The Transcend: Book I

By Peter J Maher

They were born out of fire and walked the stars as gods, an empire was born and the seeds of creation planted...Power and glory were followed by war and pestilence...and the solution was the Transcend. One billion years later the Dynastic Dynasties united to form the Hub Alliance...Now the Alliance was about to become the Coalition; but lure of the

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kite and Key Publishing
• Release date: Nov 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9780990007883

Book preview

Prologue

Seven Hundred Years Ago: The Dawn of the Dynastic Dynasties

The Sacred World of Amaterasi - Castle Afhrain

‘The humans call it an invitation, I call it an ultimatum, but regardless of its true meaning, I see an end to our Culture among the dunescarps, I see blood upon the sahekesh; I see death among the children of Al’thia and Ul’thia.’ Lord Anquist, Castle Afhrain.

In the hours before the arrival of the Ambiquo delegation from planet Talus, when the final touches were being made to the Great Hall of Echoes, a solitary member of the Afphram Culture sat alone at his desk, his eyes closed in quiet contemplation of his fate.

It was a warm night inside the walls of Castle Afhrain and the new machinery installed by the humans had increased the air conditioning to compensate. Anquist might have resented the affront, but it was important the humans felt welcomed upon their arrival. Since the Ambiquo had installed the air-system as a gift, it seemed prudent to show them that the Afphram were at least grateful.

By the half-light of a flickering glow tube he opened the book before him. His tactile receptors instantly picked up the odour. Rithilium wax… The book was beyond old, it was ancient in the extreme. A collection of voices, long since returned to the sand… Adjusting his eyes to the light, his outer lids widened as he bent over the first page and read the title: Beyond the Horizon of the Possible – The Face of Uitzilopchi.

He knew the words of the book by heart, every member of the Culture did, but reading them was a comfort, and right now he needed that...for the last time in his life, he needed that.

‘Long before the coming of the sands a great river ran through the land, and upon its banks the children of our God Uitzilopchi dwelt in harmony with the creatures of the Ul’thia and the creatures of the Al’thia. The children took a kin name from the Al’thia and that name was Afphram, which means sand dwellers, and Uitzilopchi led them to the desert and he called that place Amaterasi and told them to dwell there and make tents for their pouchlings…’

Anquist looked up as his Tan-ming tea set began to tremble, the sieth inlaid spoons gently vibrating on the desk top. He knew that the Ambiquo space frigate was passing over the castle walls, manoeuvring to make landfall in the designated enclosure outside the city enclosure. And so it begins… He turned several pages of the book and began to read once more:

‘Uitzilopchi warned his children of the rise of the dunescarps and the fall of the great stone cities, he warned of the coming of the interlopers from beyond the skies; a sheathless and devious race who carried themselves inside one skin. At first the star-dwellers bore strange offerings and were welcomed inside the tents, but later their gifts were poisoned by their deeds and the bloodletting War of Gorndeth raged across the sacred sands of Amaterasi…’

From the desk top a voice broke the silence. Retracting his outer lids he touched the response pad. It was his daughter Zieter, and she was frantic:

I know your plans father, and I beseech you to refrain from the deed.

He adjusted the com to capture a visual image and smiled as his daughters face filled the screen, her dermal sheathing visibly rippling with fear. He spoke softly:

You know I cannot do that daughter. The decision has been made and you are in fear of breaking lawful dictate.

You think I fear that? You are my father; do you think I can so easily accept your fate?

You must. For our Culture…you must.

But how can you know this act will deter the humans? Will it not just enrage them? We have seen the slaughter visited upon Rimitsia, for one simple act of rebellion they killed them all; will not your act do the same?

I have no doubt of it. But you must understand: the slaughter at Rimitsia was the catalyst for the cause which was to follow. If we are to re-visit Gorndeth then sacrifice is implicit in the plan. Blood must be spilled my daughter if Amaterasi is to be re-born.

Zieter scowled. I do not care about any of that. Do you not see? Bringing back the bloodletting will only prolong the suffering, our Culture has its back against the dune; the only way to survive is by compliance. If we negotiate with the Ambiquo we might yet retain some measure of independence.

Anquist smiled. Dear Zieter, when you speak of compromise I hear slavery, when you say independence I say indentured. The treaty the humans offer is no more than a charter for occupation.

With her outer lids wide Zieter pleaded: But father House Ambiquo is not part of the greater human Alliance, they are an independent state, they offer mutual assistance. Talus is a sovereign world and has already denounced the new Hub Alliance and stands firm against the other human dynasties.

He wanted to reassure her, convince her, but her love for him was blinding her to the truth. My daughter, the Ambiquo are human, and one human dynasty is as bad as another; at this moment in time the Ambiquo of Talus find it convenient to placate our Culture, they entice with their gifts of technology, but it is known among the Phram that they also trade with the Goronite Dynasty of Danthros and the Kethil Caste of Telaxa, both of whom have sent raiding parties to our tents. Do you really think we can trust such ferril as these?

