After the Rains- A sci fi fantasy

After the Rains.

            The fields of the war lay out beyond the towering walls of Zenothus, the city of Silver Pylons. The ground was cracked and broken up by the treads of the Thunder tanks that had roared and died in molten fire. Chunks of the tanks remained scattered across the dead zone in front of the tremendous city.

            The fields of war were devoid of life and even the corpses of the slain had been removed by the denizens of the city. All that remained were the battle banners staked along the ridges and gullies where the brave had fought and the foolish had fallen. They rode the wind, ripped and tattered; their garish icons unrecognizable marking the legions that had charged the bulwarks of the walls.

            Tiamak stood alone facing the seemingly impenetrable wall, clad in the heavy battle harness like a massive sea turtle all ridges and plates, short sharp studs protruding off its reddish surface. He stood in front of his war banner as it rippled in the wind blowing down from the Iceber Mountains behind him. He had marched his army across that dread range and down to this foreboding city. His visor was up so he could look upon the city that had led him to such defeat and victory.

            Tears marked his face, leaving trails in the gore and dirt coating his exposed cheeks. Most of his friends and countrymen had died in the terrible fiery wave that had rushed across the fields leaving little that could be recognizable behind it. His army, his men had died in their Steam powered armor and vehicles of war. They would not be avenged, their souls would remain unsung, their women would never know their deaths, and their children were unborn never knowing what it would be the drink the wind nor run on the sandy slopes of the Brigandern.

            Ryden climbed up the ridge that Tiamak stood upon, if the other man heard him approach, he showed no sign. Ryden looked out beyond him at Zenothus, the city of desire, he like Tiamak, had followed the Holy War Marshal across the ice covered rocks to come here and see death on a previously untold scale. Now after a turn of fighting and the campaign that had lead the armies here, the war had ended without a battle, without another single death. Even as he thought this he knew that there would be at least one more death, but it would not be upon these fields that stretched out before the two generals.

            The Oligarch had decreed that the price for failure was death, all the generals would be taken to the circle of shame and have their heads struck from their bodies by the blessed sword of justice. The question that remained was who would return to the lands of the Brigandern. He knew that he would not return to stand before the Ever Merciful Executioner and give his life to the Oligarch. The others, well, they might curse or sing his name as they were dragged to the block- if- they were foolish enough to return.

            Ryden had led what was now being called the Great Betrayal, so he would not willingly go back across the Ice Fields of Karnos to his certain demise. Instead he planned to cross the Vast Sea and find another land far from this place where his wife had died in the shadow of the city. He knew that he would miss the sugared hills of Landover where the sweet elms blew the fragrant pollen down to his stronghold in the quiet evenings. Ryden could not face returning there without his beloved Mykosi anyway.

            The other generals had each gone to their own camps with the scattered survivors of their respective armies to consider their individual fates. Together they had risen against the War Marshal Bryerikos and together they each had struck a blow to his Hulking Armor suit until he had died screaming their names. Ryden’s army had fought for honor and survival as his men and women had thrown themselves upon the War Marshal’s guard. Many of them had fallen before a hole could be opened up to reach the feared War Marshal

            The Zenothians had watched from their walls dumbstruck at the turn of the tide. It must have been startling to see the armies of the Emperor turn on each other. The battle within the battle had been spectacular and fierce. The death of the War Marshal had climaxed all other struggles, as each of his own generals turned on him and struck him with their Swords of Summerwind, the diamondsaw edges shredding into his armor suit.

            The fight had gone out of the Gloried Army of the Emperor upon the death of their fearsome leader, yet they had fought until only a few remained and they had committed suicide shoving their Repeater rifles into their faceplates and fired. Some had imploded their thunder tanks and a few had run onto the weapons of their treasonous brethren. All had chosen death over shame and betrayal.

