The Arcane Chronicles: The Book of Jack

Ch. 6: Silence

<b>Chapter 6: Silence</b>





“Commander Foster,” Artanus’ voice was fuzzy in my head as I regained consciousness. “You must wake, Commander.”





Slowly, I sat up and looked around trying to get a bearing on where I was. The room was brightly lit but I could see no light source. The walls were a burnt orange and had a texture as if made of clay or dirt. The tunnel. I remember the tunnel in the ground that had magically opened up. Yes, that must be it. The red scaly faces of Qaladdeans surrounded me. Their iridescent eyes the only contrast with the surrounding colors. Captain Maxwell stood with them near my side. Brytta and the rest of the department heads sat against the wall to my right.





As I looked over to them I noticed the bulk of my cast was gone. I reached over to touch and felt no pain. Slowly I began to move my shoulder through its full range of motion and couldn’t believe what was happening. About 72 hours ago we had crash landed and my shoulder was nearly shattered and there I sat with it completely healed as if nothing had ever happened.





“What—“ I began to ask.





“You are fixed, Commander,” Artanus answered before I could continue. Although he had no mouth, the expression in his eyes gave the sense that he was trying to smile, as if proud of his achievement.





“How—“





“Those of us who are extremely attuned to the Crystal’s power are able to manipulate the essence of life,” the Harbinger explained. “We cannot completely control life, however. To give life and manipulate it are two different things. A Qaladdean of such power as myself can merely cure minor diseases and heal a variety of simple physical injuries. Only one of us has ever discovered the power to give life. The only true Biomancer.”





“In the name of Baell!” One of the Qaladdeans shouted.





“Baell lives in death!” The rest replied in unison.





Artanus held up a fist to silence them. “While it took a great deal of my strength, you should be entirely mended, Commander.”





“Thanks,” I replied gratefully. “I owe you one.”





<i>These people are truly remarkable,</i> I thought. Everything I had seen, the fireballs at Ground Zero, the opening of the tunnel, my miraculous recovery, the vision… <i>the vision! What was that vision supposed to mean?</i>





“That vision was a series of memories to partially explain the current state of our people. We have been through a considerable amount of turmoil, too much to give to you all at once,” Artanus explained. “And please be more careful, Commander. We can all hear your outward thoughts.”





<i>You have to teach me how to control my thoughts later</i>, I tried to focus on Artanus as I cogitated. <i>Tell me more about the vision I saw. What was that place? Were those the same creatures that have been attacking us?</i>





“I will explain more later,” he assured. “I must show the vision to your Captain as well. Come back to me later today with your Captain so we can discuss our situation. Meet us here.”





“All of you may leave now,” Artanus said to the rest of the occupants of the room. He turned to the Captain and looked intently at him. If he was saying anything, I could not hear it.





“But I’m not hurt,” the Captain exclaimed. “I don’t feel sick or anything.”





“What does he want, Captain?” I asked.





“I don’t know what he intends to do to me, but he wants me to stay and lay down. I’m not sure I completely trust whatever magic it is they use.”





“Trust him, sir,” I clasped a hand on his shoulder. “He has something important for you.”





“Alright. If you say so,” the Captain said reluctantly.





“Please make sure everyone leaves, Commander,” Artanus’ voice rang in my head one last time.





I motioned for some of the crew that was still sitting to stand and leave. “Let’s go, everyone. Nothing to see here,” I jested as I ushered everyone out. Making sure I was the last one out, I turned back and gave a nod to Maxwell. He seemed to trust the Qaladdeans as a people, but I didn’t blame him for being apprehensive about this crazy magic they used. Who knows what they can do with it, or exactly how much control they have over it. Whatever it was, I was intrigued. I wanted to learn.





* * *





Silence was an underground network of tunnels and caves created entirely by the Qaladdeans. The main thoroughfare was about the size of a typical four-lane highway back home. Small glowing crystals lined the walls of the arched passageway. All traffic was on foot, and there was surprisingly a significant amount, mostly military. Side tunnels and small doorways in the rock face dotted the walls for as far as I could see, and heavily armored guards stood at each door. Each of the smaller side passageways were strictly for housing. They spread out from the center tunnel at angles forming chevrons. It was a relatively large complex with Qaladdeans occupying about two thirds of the housing wings. There were just enough quarters for the remaining 750 crewmembers of the <i>Armstrong</i>.





