New Enemies

Chapter 1

A great forest separated Geos' new Fronts from the Disciple city of Moenian, a primordial woodland spoiled only by causeways the Disciples had torn through them. The further one got from the Fronts, the more the land looked untouched, wild, aside from where the Disciples regularly marched through them to war. Even there, gnarled branches and impudent grasses reached out into the worn, dead earth.

In the midst of these lands, Anger of Lun rested, an unwitting testament to humanity’s progression. Thick trees rose boldly around him. Verdant greenery – grass, moss, weeds, and clover – provided uneven carpeting. Running across the forest bed took courage and caution, as one always risked a poor step and breaking an ankle miles from anyone who knew or cared about you.

Anger of Lun avoided the ground wherever possible. With his abilities, that was most of the time.

He lay in a hut built in the most accommodating tree, which was little more than a platform with a camouflaged tent over it. Above him, a waxed sheet kept the rain away and collected it for later use. It was an awkward arrangement, but a well-hidden one, so he made do: his comfort paled in comparison with Lun's will.

Tall and thin, Anger of Lun wore black robes with a dark hood that cast his face in shadow. Two whips were tied around his waist, each with a pale yellow gem set in their grip. His black boots were cracked but worn-in, almost a second skin. He looked like he was resting, except for the hand cupped to his ear. Still, he listened carefully.

Then he heard a yelp of distress and panic, a strangled sound no animal makes during normal predation. The Disciples were hunting again, which meant Anger of Lun must hunt too.

He stood and prayed to Lun for the power to kill the Disciples. After thirty seconds, the gems set in his whips glowed. This light reached out, extending like spilled honey, until the whips were bathed in yellow light. Anger of Lun tested one, let it snap a few feet away, and nodded when vibrant energy extended beyond the whip and cracked like thunder.

Satisfied, he jumped from his platform and threw a whip out. The Lunlight again extended, but this time it wrapped around a tree, forming a rope that let him swing around its trunk. He flicked his wrist, the energy released, and he snapped the other whip onto the next tree.

It was a showy way to travel, but Lun appreciated such things. Why hide yourself or be ashamed of what you can do? Besides, it was safer than running across the treacherous ground.

Wildlife scattered before him as he swung, squirrels and birds darting away. This created a cacophony, but Disciples concentrate only on their prey when they hunt, and so would not notice the minor stampede. Anger of Lun fell into a rhythm of swinging, and listened for their prey's dismayed panic.

Soon, there was another yelp of pain from the north-east. Anger of Lun threw both whips out, stopping himself between two trees. With a flick, he snapped the whips back and landed on a flat patch of grass.

He soon found the Disciples' trail. Not that it was hard to follow three of the monsters running down a pack of wolves. The forest had become eerily quiet with the Disciples' passing: even the insects had realised they should remain still, silent. Anger of Lun's breathing seemed to echo between the trees. He knew that was ridiculous, but the strange notion stayed, perhaps because it was better than considering the fight to come.

Whimpers and yelps from the wolves echoed out, and then he heard the terrible, rhythmic whirring of the monsters who hounded them. Anger of Lun slowed and strayed from their trail to seek a vantage point. He moved deliberately now, each minor rustle chosen carefully, each step well-considered.

Soon, he saw his prey. Their golden claws were dipped with blood, and water steamed from their metallic skins. One had wire nets over their shoulders, in which three wolves struggled, panicked beyond all sense. The others advanced on an enormous wolf and her pup. The she-wolf growled at them, her hackles raised and her teeth bared. Her pup rubbed into her flank as though it could hide there.

Anger of Lun's purpose was to disrupt all Disciple activity. To that end, he had spent the last few years cutting supply lines, disrupting their assaults on the Fronts, and blocking their causeways. Sometimes, he packed up and worked with his fellows so the Disciple hierarchy never worked out where they operated from. But he hadn't had to do that as much recently with the local Disciples concentrating on hunting wildlife. His job now was to disrupt these hunts.

He continued quietly until he was close enough to strike. By that time, the Disciples had surrounded the Alpha, who was losing her mind with fury and panic. The Disciples didn't have a spare net, must have planned on carrying her back to Moenian. Without skin, the act wasn't dangerous to them.