            The Zenothians had stared in wide eyed amazement as he, General Ryden de Chrono, had strode in his heavy battle suit under the sign of parlay to the main portal in the wall. There he had bargained for the peace that was now being celebrated within the wall of the city even now. The Zenothians had welcomed the chance for survival, ironically being on the brink of defeat and starvation. The war had ended, but not by their hand, rather it had been his.

            In return for their survival, which had been precariously close to faltering, the Zenothians would care for all the fallen and not leave their city until all of the generals had departed or otherwise made their peace with what had happened. Ryden had watched the city defenders come out through their immensely thick gates to remove the dead. They had been gaunt and haggard as the cycles of siege had all but sapped the citizens of their vitality. Many of them looked so starved that Ryden had ordered his men to bring them food.

            The odd exchanges of food for thanksgiving burned new holes into his beleaguered heart as he watched his soldiers’ weaponless approach the city and pile the supplies like an offering before some great god of the gates. Then the Zenothian citizenry and soldiers and children had poured out to gather around the food and began to take it back into the city. A young girl had turned and run to him as he stood nearby still in his Steam Suit to fall on her knees and bless him in her foreign tongue. He had stood there rigidly, the tears behind his cracked visor washing his face.

            Tiamak and Ryden stood on the ridge facing the fabled capital of the Zenos Empire, the last bastion of the Zenothian people. They had sworn to take it less than two turns past in the presence of the Glorious and Dread Emperor in Kharatoum City half a continent away. They had sworn in blood, sacrificing a third son to the Emperor for a chance to lead one of his glorious armies. Of course, there had been no choice for either of them, leaders of their respective peoples; it had been as simple as swear or watch the most prominent of your people executed by the most merciful executioners of the empire in each settlements circle of justice.

            Tiamak and Ryden had lost a son to save their people in order to watch many of them die instead upon the campaign trail and in this fruitless siege against these foreign people. Tiamak had lost most of his army and his remaining two sons in a pointless charge ordered by the War Marshal. Tiamak had burned with hatred for the incompetent and ruthless leader of the armies from that point on. He had been easy to persuade in joining in the assassination of the fool.

            Ryden had known that he would betray the War Marshal and his Emperor, this war had slain his mate and two of his four children and he would not let the others die in this vainglorious struggle. Ryden had told his army, his people what he was planning to do, fearing that they would turn him over to the War Marshal for such treason. They had cheered and wept, embracing him as their true leader knowing all the while that their lands in the green hills of Landover were lost now more than when they had first marched away. His people had planned to do this on their own, but he had known that all of the generals and their armies would have to take part. It would take all of them together or none, since a split would probably have ended in a stalemate and the eventual destruction of each of the traitors-one by one, army by army.

           

            The Zenothians had left the protection of their walls and help clear and burn the bodies of their dead and those who had come to kill them. They had slipped out in small groups, running from body to body like scared rats until it became apparent that the surviving armies of the empire were not going to fall on them. They came out in force after that and had cleared the fields in front of the wall of the dead and their weapons.        One of them, a woman- perhaps their leader, had approached the generals and assured them that the weapons would be destroyed and that they were invited to the peace celebrations that would take place in the city tonight. Most of the generals had looked at her as if she were mad. Tiamak had coldly pointed out that it would serve them better to keep the weapons in order to prepare for the eventual coming of the Emperor. The woman had said with a sad smile that there was too much blood upon these weapons and would hinder their future use; rather, her people would recycle them into new weapons to use against the Emperor should he come.

            After she had left and the Zenothians had returned to their city, General Zykos had told the other generals that he intended to take his army, one of the few that had suffered less than the other armies, and fight their way back into the empire with the idea of slowing any retaliation force the Emperor could send out. He went on to say that if that did not kill him, he would try for the Emperor himself. The other generals had applauded his nobility and foolishness then retreated to their own camps to consider what each of them would do next. So far, none had made any proclamation that they had made a decision.