From what I could tell, Silence looked like it was an underground village at one point but was converted and fortified for military use. Shops, diners, and entertainment establishments still lined the main tunnel however. Merchants and artisans stood in front of their shops calling for customers to make them new armor and weaponry, jewelry for their loved ones, and other crafted wares. I felt like I was walking down a market in old medieval Europe except the vast majority of the customers were aliens and military.





I saw what appeared to be a blacksmith standing against the tunnel wall and I walked into his shop. The bulky smith waddled in after me, confused but curious. Decorative shields and breastplates lined the wall to my left. Helmets, pauldrons and miscellaneous pieces of armor hung on racks in the middle of the shop, and spears and various other weapons were kept on the wall to my right. In the very back I could see a large furnace and what looked like a few anvils of different sizes and shapes. He must have made everything right there in the shop.





In awe of the strange designs on the armor, I about jumped when I heard the blacksmith’s rumbling voice in my head. I assumed he was asking if I wanted anything, and prayed he wasn’t telling me to get out of his store.





I turned around to face the smith and shook my head from side to side, “Kek.”





Recently I had slowly begun to pick up simple words of the Qaladdean language like yes, no, and hello. However, I couldn’t understand anything that was said to me, so I either had to guess at what they were saying, or just shrug my shoulders and give up.





The burly Qaladdean, black soot splotching the bright red scales of his face, looked somewhat surprised at my simple usage of their language. Perhaps he thought I understood him? Or maybe I offended him by saying I wouldn’t get out of his store. Either way, he shuffled back to the door to attract customers into his empty shop.





I continued browsing the shop and several questions came to mind. I began to wonder if after years of fending off these demons, I think Artanus referred to them as Balakh’hai, had they designed their armor with the purpose of withstanding Balakh’hai attacks. Was it equally protective against their claws as it was their shadow magic? Was it more effective than our own armor against this kind of assault?





Federation standard combat armor, the Hephaestus Mark IX, used similar technology to that of the weapons system on a Jotunn tank. In fact, Kinetic Concussion was developed from a certain part of our armor.





The Mark IX was actually two different sets in one. You could wear each separately if you wanted to. The bottom layer was a collection of shaped plates of a carbon steel alloy. These were form fitted to the torso, thighs, shins, upper arms and forearms with a helmet made of a Rhenium Diboride alloy to provide maximum cranial protection. The outer layer was a thick, full-body garment made of gel sandwiched between two layers of hardened, but flexible rubber, which had chameleon-like pigment to color its camouflage design in various hues depending on the surroundings. The gel, like the ammunition used for Kinetic Concussion weaponry, was non-newtonian, so harder blows made the armor harder and more effective. Anyone wearing the outer layer alone would be protected against most anything including knife fights and 9mm rounds and everything in between.





The carbon steel plates were there to protect the most vital areas against heavier weaponry. Wearing both layers could protect a Federation Marine against fifty caliber rounds. That is, of course, providing he or she does not stand in the line of fire for more than three or four rounds. Once the out gel layer is breached, the Mark IX rapidly loses its durability. Armor piercing rounds greater than 7.62 mm, however, would pass right through the Hephaestus combat suit.





It was a shame that all this great technology was developed to be used primarily against our own kind. No one had even stopped to think we might have to face a hostile alien culture whose weaponry would require a wholly different approach to armor. I highly doubted our sophisticated technology would hold up to even half of what the Balakh’hai would throw at us.





I continued to meander down the side of the blacksmith’s shop. A certain breastplate caught my eye as I walked by. It was smaller and had a slightly different shape than the others. The front was slightly protruding, as if it were meant to be worn by a female with a small bosom.





I tried to recall if I had seen anyone from this peculiar race that looked different enough to call female. From the looks of the breastplate in front of me it appeared there wasn’t much difference. I hadn’t noticed it until I was nearly a meter away.