When a Disciple bent to pick the wolf up, getting a claw to the face that it ignored, Anger of Lun attacked. Both whips scraped down the Disciple's outstretched arm, and the energy cut deeply into the metal, rendering the limb useless.

The Disciples all turned and raised their gun arms to fire. Anger of Lun threw himself aside, avoiding each shot. Behind the cover of a tree, he pressed a gem on his necklace and whispered another prayer. Bullets shredded the tree as he spoke, would pierce the trunk in seconds. He didn't have to pray for long: yellow energy covered him, deflecting the Disciples' bullets as they tore through his cover.

Lun did not provide his grace for long, particularly protective strength, so Anger of Lun ran out and lashed the Disciples' gun arms, disarming the two not carrying wolves. The other shot him between the eyes, a disconcerting shot to survive: he couldn't help but raise his arm to his face, which allowed the disarmed Disciples to close in.

He ducked under the first attempt to sever his head, and then rolled between the pack as they followed up with a gutting and a hamstring shot. In response, he raked Lun's fury down their backs, trying to sever their strange metal organs. One saw this coming and took only a glancing blow. The other took a deep gash, the wound enough to kill it. Smoke billowed from its husk.

The Disciple still capable of shooting held its captives, which writhed furiously, howling. The Alpha and the pup had escaped, sensing their opportunity. The Disciple didn't seem to care as its arm clicked and twisted in horrible ways, changing shape and form. Anger of Lun recognised the motion and threw a whip out. The explosive shot passed beneath his feet as he shot towards the tree.

Then it burst in all its fury. Anger of Lun was thrown against a tree, hard. He struggled to his feet and saw that the land where he had stood was now a bowl in the earth. Many trees were aflame. The other Disciple had been caught in the blast, but it had survived, its skin melting as it slowly picked itself up.

The explosion would give other Disciples in the area the exact location of the fight. Anger of Lun had to go soon, and then avoid his home for days, for fear that the Disciples might track him.

Two more shots came at him. He dived forward, rolling underneath both, and used their force to propel himself past the Disciple before it could strike again. He landed, skidding on the undergrowth, but wasted no time: before he'd stopped, he wrapped both whips around the Disciple's gun arm and used his momentum to rip it away.

The dismembered hand smoked as the whips pulled it away: an explosive shot was lodged in it. Anger of Lun flicked his wrists and threw the limb at the melted Disciple. It crashed against the monster, and then discharged, rendering it a pile of molten orange and foul smoke in a brilliant explosion.

The remaining Disciple dropped its quarry and charged Anger of Lun, striking him in the back. Lun's protection held, kept him alive, but it faded as he tumbled. Angle of Lun came to a stop, and used a tree trunk to flip onto his feet and avoid a clawed foot ripping through his spine. He tried to put some distance between him and his opponent, but the Disciple kept at him, gave him no time to recover.

At close range, a whip would normally be useless. But Anger of Lun did not wield normal whips. He dropped one and gripped the other with both hands. Lunlight shone across its length, responding to his will by firming the leather up. He then used the whip as a short staff, deflecting the Disciple's attacks. Lun’s energy sparked each time it touched the Disciple, singeing its golden skin.

The Disciple lunged with both arms to catch him out. This was a common Disciple tactic, so Anger of Lun rolled under the assault. Rising beside the creature, it was simple to wrap the whip around the Disciple's head and pull, Lun’s fury severing it neatly. Anger of Lun span, released the end of the whip, and slashed down the Disciple, ensuring its death.

In the post-battle silence, Anger of Lun breathed in, allowing his raging body to calm. Soon he would have to run, but he let himself recover first.

Over his breathing, he heard the wolves yelp and wail in their nets. Their suffering pulled at his heart: he couldn't leave them like that, not with more Disciples on the way. The animals snarled and gnashed, not recognising friend from foe in their frenzy, but he didn't mind. With three swift cuts, he gave them enough room to escape and backed away, let them work their own way out.