With anger in her voice Zieter replied: You live in the lost day’s father. These human dynasties are gathering their clans, they are uniting into a greater alliance and whether the Phram accept it or not, Amaterasi sits at the center of their domain. Mark my words father, our Culture must adapt or be swept aside, your death will change nothing, at least nothing beyond the pain I will feel at your loss.

Her words cut him deep, but his resolve remained true and as far as he was concerned his decision had been made. Forgive me daughter, but I must take my leave of you. I pray by Uitzilopchi that one day you will understand why I must do this thing…

Now she had tears in her eyes. But it makes no sense…!

Anquist sighed heavily. It has been sanctioned daughter; the act is the first step in a greater plan.

She glared at him from the screen, her outer sheath visible shaking with frustration. Go then to your death, but know that I will not mourn you as your daughter, but as your victim, for in your passing you abandon me to the fray. I can no more understand you than I can accept your blind devotion to a past long since burned beneath the sands.

He tried to smile at her in the hope that she might see how much he truly loved her. Goodbye my daughter, please avoid the castle precincts, there will be much confusion when this night is over. He reached over to close the link as she spoke one last time:

I love you father…

I love you too my daughter. And he closed the link.

There was a gentle tapping on the door. The voice of his First Fhren, Adovar broke the silence:

My liege, the Ambiquo delegation is approaching the Duna Gate…

They do not waste time… I will join you there Adovar….

Very good my Liege.

Adovar was an excellent First Fhren; his lineage had served the Clan Anquist Toth faithfully for seven generations. I am so sorry my old friend, but fate dictates our kinship ends here this night…

From the small window set high in the wall, the muted light from Estria, the First Moon, slipped into the room, scattering the gloom and illuminating the glistening Lharna scales which adorned the lid of his prized Cadovar chest. He stood up slowly and walked across the chamber, and with some slight hesitation, he opened the lid of the chest and carefully removed the Saratin waistband. With great care he wrapped it around his outer sheath, adjusting the folds to leave room for his lateral ducts. It wouldn’t do to allow seronase from his ducts to contaminate the ingrained explosive. When the moment came he would simply exude fresh seronase from his frontal ducts, the combination of pheronomic perspiration and sytocilite explosive would result in an instant thermo-inductive explosion. The sytocilite alone would destroy the Great Hall of Echoes and with it the entire Ambiquo delegation. And then the Gorndeth will begin…

Castle Afhrain had been home to Clan Anquist Toth since before the coming of the sands. For twenty generations they had ruled the fertile lands between the Sarmis Basin and the distant shores of the sacred sea of Salindi Tacomi. The Clan had built their castle where the Laratis Dunescarps now stretched towards the Tiaret Oasis along the banks of the ancient Sihr River. And then the great Urithi came to Amaterasi, and the seas turned to sand with the dawn of the world-desert and the rise of the great dunescarps. Only eight of the ruling Clans of Amaterasi survived the Urithi, as their world was moved from its orbit by the hand of Uitzilopchi, and only five castle keeps remained standing after the fall of the great cities and the mighty stone walls turned to sand. As far as Anquist was concerned his castle symbolised more than just a family history, it represented the history of a world changed beyond measure by a cosmic event, their race physically mutated over time to become the Afphram Culture, rulers of a world re-born as Amaterasi. Where once we ruled stone, now we rule sand…

He sealed his shadhira desert cowl and took one last look around his chambers. The memories were almost overwhelming, but the decision had been made and the sands had been cast. Without a second glance he quickly made his way out into the corridor, walking towards the Duna Gate in the West Wall. He suddenly recalled the words of the great Afphram philosopher Dunrethi: ‘Why would Uitzilopchi change us from water people to sand people if our future were not already written?’ Of course he no longer had faith in that future, the coming of the humans had poisoned the Culture and tainted the sacred sands with their vile technologies; if they were not stopped then Amaterasi would cease to be an independent world among an ocean of worlds – and that could not be allowed to happen.

When he stepped into the Great Hall of Echoes his outer sheathing tensed as his heart rate increased. It took all his concentration to control his seronase secretion. I must not be too premature…I must wait until the moment is right… Now he could hear the approach of an air machine; a small shuttle carrying the Ambiquo delegation from their frigate to the castle gates. He glanced once at his father’s portrait displayed above the stone mantle of the fire pit, and not for the first time he wondered what that great Lord would think of his actions this night. For generations these stones have been the bedrock of our kindred blood… He looked directly into his father’s eyes. Will you forgive me my father for tearing it all down? He took a deep breath and recalled the sacred mantra: By the hand of Uitzilopchi will I be blessed, by the sacred sands will I be restored…

Suddenly Adovar was standing before him, his eyes full of concern.

My liege I have spoken to Zieter…

Anquist pulled his First Fhren to one side. Do not interfere in this action my old friend.

Adovar lowered his outer lids slightly and replied: I would not presume to do so my Liege. I wish no more than to stand by your side.

Anquist smiled grimly. You do not need to do this my friend.

Adovar ignored convention and looked directly at his Lord and replied: What else is there for me to do? My place is with you.

Anquist placed a hand on his friends arm and looked him in the eyes: Then by all means do so, and may the sands sustain our souls and sanctify our sacrifice.

