Along City’s open coastline, a phalanx of flaming barges blocked the path from the sea, keeping at bay any savages who may be lurking in the murky waters. Through most of the night, the skies had been clear of cloud and fog. Clear that is, until Nomad began his mad chanting. Within minutes of beginning his eerie mantra, dark clouds came out of nowhere. Rain threatened; abetted by howling winds the threat soon turned into wet reality, turning from a light sprinkle to a horrendous deluge. The louder Nomad sang, the more intense the storm lashed the besieged city. Soon the blazing bonfires surrounding the harbor and the east wall began to lose their fire. The battle for the last stronghold of the old ways would soon be begin.
Hunkering down behind hastily erected barriers, their grim faces painted as dark as the night, City’s soldiers were at battle-ready. Seasoned defenders, the men and women of the City Defense Force held not a single illusion about tonight’s battle. For over three centuries, the Force had done their job; protect City from the savages on the other side of the wall. Doing their job with cold-blooded efficiency, never losing a battle, never allowing a single barbarian past their high walls. But tonight, with most of the eastern wall in rubble, the Force knew the very future of City lay in their hands.
Overhead, high in his observation tower, Commander Breach looked down and took stock of his soldiers. Well trained and highly disciplined, armed with the best weapons City could supply, Breach felt proud and confident that his troops would win the night. Sneering into his gray beard, he thought about the savage called Nomad. Just one more barbarian with the audacity to try and take Earth’s last city; to tear down what he himself could not build. Smirking, he dismissed all the rumors surrounding Nomad; that the filthy savage was possessed by the spirit of an ancient magician; that his magic could topple City’s walls; that the wild-eyed lunatic could draw energy directly from natural elements. Spitting over the edge of his sand-bagged vantage point, Breach laughed aloud. That kind of superstitious babble might work on the opposite side of the wall, but here in City such talk shouldn’t be able to frighten children. Stroking his beard, Breach felt the laughter die in his throat. No, such talk should not have been able to frighten anyone. But clearly that wasn’t the case. His people were afraid, especially the status-Citizens.
Raising the night-vision binoculars to his eyes, Breach surveyed the hasty repairs done to the. The earthquake that had shaken City had come as a complete surprise. But nothing more than ironic coincidence, Breach thought fiercely. So what if Nomad had been quick to lay claim that it was his borrowed magic that had sent the mighty walls tumbling. That was nothing more than opportunistic luck on Nomad’s part; animal cunning, nothing else. Who cared if the raggedy-assed charlatan could fool his legions with such drivel. Luck, that’s all it was; blind luck. Certainly he could not be accused of being an expert battle tactician, that was for sure. Because after the quake, for three tension filled days, the entire eastern sector had been exposed, laying wide-open and defenseless. The raving idiot hadn’t attacked. Instead, as City’s bulldozers and work crews worked feverishly to shore up the weakened wall, Nomad had huddled in his tree-hut praying to his magician-god. He had lost an incredible advantage and tonight the madman would lose more. The Force would prevail. He would prevail, thought Breach angrily—and in so doing would show the weaklings under his care that he was more than a match for Nomad.
As Commander Breach unknowingly faced his final hours of life, City’s towering citadels stood dark and silent in self-imposed blackout. Inside the Inner Sanction, the status-Citizens huddled in fear within their safe-rooms; while outside of the locked rooms, in the fortified antechambers their mercenaries stood guard. Inside and out, all hoped they would live to see the first sunrise of the fall solstice.
From a shadowed corner of one of the fortified courtyards, a boy opened the outer door and peered into the night. Something felt different in the air, and he found himself stricken by an almost supernatural fear as the darkness and all that could be hiding in it seemed to gain strength.
"Lant! Stop shaking lad, get yourself back inside; and bar the door." Guardian Barlo stood in silence, studying the look of fear on the young lad’s face. Finally, turning to his men, he knew the worry was mirrored in his own face. It was all they had to know. Barlo found his stool and sat down heavily, listening with poorly disguised contempt the whimpering coming from within the safe-room. Mewling, weak cowards! Yet, they were status Citizens and he held a responsibility toward them. Like his father, and his grandfather, and his father before him, it was his sworn duty as Guardian--sixth generation-- to protect City’s people.
For the next two hours, Barlo and his men sat in mute silence. Not a single word was exchanged. Instead, all eyes were fixed on the heavy wooden door. Suddenly, the lights in the courtyard began to flicker, becoming dimmer. Cursing under his breath, Barlo found his voice. "Another brown-out!" He felt the shadows on the wall becoming heavier, more sinister. "Lant! Get on the bike and pedal up some juice. Hansen! Turn off all the lights except the one by the door, and the big one overhead. We’ll need those to see if anyone tries to force the door."
"Anyone, or any-thing." muttered Hansen, his callused hand resting nervously on his holster.
Moments later, as Lant’s strong legs pumped power back into the reserve batteries, the light in the room grew stronger. And as the shadows retreated, some of the men began to relax; cradling their rifles on their legs while patting their pockets for something to chew or smoke. Maybe everything would turn out all right after all. Perhaps Breach could hold Nomad at the East Gate. But it was not to be. Suddenly, Lant cried out, pointing a trembling finger toward the door.
A strange yellow mist billowed out from under the door. The smell of dead meat permeated the room as the putrid cloud boiled over and around the door-frame; circling as if looking for something.
"Weapons at ready!" Barlo barked.
No one dared breathe, and for a precious moment nothing happened. Then, from the other side of the door came the sound of a great wind, carrying upon its shoulders, voices; loud inhuman shrieks of terror and mad laughter. Lant screamed, clapping his hands over his ears. Most of the others, paralyzed with fear, sat rooted in their chairs. The jarring sound of metal, as some of the weapons slipped out of shaking hands, clattered to the floor. The door shook violently, hinges squealing in protest. Lant was vaguely aware that Barlo was shouting at him, cuffing his ears; trying to get him to stop screaming. His eyes went as wide as pools when the door finally burst from its hinges and he found himself staring into a vast and empty darkness. It was as if he were looking into a bottomless chasm of blackness. He could feel the evil leaking into the room. From out of the dark pit, tentacles of yellow smoke slithered toward him. For a blessed moment, his screams died in his throat and a feeling of lassitude overtook his entire body; his eyes became as heavy as stone. But as the fingers of foul smoke wrapped themselves around his trembling body he felt himself being pulled into the darkness the sound of insane laughter filled his ears and he began to scream again. And this time he knew he would never stop.
Larry Myles used to host a writers bbs during the pre-Net days. He is now working on building his own 'writers resource' site. Larry plans to host writing contests, and he would like publish the winning stories in Aphelion.
E-mail: lmyles@direct.ca
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