The first wolf took a minute to crawl out, eventually deciding to use its paws for purchase. When free, it growled at him, its mouth frothing. That seemed a good time to escape: Anger of Lun collected his discarded whip and swung away. The wolf gave chase for a few feet, but thought better of it.

Lun's will had been achieved: the Disciples would not get these beasts for whatever dark purpose they held. It felt good to do what he'd been sent north to do, to meet Lun's expectations.

Lun. Oh how he loved Lun. The person he had been, the sad little girl confused about her identity, had once had the pleasure of meeting Lun. A great black beast covered in spikes and darkness, terrifying and awesome, he had understood her: he had accepted who she felt she was, told her she could be anyone under his eyes. The path to that meeting had been long and hard, and the resulting mission far tougher, but it was worth it for the tolerance and love Lun had shown to the person Anger of Lun once was.

Anger of Lun swung away, to hide and wait. As he went, he thanked Lun for this and every opportunity he had been given.

Chapter 2

The sun rose on the third day of Anger of Lun avoiding his home. He had spent the first day fleeing, his whips firing him between the trees with little trace of his passage. To ensure his safety, he backtracked, creating false trails for interested Disciples to waste their time with. After hunting for food and making a weak shelter, he had slept as long as he dared, and then struck out east.

That second day was a journey and a patrol, covering ground he had not seen in months. Here, the forest was unbroken and unmolested, the miles of gorgeous treelands safe from the Disciple roads which were less frequent as one went north: it seemed the Disciples remained on direct roads from Moenian for as long as possible before falling into those strange square patterns further south.

He had briefly wondered what the Disciple city was like, what defences protected a city peopled with odd mechanical beings. Voice of Lun had ordered the faithful not to go that far, that only death awaited them at the Disciple's capital. Anger of Lun would never go against those orders, but he was still curious.

Anger of Lun had walked until he collapsed that second day. The last of his energy was spent foraging for mushrooms and fruit, a cold dinner that required no fire, risked no smoke. He ate joylessly, then slept in the crook of an old tree.

Sol found him stiff and chilled. He stood, stretched, but his muscles complained and his bones creaked. More stretches and some exercise got his blood pumping again, made him feel like he could continue.

But what to do today? Should he hide or return to his home and vigil? The Disciples probably weren't still searching for him, but that wasn't definite. Through a misty morning, he looked at the rising sun as though it had answers: Sol only made him squint and illuminated his dark robes.

This, he decided, was a matter of faith. Kneeling, he pressed his thumbs against the pale gems in his whips. Joy, religious and sweeping, rushed through him. He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and said, Dark brother, equal and kind, cruel because it is what's best, what should I do?

The yellow gems warmed. A familiar voice that sounded like necessary pain or a vital culling whispered, Seek out your colleague.

Anger of Lun gasped, his chest rising. Tears formed in his eyes. He had trouble breathing, and his weak hands shook as he nodded fiercely in response to his god.

The gems cooled. The dark brother was gone.

For minutes, Anger of Lun prostrated himself before Lun, thanking the dark brother for his wisdom. He sang Lun's praises, his voice cracking with emotion he could not contain, his head low and his cupped hands pointing at the ground.

When he had eulogised enough, Anger of Lun shook himself, and went to do as commanded. He spun the whips to rouse their power, then pulled himself through the forest.

Many of the faithful had travelled into the Moenian forest, posing as Shields until they could slip away and be assumed as killed. That was the plan Lun's Voice had built, one executed flawlessly by a dozen Lun worshippers powerful enough to disrupt the Disciples.

Once every two months, the faithful gathered far from any Disciple road. There, they reviewed their progress and introduced any who had joined their ranks. Anger of Lun was the sixth person to arrive. He had camped at Lun's Lake, their meeting grounds, until the others found him. The first person he met was his eventual neighbour, Honour of Lun. It is she that Lun wanted him to visit.

Honour of Lun had spent weeks showing him what was expected of him, testing his ability to wield Lunlight and correcting faults in his form. Anger of Lun didn't need to learn combat or survival growing up as he had, but he did need guidance through his first fights with the golden, godlike Disciples. During this period, he had stayed in Honour of Lun’s home, so he knew exactly where to find her.