As the strange machine came to rest inside the Courtyard of Souls the castle guard stood to attention in front of the North Gate. Anquist pulled his cloak closed against the back draft as the machine settled, its thrusters finally dying into silence. A rear door slid open and one by one the humans from Talus stepped out and began to walk towards him, their personal guards quickly taking up positions to either side of the great Duma of Ambiquo, Lord of the ancient Ambiquo dynastic family. By his side was the Dumas, his wife, and behind them their son and heir elect the Sanjon.

Anquist walked towards the delegation, Adovar by his side. From somewhere high above the walls came the sound of the Urtai, the traditional desert horns of the Afphram Culture. The humans seemed pleased with the obvious display of reverence as they walked towards Anquist and his First Fhren Adovar.

A tall white-haired human stepped forward and introduced himself to Anquist:

May the sacred sands honor your Phrael kindred my Lord Anquist. I am Solon Vendt, First Minister to my Lord Voron, Duma of Ambiquo and Ruler of the Realm of Talus.

Anquist wasn’t sure of the exact protocols involved; the Duma, wrapped in purple sagia furs, seemed determined to remain silent but he replied:

I greet you Solon Vendt, and may the sacred sands honor your Phrael kindred also, and those of your Lord. Anquist looked toward the Duma, a tall but weak looking member of his species; hunched over within his furs. He wondered how such a one could rule an entire world.

At that point the Duma himself stepped forward, extricating himself from his royal furs. When he spoke his voice seemed stilted with barely contained arrogance:

I thank you for your offerings of kinship Anquist of the Afphram. May I introduce the Dumas, my beloved wife Traneth…?

Anquist forced a smile in the direction of the Dumas.

I am honored by your presence Lady. She too seemed unsure of the protocols involved and simply looked on with an air of haughty derision and nodding slightly in his direction.

The Duma then turned to his son. And here is the Sanjon of Talus, my heir elect, Mitros.

A pale looking youth stepped forward, extending a simple hand as a gesture of salutation.

Anquist gave a slight nod towards the Sanjon. Greetings to you also Sanjon.

With the pleasantries now over Anquist indicated that the group should follow him back toward the castle keep. If it pleases you Duma, I will show you to the Great Hall of Echoes where refreshments have been provided.

The Duma smiled slightly. Lead on Anquist, the journey from Talus was long and I must admit that I have a yearning for some of your famed saramisi wine.

Anquist turned and led the way back towards the great hall, Adovar once more following on closely behind.

As the humans from Talus arrived before the great table of the Ancestors, Anquist turned to face them and spoke slowly and so softly that at first the Duma thought he was reciting some form of prayer over the food. But as Anquist continued the words suddenly caused the Duma to spin round and give the Afphram Lord his full attention.

…Humans from Talus, we call you the sheathless race, the one-skins who lack our desert grace. But I am Lord of this great Keep and to me you are no more than intruders; vagabond adventurer’s intent on the subjugation and enslavement of our sacred Culture. I cannot allow you to indulge your dreams of colonisation. Amaterasi is our home, our sacred world sanctified by the hand of Uitzilopchi, and by the oath I have sworn to the Phram and by the blood of my Clan I condemn you now to death so that those that follow you might know the true price of setting foot upon our sands.

At that moment every guard in the Ambiquo delegation reached for their bolt guns, swinging them around to aim directly at Anquist as he stood upon the dais at the head of the table. But by then of course it was too late.

Anquist had already secreted fresh seronase from his frontal ducts, covered now with the saratin waistband ingrained with sytocilite explosive. He looked up at the banner hanging above the Septal doors, the Salkir symbol of his clan fluttering gently in the desert breeze as it passed through the high windows of the north wall. It seemed a fitting final vision of everything he once held as sacred and noble.

The explosion tore through the Great Hall of Echoes, forcing its way out through the doors and blasting out the windows, breaking apart the great stones and withering the ancient beams into a sea of fire. The forward pressure wave rolled out across the courtyards, tearing apart the walls and destroying first the shuttlecraft, and then mere seconds later the great space frigate beyond.

A thousand miles away, nestled inside her tent, Zieter of the Clan Anquist closed down the com-link to her contact inside the castle. The connection had ceased abruptly just seconds earlier, the signal now lost to static. She squeezed her Salkir dagger until the precious stones of its sheath cut into her skin. She stood up slowly and stepped outside. The night was cool and she wrapped her fedeshar veil across her face. She was aware that her outer sheathing was trembling, but the cold was welcome; it was a desert thing and the familiarity however vague was a comfort…despite her loss. She seemed the only one awake at such a late hour, all the other tents were sealed tight against the dark lee of the great Sandqar Dunecrest. But then, beyond the supply tent she caught sight of a solitary guard patrolling the edge of the settlement. Is that Lhimar? The officer of her father’s desert troop had already made it known that he would welcome her attention, but she was in no mood for such dalliance…and now she very much doubted she ever would be. Father has brought the Gorndeth to our sands…

Looking up she saw Nestria, the Second Moon perched at the edge of a sea of stars. First Moon was already dipping below the horizon - the new day would arrive in a matter of hours. And what new terror will we have to face then?