            Another general, Maxymus, had gathered his surviving men and left that night. The sound of their Steam Suits pounding like dull drums had awoken Ryden as they left. Maxymus had headed east into the Badlands of Zenoth. Ryden wondered if the man was going there to hide or hunt. The Badlands were largely lawless with scattered settlements and few cities. The General had only about fifty or so men left and Ryden assumed that they could eke out a reasonable existence

            Ryden had seen the Generals Melker and Garrin swapping drinks outside their tents. They had released their surviving soldiers and now sat on ammunition crates in the torn armor and visors down. Melker had lost all of his family before this campaign started in another war the Emperor had started. Ryden had never known the man to laugh, but there he sat laughing as if there were no days to come. Garrin had lost little, had no family and had always be quick to joke which ironically driven Melker insane on the long march to this place. Now they sat like long lost friends, like two giants with tiny heads sharing a drink of the gods only knew what as they laughed.

            Karryl, general of the Marcations and the only surviving Thunder Tank unit, had taken his soldiers to the city to visit the celebrations. He had come to Ryden as if to ask if it would be alright, then stood in front of Ryden like a foolish school boy muttering that he and his men would be going before spinning on his booted heel to stride away.

            Vashon had come to tell Ryden that Tiamak was on the banner ridge. His army waited near Ryden’s own, they had already decided that they would go where he went. Ryden and Vashon had taken the draughts of friendship and alliance, before he went in search of his old friend. Vashon had pointed out Zykos’s army’s preparations for the return and shaken his head. Ryden saw that at least two of the other minor generals had decided to go back with him. He had nodded and commented that at least it would not be over before they crossed the Iceber Mountains.

            Ryden heard his name spoken as if from a long way off or from the distant past. His gaze lingered on the fields in front of the scarred wall of metal. He heard his name again closer then with a start realized that Tiamak had spoken it. He turned his head towards his lifelong friend and saw for the first time the tears that ran on the rugged face. He had never seen Tiamak cry or for that matter show any strong emotion. How the man’s red skin glowed with passion and his shattered eyes looked down to him.

            “Ryden.”

            “Aye my friend.”

            “You must do this for me for there is none other that will.”

            “Aye I will.” He suddenly realized that he did not know what he had just agreed to do. He had been so withdrawn in his own thoughts that he had not heard his friend’s request. Now he had agreed to do something he could not recall. Fresh shame spread across his skin and made his new beard itch. He glanced around but saw no one save his friend on the ridge above the spot that the late War Marshall had fallen.

            Hissing sounds emerged from Tiamak’s Steam Suit and Ryden realized that the man was going to step out of it upon this foreign soil. The shame of making physical contact with any earth but the hallowed soils of their homeland hit him like a blow to the stomach. He gasped as Tiamak stepped down from the power armor in his skin suit to stand upon the rocks.

            Tiamak let forth a sigh as he stood free from the massive armor suit he had lived and fought in for the last turn. The armor suit was eight times his size comprised of gears and armor plates, blades, saws and flame casters built into its long arms. The chest hatch reaches away from the rest of the body showing the creamy glowing exterior where Tiamak had survived the death of his army and the end of the war. How long had it been since he had stood apart from that terrible armor?

            Ryden’s shocked face showed from his own armor the Helm had slid back into his somewhat sleeker and more mobile suit. It had less of all the weapons that Tiamak’s armor had save for the long range thunder cannon slung over its tortoise-like back. Tiamak smiled up at his friend sadly and began to tear off his skin suit. It peeled away from his large body in onion like shreds. He continued until there was a small pile of cloth and cords and plastics at his feet. The recycling apparatus still clung to his penis and around his waist. With an effort of extreme discomfort and mild pain he pulled them free from his body and threw them away down the slope. Last, he pulled the cleats from his feet and stepped forward as nubile and bare as a newborn foundling steps from the womb into his new world.