After a few hours, he arrived at a colossal oak tree covered in thick, luxurious leaves. Ancient and grand, it had forged enough space in the dense forest to grow into a magnificent sight, and had never let its position go. If you didn't know the signs to look for, one could easily pass this tree and never know that Honour of Lun lived within.

Anger of Lun did not approach as a friend might: the Disciples could still be watching him. So he spent a good hour watching for any hunters, moving slowly, creating false trails. Only when satisfied that he was alone did he approach the oak's trunk, and use his whip to rapidly ascend.

He landed on a brief porch and Honour of Lun ran out from the ramshackle hut she called home, her own whips in her hand. Oh my... Anger, you nearly scared the blood from my veins!

I am sorry, Honour of Lun, Anger of Lun replied.

Sol, you did shock me. What are you doing out here? she said, putting her hand on her hip. She was short, slight. The tight skin over her cheeks made her look hungry. Her stature and preened hair suggested weaknesses that didn't exist: she was fit, and an excellent fighter.

I was advised to.

Honour of Lun's eyes went to the whip in Anger of Lun's hand, and then she nodded, her hair tumbling around her drawn features. Would you allow me to offer you something to eat?

Yes, Anger of Lun said.

Honour of Lun tied her whips to her waist, then gestured for him to step inside. He secured his whips and followed her. The building, such as it was, was six feet high, and long enough to lie down in. Inside, he found Honour of Lun's sleeping robes scattered on the floor, and a cold cut of meat beside them: he had interrupted her breakfast. Still, it was good practice to react so rapidly.

Do you know why it was that Lun told you to come all the way out here? Honour of Lun asked as she settled beside her breakfast. She gestured for him to sit. And please, eat.

He didn't, Anger of Lun replied. He sat and started on his share of the breakfast, enjoying the greasiness of the flesh. It was probably partridge. I was close when he spoke.

Then I shall have to ask why it was that you were so close to my home! Honour of Lun said joyfully, her southern accent momentarily thicker. Why?

Anger of Lun swallowed. I fought and killed three Disciples. It wasn't safe to return to my home. East was the best direction to head in. I travelled for two days, and then prayed for guidance.

His fellow Cultist smiled. I am so glad that the dark brother provided me some company for today, then. It is likely to be an interesting day as a result.

Yes. He wouldn't send me to you just for a chat.

He might. Perhaps you need the company. Or maybe I do!

Anger of Lun grunted. He was fine only seeing the faithful every two months, but he could imagine others fearing the solitude and isolation, being only one moment of bad luck from death. Faith could sustain some people, but it wasn't always enough.

We shall finish our meal, and then we can go out on a patrol, Honour of Lun said, patting him on the shoulder. This is going to be like the times of old, is it not?

Except I'll be the one showing you up.

The woman laughed. Hopefully that is so! I would like to see how you have grown.

They finished their meal and moved out, careful that no one saw them leave the well-hidden home. Once they were at what Honour of Lun considered to be a safe distance – it was her decision to make, she knew her lands best – they broke into rapid swings, Honour of Lun leading the way.

Despite her joke about needing company, Honour of Lun did not talk during the patrol. She was definite, focused utterly on the patrol. Perhaps she had not felt the need to patrol recently, and his presence had brought a new determination. Or perhaps she just wanted to finish early and catch up back at the home they had once shared. Either way, they progressed in silence.

And this proved to be a good thing when, about ninety minutes in, they heard a sneeze. Both Cultists stopped dead, hung from the trees by their whips, and saw in each other's expression confirmation that they had heard what they thought: someone was nearby.

Honour of Lun tilted her head back, a questioning look on her face. Anger of Lun nodded to agree that the sneeze had come from the south-west.

They dropped to the forest floor and moved toward the sneeze, their weapons readied. It was possible they'd found another of the faithful, but it was more likely an advanced scout from Geos.

Of course, it could be a human Disciple: Lun's Voice had predicted their coming. Anger of Lun felt eager to look upon a human who would willingly work for and with those monsters. If not for the prophecies, he would have thought it impossible for such a strange contradiction to exist.