Her lateral ducts were aching from the lack of seronase. She was in the middle of her birth-cycle and once a month her seronase would dry up, leaving her pouch fertile for reproduction. Hence the unwanted attention from Lhimar…not even pheronomic suppressants deterred that one…

She felt the bite of the sands in the wind, they called it the sahekesh, and it carried a thousand childhood memories. She remembered sitting on the duneside with her sister Lieter, they would take turns to scrape sand from their dermal sheaths. It was pleasant enough until dear mischievous Lieter would squeeze dormath grains into her frontal ducts causing her to run screaming to her father. She smiled at the memory. And what fate awaits you now dear Lieter?

She knew that the human response to her fathers act would be brutal and quick. At that very moment the news of the assassination would be spreading among the out-worlder settlements; it wouldn’t take long for the details to reach the human forces on Talus, Danthros and Telaxa. Even now the foulness that was the Telaxa Kethil Caste would be marshalling their forces to swallow the independence of the planet Talus; with their Duma dead there would be no figurehead to defend their dynasty against the Telaxan hordes. And then they will turn their attention to Amaterasi and my father’s bloody Gorndeth will be let loose upon our sacred sands….the bloodletting of the humans will follow and then the inevitable slaughter of our race…

At that moment the Sun slipped a kiss of light upon the night, and the stars themselves seemed to tremble at the first touch of dawn slipping across the distant dunes. She saw the great crescent of stars called Serotopei in the Book of Uitzilopchi. For countless generations of Afphram those stars had been a friendly guide across the great basins and dunescarps of the land, but now she feared those same stars, for they were the cradle from which the first humans had come bearing gifts and offering friendship. And then came the big ships bearing guns and threats, and the offers of friendship soon became demands and proclamations of ownership. After that the subtle betrayals became outright lies and the laws of the sands were no longer Afphram. And then they talked of reservations… She knew it wouldn’t be long before the ghetto culture of the outer worlds came to Amaterasi.

She turned to the sounds of the Kethmous mounts taking their first feed of the day, their long grey snouts snuffling for grain amongst the sand reeds. From a nearby tent came the sound of a young pouchling crying…Shemir’s baby newly pouched and already suckling from her mothers ducts…where is your future now little Ramith? She was suddenly overwhelmed with sorrow…my father is dead! Our castle gone, destroyed by his own hand… She felt a teardrop fall from an outer lid. And then she caught sight of an air machine, possibly a space vehicle glistening like a new born star, moving along the distant horizon, its navigation lights flickering beneath the light from Second Moon. It seemed to be heading in the direction of the Wethphran Basin, home of the Clan Manquiest. Humans reacting to my fathers Gorndeth…

From behind her the guard leaders were already issuing orders. They have heard the news…no doubt the Phram have issued a formal declaration of war… She knew the bloodletting would leave much of Amaterasi devastated, their Culture reduced to ragged bands of fighters scattered to the far dunescarps. It has all happened before… But the humans were an endless tide, a ceaseless assault upon the sanctity of their Culture; no matter how many they killed in the Gorndeth, still more would follow. We are but one world in a sea of human worlds… She knew the day would come when the humans would forget their differences and their rule would spread like fire among the stars. The dynasties would heal their wounds and relinquish their independence; finally uniting under a single banner to re-shape the universe in their own sheathless image. What then for ancient Amaterasi?

She heard the Officers issuing orders beyond the enclosure and realised all of a sudden that her future was now set. She was no longer the favoured and privileged daughter of a Clan Lord, now she would become a fighter, she would lead her Cabbathi troops into battle. She would raise the Clan banners high and meet the humans in the sacred Gorndeth.

She gripped her Salkir dagger tightly; its handle of polished brazhir was cold to the touch. The old blessing came to mind: By the hand of Uitzilopchi will I be blessed, by the sacred sands will I be restored… Then she turned and walked back to her tent, the communication array already vibrating with dozens of urgent response requests.

The Slaughter at Seronath

‘Regardless of what happens later, a beginning is always the most delicate of times, and unlike an ending, the variables involved are infinite...’

Tantalus: Chronicles of Ages.

Liathi knelt by the side of the pool and splashed water on her face, her outer ducts trembling in the cold air of firstlight. It was her turn to feed the Kethmous mounts corralled beyond the dunefetch; she could already hear them snuffling among the sand reeds straddling the rim crest. From behind her she heard little Simthra emerge from their tent, humming quietly to herself. Her sister was no longer the timid pouchling of last season, now she was into her third trimtha; she had to smile… a child woman indeed… She turned to call her sister:

Simthra! Over here…!

But Simthra was already running up the face of the scarp. The Clan had pegged their tents at the base of the Fihrndir dunescarp to take advantage of the only water source for several hundred miles.

Liathi looked up at her sister. What is she doing?

Simthra!