I peered around the store looking for more pieces that were similar in shape and size. Why was there only one? Perhaps females weren’t common in the military? Or maybe males were extraordinarily dominant among Qaladdeans?





I had so many questions, and Artanus would be my encyclopedia.





I came back to reality for a moment only to get lost in thought again as I brushed my fingers over the intricate design on the metal. It was cold. Swirls and curls and abstract shapes covered the front of the breastplate. From a distance it looked etched into the metal, but as my fingertips ran over the armor it felt smooth as glass. The smith must have put endless hours into making each and every piece.





One thing was for certain, I would have to get a set for myself before returning home.





* * *





“I have shown you just a miniscule fraction of Qaladdean history,” Artanus said as he took off his helmet. Qaladdean helmets were designed to show their crests, and therefore were open in the back. They were close fitting and hugged the cheeks down to the jaw, therefore to get ones helmet off a vertical hinge on the forehead opened up like wings. All their armor seemed more aesthetic than effective.





Artanus sat on a bench lengthwise with his legs pulled up and tucked next to his sides. His long tail swept down beside him on the floor. Captain Maxwell and I sat beside each other on a bench we had pulled up across from Artanus.





“A brief moment in time when civilization as we knew it began its slow descent into what it is today,” he continued. “You cannot even begin to fathom the pain and anguish my people have suffered at the hands of the Balakh’hai. For nearly five hundred years, we have been declining out of existence. The Balakh’hai came unexpectedly, using our only strength against us. They fed from the magic we threw at them, absorbing it for their use. By attempting to destroy them we only made them stronger. We were impotent against the demonic threat, and tried desperately to communicate with them and strike a truce. There will be no peace with the Balakh’hai, no negotiations. They only know hunger. Hunger for the Arcane power we possess. They will not stop until they are sated, but they cannot be sated. They will continue their extermination until every last living being on this planet is dead.





“We evacuated Rapture immediately becoming nomadic, gathering the Qaladdeans from each town we visited. But the Balakh’hai attacked us nearly every night, and we were quickly pushed into the mountains and caves at the corners of the empire. It was then that we discovered one of the Balakh’hai’s weaknesses. They cannot exist without direct view of the sky. We believe it has something to do with being able to communicate with the Crystal from whence they came. Either way, this led to my people becoming nocturnal and dwelling permanently underground.





“Unfortunately, the sudden vicious attacks and the quick evacuation caused so much confusion that the high council was lost. And without leadership, what was left of the empire split when we had finally collected ourselves in the caves under the Razorscale Mountains. There were those that believed the Crystal had abandoned us and took to learning martial arts and the use of weaponry becoming the Fist of Vengeance. Before the Sundering, we Qaladdeans relied solely on the magic the Crystal provided for us and saw no need for weaponry or martial training. Many Qaladdeans believed the complete abandonment of the Arcane would bring us back to the barbarianism of pre-Crystal Qaladdean society.





“So the most stubborn refused to pick up the spears and swords and continued to harness the Crystal’s power, still looking for a way to use it against the Balakh’hai. This faction became known as the Arcanum. And those that were torn between the two factions created their own. Using the Crystal’s magic to enhance their weaponry, they became known as the Battle-Magi.





“We long to live under the Brothers, Kuturus and Tryonikus, once more. To see the beauty that was Rapture. And I long to have a united people once more.





“This is where you come into play. Never have we seen another civilized culture, and yet here one literally falls from the sky onto our doorstep in our most desperate time of need. Your people are not attuned to the magic of the Crystal and can attack the Balakh’hai without fueling their power. Your weapons are far superior to ours. Our projectile weapons are only as effective as the strength of the wielder, while yours are powered by some sort of magic of your own. You are a blessing from Baell himself to finally save us from certain doom. Please, you must help us.”





The Captain and I turned and stared at each other for a moment in disbelief. This situation could not have been any more strange. We were in dire need of help, and so were they, and we were both requesting help from each other. However, it was more complicated than just that. We needed help to get off this world, while they needed help to continue living on this world, and we were in the unfortunate position of having absolutely no leverage at all. There was no way we could get home by ourselves, and if we refused to help the Qaladdeans I doubted they would still offer us sanctuary. There was, unfortunately, only one way to get off this rock.