            Tiamak’s body showed marks and patterns where the control harness had been. He had been so long in the Steam Suit that parts of his body had conformed partly to the restraints and sensors that had covered and held the man in place, Now those conformities and marks stretched across his bare skin partly like an elaborate tattoo and partly like embossed leather.

            Dread filled Ryden as he wondered why his friend had done such a heretical thing as to not only stand on unholy ground but to shed the holy undergarments and stand naked in the fading light from the twin suns as they pulled away from the world. Tiamak could never go home now, he had committed the unforgivable sin and he must die where he stood. His remains and ashes would have to remain as well, his was unholy and accursed for what he had done, the Oligarch would…

            With a start, Ryden came to himself the dictums upon his lips and realized that was exactly why Tiamak had stepped forth from the armor suit. It had been his sign to his friend that not only would he honor their pact but now he could never return to the holy lands. Tiamak turned to look at him expectantly.

            “I am ready my friend.”

            Ryden sat his armor and struggled to puzzle out what Tiamak wanted him to do. What he had foolishly agreed to do, was it for him to join his cousin upon the ground and commit the unpardonable sin or was it something else entirely?

            “I can see your reluctance to follow suit and join me on this unholy surface.” Tiamak said gesturing to his soulless armor with a hand. “Will use the armor’s scythe blade to cut me down then?”

            The truth slammed into him as if the armor suit did not exist. Tiamak want Ryden, son of Myako, to take his life and deny him entrance into the Godly Empire beyond this world! He stood immobilized by what his friend had tricked him into. It had to be a cunning and slippery trick; he would never commit such a heresy willingly. But the hiss of his own armor suit was all the answer that he needed as he released the small hatch. He stepped unsteadily from the armor suit that had been his life for so long that he almost had lost the memory of holding his children in his arms. Ironically, it had been his memory of making children with his wife that had driven him to treason in the first place.

            Now he stood in his skin suit facing his friend outside their armored shells. Tiamak looked down and nodded approvingly at Ryden and took a deep breath of the salty air. He reached out and grasped his friend and pulled him to his own body to say goodbye. Ryden let himself be held until Tiamak turned away and walked to the edge of the ridge to stare out at the coming night. Ryden turned and looked at the hulking armor suits, the bizarre marriage of tortoise and beetle, the gears and turbines that powered the armor in battle and the weapons spreading from each side in an impressive array that made the suit look like upright spiders more than their bipedal purpose.

            He walked then stumbled back to his own armor and carefully disconnected the stabbing blade from his right arm. Short for use against other armor suits; it was still as long as his forearm and would take Tiamak’s life quickly. He checked the smooth ceramic surface finding it clean and newly sharpened. Holding it in his left hand he returned to his friend who had sat down on a rock slab looking out towards the city.

            Ryden sat down behind his cousin and took a deep breath as he brought his arms around Tiamak’s waist and joined hands turning the blade back towards their bodies. For a moment he hesitated until he felt Tiamak’s hands upon his own. Their grip solidified and he pulled the blade back towards him. The impact straightened Tiamak’s body as the blade slid into his chest through his vitals and out his back. Ryden felt the blade hit his skin suit and break on its exterior. The skin suit's fabric would sense the danger and solidifying in order to turn or break any sharp intrusions. Vaguely, he wondered if this was why his friend had shed the skin suit or was it because the man wished to leave this world as he had come in.

            Ryden heard his name from a long way off and snapped back into this world. He now held his slumped companion. The end of the blade still protruded from the man’s chest. He looked down into the weathered face and saw the sad smile and the distant eyes.

            “Ryden,” Tiamak croaked and raised a hand to wipe the tears that were on his cousin’s cheek. “Take it out and let me die.”

            He choked back a sob but did as his friend asked and pulled the blade forth from the man’s chest releasing the blood which ran hot over his fingers. Tiamak’s hand dropped down wet with Ryden’s tears which fell like rain on the scorched fields of the war.