Liathi stood up and started to walk slowing towards the base of the scarp. For some reason she was beginning to feel an escalating sense of foreboding. As she pushed her way through the hulking Kethmous, the beasts began to crowd around her, eager for their first feed of the day, the stink from their hides attracting swarms of skeeter flies. She shooed the mounts away and called to her sister once again:

Simthra! Answer me!

At that point Simthra turned around and waved back at her before pointing off into the distance beyond the dunecrest and shouting excitedly:

Liathi, look!

Liathi could barely hear her sister above the noise of the Kethmous who were suddenly becoming very agitated, thrashing the air with their long grey snouts. She ignored them and started to run up the scarp toward where her sister was still pointing towards something beyond the crest. She arrived next to her sister out of breath.

By the sands Simthra, what vexes you so early in the day?

Liathi look…see? Flying machines!

Liathi raised a hand against the blinding sunlight as it crested the far dunescarps. Sure enough, spread out along the distant horizon a long line of dark shapes could be seen flickering inside the heathaze. She was immediately afraid, unsure of what this might mean. Come Simthra, we must return to the enclosure…

But Liathi, are they not wonderful? See, they are machines!

Liathi stared into the glare, noticing for the first time that each dark shape seemed to be riding upon a bed of fire, and as they drew ever closer she could see wings straddling their hides, like dhuthi beetles fluttering and glistening inside the early morning sunlight. The sight was both terrifying and beautiful at the same time, and she was acutely aware of her lateral ducts leaking seronase across her outer sheath. She suddenly felt very exposed standing on the crest of the scarp. This does not look good… She took Simthra’s hand and pulled her back down the dune face in the direction of their family tent. Come Simthra, we must take shelter…

But Simthra protested: Why? What is there to fear? Liathi…stop pulling me…!

Liathi spun round and took hold of both of her sister’s hands. Listen to me Simthra; those are flying machines out there, human made machines, and they are against our Culture…we must hide among the sands…come now, do as I say…

Simthra saw the look of fear in her older sister’s eyes and allowed Liathi to pull her back down towards the Enclosure.

Suddenly their father was there, shouting orders to the herders as they emerged from their tents. He saw his daughters approach and ran over to meet them.

Daughters, by the sands, you are safe…

Liathi’s heart was pounding as a gathering sense of fear began to rise inside. She asked: Father, are they out-worlders?

"Yes my child; our far-scouts report the Gorndeth has been declared by the Clans…you must take your sister into the deeps, hide among the far dunes until I come for you…"

But father…

No more words my child…your sister is your charge now, I place her life in your hands… He laid both his hands upon her shoulders and looked into her eyes and said: You must do this Liathi, for the blessed memory of your mother, you must do this.

Liathi noticed her young sister was beginning to shed tears, and she quickly squeezed her hand to reassure her. She looked back at her father and replied:

Very well father, we will take to the sands as you command…

He pulled her into his arms as he spoke: Take two flagons and some sand rations and make your way into the Shakirith Fell expanse. I have sent word to our far-scouts, they will seek you out and conduct you to the deepness, I will contact you when I can. With that he turned to Simthra.

Listen to me now my little Simi… You must obey your sister’s word as if it were my own, do you understand?

Simthra looked up at her father, her eyes wide and moist with tears.

I understand my father… She squeezed Liathi hand even tighter.

From beyond the Fihrndir dunescarp they could hear the sound of war horns as the Clan troopers formed into battle groups. The Seronath Clan was not a wealthy tribe; they had existed for centuries as wandering Kethmous herders and traders in spice reeds, and were not trained in the art of war. But the Gorndeth had been declared and now all the tribes of Amaterasi would rise up as one against the invaders, no matter the cost.

Liathi saw her father reach for his Salkir dagger and was forced to wonder… What is a dagger worth against machines that fly through the air? Suddenly her father pushed her away.

Go now Liathi, go and do not look back…

Liathi gripped Simthra’s hand and they ran towards their family tent. She quickly filled two flagons with water and ordered Simthra to gather a few reed breads and rice wafers. Minutes later they were skirting the sand-pool and making their way carefully across the lower scarps in the direction of the Southern Drifts and the deep desert beyond. From behind them came the sounds of engines, rumbling like distant thunder across the dune fields. She pulled Simthra down in the lee of a dunescarp and risked taking a look back towards their Enclosure. She caught sight of several air-machines cresting the high Fihrndir dunescarp, their black wings flickering like giant skeeter flies. At first they seemed to hover gracefully above the dozens of tents below, and then all of a sudden, to her horror, white and blue streaks of fire lanced out from the underbelly of each machine, instantly causing their tents to explode into fire. She quickly shielded Simthra eyes, but couldn’t look away herself. All she could do was watch, almost fascinated as the human flying machines lay waste to her Clan.

