First stops by an ash pile, slowly scattering in the breeze. It shakes its head, the others behind mirroring the gesture, then moves on.
Above them, three sky-ships wait.
None of the figures carry weapons, though all wear protective clothing, covered from head to toe in lightweight armour, featureless. This adds to the illusion that they are identical. However, there are differences in height, weight, gender and age. In other circumstances they would dress differently too, perhaps favouring the clothes and mannerisms of their original selves. But when the First calls them, awakening the sleeping essence in their bodies, their masks of humanity fall away, irrelevant.
Several times they pause on their journey, distracted by the shape of a broken building, or a bed half hanging through a ceiling. Sometimes the First stops by a body to close its eyes, sometimes it stops to open them. For not everyone has died in the combat: a few hover, hearts fluttering on the brink. On these occasions one of the group comes, scooping up wounded soldiers as if they were dolls made of leaves. Prizes in hand, they fall back, returning to the sky-ships.
When the First reaches the Crawler Tanks, only three of the group still follow empty-handed.
The Sonorous military back away long before the First arrives, allowing it to pass by unimpeded. An officer awaits the infernal, trying hard to hide his nerves, unaware that such deception is impossibe. The First reads souls rather than tone of voice or facial expressions. All of the officer’s feelings are laid bare before the First’s gaze.
‘Welcome to Sonorous. I’m Captain Ujim, and, on behalf of the council, I want to thank-you for your quick response. I’ve been authorised to give you every support. The enemy is well armed and well trained.’ He is suddenly aware how small he appears, reflected in the First’s faceplate. His throat dries, his voice shrinks. ‘They used the terrain against us, so we haven’t been able to bring our Tanks to bear. And they have knights, at least fifty of them by our reckoning.
‘Still, now that you’re here, our combined strength should be more than enough. We’re ready to attack on your order.’
The First stares into the captain. Behind it, three heads shake. ‘In my dealings with your … people over the years, I am always surprised how eager you are to kill each other.’
The First moves past the captain, leaving the protection of the Crawler Tanks behind.
‘Wait,’ stammers the captain as the identical figures walk by in single file. ‘What are you going to do? What are our orders?’
The fourth figure pauses as it passes. ‘I am going to do what you should have done from the beginning … I am going to make them an offer.’
‘Someone’s coming out, sir. Is that him? Is that the First?’
Genner squints through the spyhole in the makeshift shelter. ‘It’s not a him, private, it’s an infernal. And, yes, it’s the First.’
‘I’ve got him, it, in my sights now. Should I take the shot?’
‘Not yet. Keep ready but no-one fires until I say so.’ Genner turns to his troops. He sees fear in them, mixed with eagerness. Many of the knights have lost sisters and brothers to the First, many of the squires have grown up on bitter stories. ‘If we get the chance to rid the world of the First, we’ll take it. But remember, our primary mission is to protect the bearer, keep the sword safe, and take it to the Breach. We cannot let it fall into enemy hands. I want options.’ He points as he talks. ‘You two, see if we can climb the wall behind the cover of these generators. Demolitions, see if there’s any way you could punch through to the sea from here and, if you can—’
‘Sir, I think it’s about to do something.’
Genner spins back to look through the gap. ‘Shit!’
The First stops, midway between the tanks and the bunker. It raises its hands, palms open, then removes its helmet. A face is revealed. A young woman, hairless, pockmarks on her cheeks. ‘I am the First and I am not here to destroy you. Not unless you … invite me.’ The First walks closer, face slack as it thinks. ‘I do not … enjoy the idea of fighting. Something offered is so much more valuable than something taken. This body was given to me. The woman that wore it was sick. Not through contact with my kind. This was an infection native to your world, though no less … deadly for it. I am told such a condition used to be treatable but your science is in retreat, your medicine rare and costly. The woman had neither the friends nor the resources to get the treatment she needed. And her … community was afraid. Could she be infectious? Would her sickness spread? They did not know. The knowledge was lost to them. And so, she came to me. And though your kind would consider her rotten, to me she was … pure.
‘A part of her lives on within my essence. Not in any way that you would understand, but be assured that she does. She had no illusions about what she would become. I tell you this because in taking on this form I made an observation that I would like to share with you.’ The First pauses, seeming to stare through the wall of light to the many eyes on the other side. ‘Humans are desperate to live. Given the choice between an existence of any sort and death, she chose life. Once against the disease, carrying on despite the knowledge that it would kill her, and then once again when she met me.
‘Soon you will have to make that same choice. To die here and now or to continue a little longer. In the heat of the moment, it is easy to court death. But we are not yet at that moment. Wait. Think. Listen to what I have to say. I do not speak to your leaders alone, I speak to every one of you. If you wish to live, it is simple. Shatter your swords and swear yourselves to peace, and to me. I cannot allow the knights to leave but I promise that I will treat them fairly. The rest of you may do as you please. Stay, go, or come with me. Above all else, the Malice must be destroyed. Do these things, these … simple things and not only will I spare your lives, I will see to it that you can return home, or start anew. Whatever you wish.’
The helmet is raised once more, put into place.
‘Consider my words … carefully. I will wait for your answer.’
Behind the barrier of light, all eyes go to Genner, then to the girl leaning over the sword, whispering, frantic.
One Thousand, One Hundred and Twenty-Six Years Ago
Thought fragments float across Massassi’s consciousness, pieces of mosaic, disconnected. They blend with voices, also floating, near her head. She cannot tell which belong to the past, which to the future as she drifts through them, a happy phantom.
Words become clearer, more pressing. She recognises the speaker, identifies the words but their impact is distant, barely felt.
‘… And all I’m asking for is a moment of your cooperation. Then everyone can get on with their lives. Surely, you’d agree, that’s for the best?’
Massassi goes to speak but a mask stops her. Her eyes flare and she coughs, choking on the tube jamming her mouth, running deep.
‘Ah, I think she’s waking up.’
A second voice joins in, less familiar. ‘Let’s not get hasty. The body is recovering, yes, but cognitive function has to be verified if you want her statement to stand.’
Someone bends over her. She tries