“We barely survive a horrific crash onto a hostile planet, and he has the nerve to ask <i>us</i> for help?” Max whispered to me. “I will not allow this. We can get home ourselves.”





“My crew cannot afford to stay here and help you win this impossible war of yours,” the Captain stood up. “I need to get my people back home to where we belong.”





“Captain!” I scrambled to my feet as Captain Maxwell stormed out of the room. “Max, wait!”





I turned back to Artanus, who was rising off his bench to leave, helmet under his arm. He was fuming. While his face wasn’t human, it was similar enough to recognize the livid expression in his eyes. It was as if he had been insulted by an inferior. I had to think of something. We needed them as much as they needed us.





“Artanus, please sit, calm down,” I tried to coax him back onto his bench. “My Captain is not thinking straight. He has been under much stress lately. Please, just sit down and let me explain.”





His infuriated expression lightened and he slowly set himself back down onto his bench, tucking his legs up against his sides once more.





“Our coming here was an accident,” I began. “We were on a mission back on one of our own planets when something brought us here. We couldn’t control our ship and we crashed onto your planet, destroying our ship in the process. We don’t know how we got here, or how we are going to get home, but we do need to get home.





“My Captain and I were going to ask you for help. We need a safe place to stay, as well as food and water while we work on a way to get home. We were not expecting to get caught up in a war for survival in the meantime.”





“Perhaps a deal can be made,” Artanus said dryly, obviously still bitter about Maxwell’s actions. “We will offer you shelter so long as you fight for us. Feel free to continue looking for a way to get back to your own lands, and if you find a way home we will not stop you. But whether you have a way home or not, if you leave us and do not fight for us, do not expect to receive our hospitality again.”





“I don’t know how much of a help we will be though,” I said. “We were attacked the night we crashed and our weapons were not very effective against the Balakh’hai. They easily dodged our bullets and killed eighteen men and women. Can you teach us how to predict their movements like your warriors do?”





“Yes, however, those warriors we had with us today specialize in killing that particular form of the Balakh’hai as it is an art that requires much practice,” Artanus replied. “There are many types of demonic beings that comprise what we call the Balakh’hai. Those that jump from place to place like the ones you encountered are only a small fraction of the Balakh’hai forces. We believe your weaponry will be effective against most everything else without the skills our warriors have.”





“What about food and water?” I asked. “It does not look like you have the same mechanism for eating that we do, but surely you must have a way to consume food. Also, the only river we’ve found is poisonous to us. If we drink the water, we will die. Does your planet have any of this?”





I reached into a pocket pulling out a small canteen, and handed it to Artanus. He cautiously took it, turning it over in his hands, studying. He grabbed onto the cap with his stubby fingers and unscrewed the cover, dropping it to the ground. He poured a dribble onto an upturned, scaly palm and brought it up to his face, sniffing. He closed his fist, as if trying to grab the water and squeezed his eyes shut. He seemed deep in thought.





“Yes,” he finally said as he slowly opened his eyes. “This substance exists here. This flows in most rivers. Only the waters coming from Moonglow Lake are the other substance you speak of. It is poisonous to us as well.





“However, we do no ‘eat’ as you do.” Artanus squinted his eyes in a sort of look of disgust. “It is a brutish practice, uncivilized. While we do have the capability of eating, through an obviously different orifice, of course, we sustain ourselves through the Crystal. We consume its power to nourish our bodies, even those in the Fist of Vengeance still have not entirely abandoned the Crystal’s power for they nourish themselves in this manner as well.





“But do not fret, Commander. We still grow food to remind us of times less fortunate, and how our fortunes could be taken away at any moment. It also serves as an emergency if the worst should happen. If you know how to cultivate, you are welcome to consume our food, so long as you help us cultivate more.”





“I think we might be able to keep your crops productive,” I said with a smile. “It sounds like we might have a deal here, Artanus.”





Artanus’ eyes brightened as he stood, but quickly faded.





“What about your Captain?” he asked.





“I have authority to speak for him when I feel he is needlessly putting the crew in danger,” I explained. “And besides, I think I can get him to change his mind.”