Now she could see that the Kethmous herd were stampeding, forcing their way through the reed walls of their corral; some of them were on fire, their eyes glazed in terror as they trampled their herders into the sands and tore their way through the tents, scattering troopers and families alike. From beyond the rimscarp came more machines, their thrusters almost drowning out the wailing of Kethmous and the screams of the women and children still trapped in their tents. She saw Clan troopers returning fire from the edge of the Enclosure; but their antiquated bolt guns were no match for the pulse lasers streaming out from the human machines. One air-craft swooped low over the troopers and released a string of metal spheres from its dark hide. She watched the silver globes glistening in the sunlight as they rained down on her father’s men, suddenly erupting into a sea of flames which swept quickly across the entire duneface, tearing the men apart and exploding in a wave of destruction which continued to roll down the scarp towards the Enclosure and into the tents nestled inside. She lowered her head as the tears came, pulling Simthra close. She held her sister so tight that their seronase mixed across their ducts, and together they trembled in the early morning breeze. At that moment she felt a sharp pain in her chest and she knew with certainty that their father had fallen. She wanted to get up and run back towards the tents, she wanted to find her father, make sure he was still alive, help him to escape if need be, but she knew it was too late, it was all over; the Clan Seronath was suddenly no more. She looked down at her young sister; saw the fear and terror in her wide green eyes. I have to save her…we two might be the last of our Clan…

At that moment the rumbling of the flying machines grew louder and began to fill their heads with a painful throbbing that threatened to overwhelm them both. She quickly forced Simthra down into the sands, wrapping her desert cloak over her and pulling sand down over both of their heads. She whispered to Simthra to remain still and silent.

Liathi had no idea if they were exposed on the duneface, but it was too late to make a run for the deep sands; the machines were coming in their direction.

She felt Simthra squeeze closer as the sounds from the sky grew ever nearer and the sands themselves began to tremble. All of a sudden she felt a wave of intense heat pass over them and she closed her eyes, ready for the agony of the pulse beam. But seconds later the throbbing in her head seemed to decrease and the rumbling of engines grew less and less. She decided to risk a quick peek from beneath her cloak.

The skies above were clear; there was no longer any sign of the human flying machines. But the blue on blue sky was now clouded by the dark smoke rising from the Enclosure where the tents still burned unchecked. She whispered to Simthra to remain where she was, and then slowly, she edged her way higher up the duneface towards the rim.

In the distance, beyond the desert-pool, she could just make out the remains of the Enclosure, many tents were still burning, and the Kethmous mounts were now scattered to the far dunes. But among the scorch marks burned into the sands, she could just make out dozens of bodies lying where they were cut down by the pulse beams. She slid back down to her sister.

Simthra, listen to me, you must stay here while I look for survivors, do you understand?

But Liathi please don’t go, don’t leave me here alone…

She moved closer to her sister and took her hands in hers. Simthra, father asked you to obey me as though my words were his; so please trust me, I won’t leave you for long, I just need to know if father… She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. I won’t be long…

Simthra seemed to understand. Alright…but please take care…

Liathi smiled at her sister and then quickly turned to scramble back up the duneface to slide down the other side.

As she entered the remains of the Enclosure she quickly came across the bodies of her friends. Some were unrecognisable, their flesh burnt from their bones, but as she neared the nursery tent she recognized the ceremonial sash of her best friend Fehmi lying partly burned next to a scorched skeleton which had been trampled into the sands by the stampeding Kethmous. She fell to her knees and vomited, her whole body shaking with fear and a profound sense of loss. Looking up slowly she could see a row of pouchlings still nestled in their fahir cots, their lifeless eyes wide and frozen at the moment of death; their tiny bodies seemingly unharmed by the fires. She realized that the sand concussions from the bombs must have killed them instantly, their little hearts stopped in the blink of an eye.

She stood up and walked towards the base of the great dunescarp that once protected their Enclosure.

As she neared the deeper sands she saw swarms of skeeter flies concentrating above a pile of rags, burned and scorched along the edges. She felt her chest constrict as her outer dermal sheathing tightened and her lateral ducts seeped fresh seronase down her back. She could barely contain her fear as she instantly recognized the colors of the Phram leadership. Father!

She collapsed by the side of her fathers body, and when she turned him over she saw his face had been burned away, leaving a gaping hole, bloody and covered now with dhuthi beetles, scurrying inside the flesh in a frenzy of rabid feeding. She tried to flick them away, but there were hundreds now, scampering over her father’s body, whilst all around her the bodies of the Clan troopers were being similarly devoured; only the flames from the fires kept the scavengers out of the tents.

Reaching towards her father’s hand she prised loose his Salkir dagger. The Clan crest was covered in her father’s blood and barely recognisable. She wiped it clean on her inner shawl and then stood up slowly and spoke the death prayer:

By Uitzilopchi were you seeded in your Mater’s pouch, by his word were you made whole and sent forth upon the sands. With the blessing of the Sandhir and the Lothrith I send you out to walk the great Dunescarp Regolithe so that by your passing those that follow may know of your deeds.

She raised the dagger high above her head, feeling the warm breath of the sahekesh wind, and then continued:

I am Liathi, first daughter of Vendrith Seronath, Phram leader of the Clan Seronath and sister to Simthra; by the blood of my forbears I swear blood vengeance upon those that have defiled our sacred sands and spilled our Afphram blood upon the dunes and scarps of blessed Amaterasi. I am of the Afphram Culture bound to its laws and servant of its faith. By the hand of Uitzilopchi will I be blessed, by the sacred sands will I be restored…

She sheathed the dagger in her thigh pouch and turned to survey the devastation of her Clan. She would check for survivors, but beyond the few remaining Kethmous mounts she could see no sign of life among the tents. She spoke softly to herself as she watched her home burn: My Phrael and all my blood-kin will be avenged; by Uitzilopchi I swear it.

