked Qyro.

  Without warning, the two of them pounced…

  And before Dariaz or Rambo knew it, the two of them were pinned to the ground by the two blue robed figures.

  “What - what do you want?” gasped Rambo, struggling to speak as the boy’s hand clamped his mouth shut hard. By his right, he could feel Dariaz trying to shake off the other figure who kept him pinned down, hard.

  The boy sitting over Rambo bent down, breathing into his ear, “Oh, we just want a favour from the two of you. A little favour.”

  __________

  Two white robed, masked figures had stormed into an alleyway a minute back, under the presumption that they had found a villager breaking curfew hiding behind the garbage can. Now, the two white robed, masked figures came striding out of the alleyway, a new grace and power in their stride as they slowly walked down the same lane.

  They reached the end of the lane that they were supposed to be monitoring, and halted. One of them nudged the other by the ribs.

  “What?” Vestra hissed, her eyebrow rising beneath the mask of her rebel disguise.

  “Which way now?” asked Qyro. “Where did they say Razvol lives?”

  The two of them had pinned the two gullible rebels they’d drawn into that alleyway down. They had then squeezed out the valuable information from them - information of where their leader, Razvol resided. And then, knocking them unconscious, the two of them had stolen their cloaks and masks, disguising themselves with it. Now, with the quickly woven plan moving smoothly, they were beginning to feel slightly more confident.

  “Where did they say Razvol lives in?” repeated Vestra, who turned and gazed at the distance across the small, one storey buildings that spawned down the lane.

  “We need to get to the tallest tower. That’s where he is.”

  “Right.” said Qyro, in a measured whisper. “Let’s hurry, then.”

  The lanes and streets seemed to press into them with an atmosphere of darkness and gloom. As they strode down, they were careful to avoid any other of the white cloaked rebels who were seen at almost every street.

  The village’s buildings were all tarnished, with a shabby, ill maintained air. The primitively laid brick structures ran along both sides of the street, rising no higher than two storeys. But the tower that they were heading towards could be seen clearly on the other side of the village. It was visibly the tallest tower in the village, sprouting like a pillar into the sky.

 

  Despite the thrill and urgency boiling within them, the two of them kept their pace steady and measured: they didn’t want their hastiness to give them away to the other rebels they passed about the place. But they couldn’t help letting their strides drag them an ounce or two faster as they started approaching the tower.

  “This is probably gonna be easier than we imagined.” said Qyro hopefully.

  “Don’t count your eggs before they’ve hatched.” warned Vestra. “The last thing we need is for something to go wrong because we let our guards down.”

  Qyro gave a nod. “Of course.”

  Less than a minute later, they were almost at the tower. The street they were now striding down was lit stronger than the ones away from the tower, with the streetlamps on either side casting a brighter, more menacing glow over the lane.

  Qyro and Vestra kept their gazes steadily fixed over the tower. It could now be seen towering over the entire village, establishing its supremacy over it. It was at the very end of the lane they were now walking through, its entrance seen faintly less than a hundred metres before them.

  Vestra broke her pace, slowing slightly to throw a glance backwards. Just in case they were being followed. But the street, for the entire distance it could be seen through, was empty. The two of them reached the entrance of the large tower and halted for the breadth of a moment.

  “Well, here we go.” Qyro said, as the two of them lingered at large double door of the tower for a second.

  Vestra gathered her composure with a quick breath, and then pulled the double doors open.

  A sudden blinding light … A brutal electric pain … Vestra faintly felt herself fly backwards gracefully, and slam over the cold ground beneath, before darkness enclosed her completely…

  His mind reeling, Qyro gaped at Vestra lying sprawled on the ground, before twisting head around towards the door again. A pack of rebels came streaming out of the doors and stood surrounding him and Vestra’s body…

  For a second that seemed to compress a few centuries, Qyro let his gaze travel over the batch of rebels around him, all of them standing with their Sparklers aimed.

  The realisation hit him with a pounding force: they had been discovered.

  Fiery panic surged up within him.

  As the men raised their Sparklers, a second or two away from firing, Qyro felt everything vacuumed from his mind. Without the nudge of a conscious thought, he ripped his cloak off and had his sword unsheathed.

  A dazzling orange flash immersed the scene as he lit his sword, and as one, the rebels stumbled backwards in the sudden blinding light. As they regained their stance, he had already sent his sword cutting down three of them. The others slowly repositioned their guns and sprayed jets of blue light at him, which he swirled his sword around to block and cut off. But Qyro knew his chances were dwindling. There were almost a dozen of them. Against only one of him.

  Thrusting out the hopeless feeling, he launched over them. His sword swiped the air, making a clean cleave across two of their torsos. Twisting about just in time to cut off another jet of light sent at his chest, he dodged another, sidestepped and then sent one of the men on his right soaring with a blow from his fist.

  There were only nine of them now. Qyro s
pun his sword in a wild frenzy, cutting off the jets of light spewed at him. The tiniest gaps in the flow of their shots fell, and Qyro grabbed hold: he started forward, sent his sword slashing through two of them ahead, and then rammed his elbow into the masked face of a third, who was sent flying back.

  Fighting to keep himself from faltering, he rounded on the six remaining ones, blocking their shots with his mystical speed undiminished. But he knew it was of no use … He knew he couldn’t hold them off long.

  He managed to slice apart a final of the rebels before one of their shots slipped right past his defense and smote him in the elbow … A red hot pain erupted and he felt every nerve in his arm jammed, unable to move. The very next second, another jet of blue had clipped his sword by the handle, and had sent it twirling into the air. Qyro closed his eyes for the last jet of blue which took him squarely by the chest…

  For the meanest second, through the pain blasting out across in his chest, Qyro sensed himself lifted off the ground … He could feel his body soar over behind, as everything around went fuzzy, dream like … The world had dissolved into darkness before his body hit the ground.