She swung round at the sound of someone approaching, her father’s dagger in her hand. But it was just Simthra, struggling along the dunecrest, stepping carefully among the corpses strewn across the duneface.

Simthra, I told you to wait for me! She stepped away from their father’s body, anxious that her sister did not see the horror of his ending.

But you were so long…

Liathi joined her sister at the edge of the pool, taking her hand in her own, wondering just how she could tell her the terrible news.

Listen to me Simthra; I have to tell you something bad, something very bad…

But Simthra was no longer an innocent pouchling dependant upon others; she knew something of the disaster that had befallen her people.

It is father isn’t it? Has he fallen to the machines from the sky?

Lithia took Simthra’s other hand and held it tight.

Yes my sister, he has fallen… they have all fallen. She could barely say the words, and it took all her strength not to break down in front of her young sister.

Simthra was staring at the still burning tents, her eyes taking in the many bodies spread among the scarps and reeds. When she finally spoke her words were filled with untold sorry…

I understand…

Liathi had to be strong now, for the sake of her sister and the memory of her Clan, she had to be strong. She pulled Simthra around to face her.

But we survive Simthra, we are alive, and as long as we live our Clan lives; our father lives…do you understand this?

Simthra looked up at her older sister, her eyes wide with fear and asked:

But what will we do Liathi? We are just two girls in a sea of sand turned red with blood…

Liathi looked towards the distant horizon. We will obey our father’s last command; we will travel into the Shakirith Fell expanse. Father has allies beyond Wethphran, far-scouts in the service of blood-kin. We will seek them out, join them and tell them of this great battle, and you will be safe from the human ferril among the far dunes.

Simthra looked up at her sister. But you will be by my side will you not Liathi?

As she squeezed the handle of her father’s dagger Liathi looked out over the wide dune fields beyond the dark smoke rising from the Enclosure.

I will see to your safety my sister, but after that I must join one of the Sahir battle groups that must be forming even now as we speak in the southern deepness.

But Liathi, you might be killed…

Liathi looked down at her little sister and smiled. Look at you, dear sweet Simthra, so tall in your third trimtha, a pouchling no more, but soon to be a woman in your own right. Fear not… I will not be killed…

But you can’t say that! How can you know for sure?

Because in my heart I know it is true. Look about you sister, see the bodies of those we have known and loved all of our lives. Look at the blood red sand, the burning flesh among the sand reeds. I doubt that not even Uitzilopchi in all his wisdom could possibly demand any more blood from our Clan. No my dearest Simthra, you and I are now blessed by the hand of Uitzilopchi. We will survive and we will live long enough to see the invaders removed from our world; by the blood of our father I promise you that.

The Battle of Wethphran Basin

‘Once long ago the sands of Amaterasi were divided by rivers and streams, and great oceans touched the skies beyond the horizon. In that time the stars were newborn and the seeds of life were scattered like dust upon the sahekesh, and the universe was void and vanquished from the soul of creation. But out of the darkness beyond the stars Uitzilopchi came upon his chariot of fire, and by his command was life given to the sands and soon the children of the Ul’thia and the Al’thia breathed the air of existence and roamed the land with great joy and celebration.’

Excerpt: Beyond the Horizon of the Possible – The Face of Uitzilopchi.

The forward phalanx of the Manquiest Cabbathi was running through moon shadows in the lee of the Phrithmar Dunescarp. The far scout had signalled the approach of the human air machine, its thrusters already breaking the desert silence and sending the troop into full battle formation.

With Second Moon in precedence, it was quite light across the basin and the Cabbathi troopers were well aware of the humans’ ability to track them across the sands. It was only a matter of time before they released their drones and set the sands afire.

Tirrith had served Lord Manquiest as Clan General long enough to know that his troops were not prepared for the type of war they now faced. The Gorndeth instigated by the Clan Anquist was no more than a week old and already the Scarp settlements of Dunedeth, Phriloth and Seronath had been destroyed, their clans slaughtered, their wells poisoned by the chemicals sprayed from the back of human machines. They mean to wipe us out this time…

From further down the line he heard the signal. He raised three, then two and then one finger and sliced the air with his left hand, his outer sheath visibly glistening in the twilight. At that moment, further back toward the dunefetch rim his technic team were carefully adjusting the ground to air phase insertion array, its sensor nets already opening wide to the skies above. Tirrith had seen the APIA in action, he knew that the magnetic resonance pulse initiated by the array was lethal to the human air machines, but they would quickly adapt, they always did, and after that the battle would become a route and they would once more be forced to retreat to the sanctuary of the deep desert.

The Cabbathi troop was three hundred strong by the time they had reached Wethphran Basin; their Clan Lord Manquiest had ordered the mobilisation of the guard soon after the destruction of Castle Anquist. The ruling Phram had taken to the desert, abandoning the tent city at Dhurith after announcing the declaration of war.

Soon after that the scattered Afphram clans had besieged the off-worlder settlements, slaughtering the humans there and destroying their machines. The Phram were convinced that the humans would not bombard Amaterasi from space; there was something about the world they coveted, something worth the risk of a ground war. Their beliefs had proven to be true…so far. The starships from Danthros, Telaxa and Talus had remained in the sky, satisfied it seems to ferry their soldiers to the sands to do battle with the Afphram. But the Phram knew, just as Tirrith knew, that the war was still young, and that the humans had sent no more than three of their big ships to Amaterasi; there was every possibility that there were many more such vessels bound for their sacred world.

Suddenly from out of the distance the black-winged shape of a human lander craft appeared; its atmospheric engines a dull throbbing sound slowly growing louder as it banked sharply above the Tunimi salt levels. Instantly Tirrith signalled the forward phalanx to disperse, their Sahir battle groups forming into cells and running hard and fast towards the cover of the Scarp walls. From behind him came the flash of a dune-torch, the signal from the technic team that they had the APIA primed and ready. He checked his bolt gun, the slug chamber was full and the night sights locked. He chopped the air twice with his right hand and displayed an extended left arm, dropping it quickly to the sand below. The entire Cabbathi was now in position and ready for battle. He dropped down next to his First Fhren Luthrie and found his old comrade smiling.

Does something amuse you Luthrie?

His friend adjusted his shadhira cowl and replied:

Not really…well, it’s just that the last time I was face down on a dunescarp I was straddling the fair maiden Wirith…

Tirrith smiled back. Then I should think the coming battle will be a lot less complicated than that misguided liaison.

My dear friend, she told me she was not bonded…how was I to know her mate was about to arrive…?

Well forget Wirith for now; concentrate on the matter at hand if you will.

Of course… Luthrie turned to face the vast open basin before him and then spoke once more as the air machine drew ever closer: They will just keep coming you know, there are billions of them spread across the stars; what are we but a few clans scattered among the dunes and scarps?

Tirrith replied without taking his eyes from the approaching lander:

We are the Afphram Culture, blessed by Uitzilopchi, and by his will we shall prevail.

Luthrie turned to look at him. I had no idea you were so religious…

I am not, but I think it pays to advertise ones faith in moments like this…you never know who might be listening.

Luthrie smiled to himself. True enough…

Out of the last glimmering of stars, fading now as the Sun splintered the night into fingers of darkness reaching across the basin, a Telaxan troop carrier slowly dropped from the sky, its thruster pods decreasing in intensity as the engines settled the craft towards the sands below. At that precise moment Tirrith and the entire Cabbathi felt the phase insertion wave initiated by the technic team beyond the dunefetch rim; it crested the Tunimi Levels and struck the human machine several seconds later. Instantly the machine lost power, its electrical systems shut down by the effects of the APIA.

Tirrith tried to imagine the look of sheer panic on the faces of the human soldiers, their great machine falling helplessly to the sands below. The impact might not kill them all, but the damage would be more than enough to allow the Cabbathi to make great slaughter among the survivors.

Someone further down the line, probably the far scout, flashed a dune-torch and instantly the entire Cabbathi rose up from the sand and ran straight for the downed lander.

Tirrith saw flames erupting from somewhere above the Lander’s drive assembly. They’re firing on us! Narrow beams of light leapt from the craft, lancing into the Afphram troopers, setting them on fire, their shadhira desert cowls now flaming in the wind. The Afphram battle cells leapt across the sands, racing forward over the bodies of the fallen. Tirrith signalled for a firing crescent and immediately twenty of the nearest troopers formed up and together they locked weapons on the Lander. Firing in unison the wave of energy bolts impacted the Lander directly beneath their main gun, tearing apart the weapons bay and detonating the ordinance inside. Troops nearer to the Lander were firing dispersion missiles into the fuel pods fused to the undercarriage and seconds later the entire machine erupted in flame.

Now the humans were literally falling from the Lander, some of them bathed in fire, their screams lost to the roar of the Urtai battle horns now blaring from among the forward battle cells. The rear doors were suddenly blown away and several dozen humans made a break for the nearest dunescarp. Tirrith sent orders by runner to the left phalanx to cut the humans down as they crested the scarp. From somewhere above and behind him he heard the sound he had been dreading since the Lander had been brought down. He turned to his own cell and shouted as loud as he could:

Incoming…!

From out of the darkness of space a thin beam of white light reached down towards the Wethphran Basin. Just seconds later Tirrith saw three ionic dispersion bombs tearing through the upper atmosphere, their targeting sensors now linked to the grounded Lander.

Tirrith gave the order and the entire Cabbathi column began to scatter among the dunescarps, breaking the phalanx and splitting the battle cells into smaller groups. Standard orders required all groups to separate and make their way back to the deep desert by any means possible. But no amount of orders could save the troops still converging on the Lander.

As the bombs struck the basin