The Lun Cultists picked up the person's trail shortly. Whoever it was didn't know enough about tracking to prevent it, left footprints and broken branches in their wake. Without speaking, they both slowed their pace slightly, not needing to rush when tracking such easy prey.

Their quarry was heading south, following the path of a Cultist road half a mile to the east. Deep footprints meant they were either heavily laden or incredibly large. Anger of Lun sniffed as he checked the trail and detected soap and fresh sweat.

It took ten minutes to catch their target, an average-sized man resting on a patch of dewy grass, a large rucksack at his feet. Brown hair, a fledgling beard, about thirty, he was disappointingly unremarkable. They made certain he was alone before lying in the grass above him like predators.

Disciple or Solarist? Anger of Lun whispered.

Disciple. Look at the design and crafting of that carry-back.

Anger of Lun hadn't given the rucksack any thought, but a strange flexible metal, made to look like fabric at first glance, made up its body, and something soft, pliant, and artificial covered the straps and back. Only the Disciples could make such a thing.

Honour of Lun held her whips up. Ready?

Anger of Lun tightened his grip on his whips, then nodded. Together, they rose and charged. The Disciple didn't notice them until four rakes of yellow death sliced along him, severing his raised hands and gutting him. He fell into a sitting position and bled out, dying with his eyes wide and a shocked look peering from a facial wound.

The Lun Cultists looked at each other and nodded, their job well done. Anger of Lun even felt a smile rise to his lips: it really was like old times.

Shall we see why he avoided the Disciple roads? he asked.

Yes, I think I shall be doing that, if that is good with you?

Anger of Lun nodded. He wanted to open that rucksack, but this was Honour of Lun's land, and so such dangers were her responsibility and duty.

Honour of Lun knelt and brought Lunlight across her body in case some danger lurked within the item. As she slowly opened the rucksack, Anger of Lun sprinted to check the Disciple roads for any ambushes, and found them safe.

Are we definitely safe to be here, Anger?

He winced at the informal name, but said, I believe so.

Honour of Lun looked confused as she peered inside. Then come and take your look at this.

Anger of Lun frowned when he looked: inside were long tubes of metal, maybe four inches across. They were different colours, had markings in a language he did not recognise, and each ended in an ornamental cap and nozzle arrangement. The cap was brassy and circular, and crenulations along its shape suggested it could be turned. Below it was a set of circles of decreasing size.

Know you what this is? Honour of Lun asked.

I don't.

Should we take them or destroy them here?

Anger of Lun looked over at the dead human Disciple, sitting in a pool of his blood. He was a great disappointment, had died without even a struggle. This one avoided the Disciple roads to sneak those things through Sol’s lines. They didn't want us or anyone else to notice this delivery. Whatever these things are, they’re important. We should bring them to the next gathering of the faithful at Lun's Lake.

I agree, she replied. Can you carry some of them? Despite how they look, these metallic containers are not light in any way.

Anger of Lun nodded. He hefted two of the containers up and held them under his arms, finding them as heavy as Honour of Lun suggested.

Oh, before we go, we should take care of what we have left behind, yes?

Yes.

Honour of Lun turned to the dead Disciple, her whips together. A burst of Lunlight fired out from their gems and engulfed the Disciple. His body was destroyed as Lun's brilliance engulfed him and the blood on the soil, leaving only the scent of burning flesh and charred earth.

Their job done, the Lun Cultists carried whatever the Disciples had tried to smuggle. Anger of Lun stared at the strange cargo on the way, tried to figure what might be within them, but could only settle on 'nothing good'.

Chapter 3

Anger of Lun and Honour of Lun next met a few weeks later to carry the Disciple contraband to Lun’s Lake. The strange containers were kept at Honour of Lun’s home in the intervening time, hidden in her sleeping area, and they still seemed as ominous to Anger of Lun as when they were confiscated.

Did they react or move at all, in your time with them? he asked.

Not once. I don’t think they are alive.

They could just be wary, Anger of Lun replied, staring at the containers.

Honour of Lun shrugged. That’s not impossible, but I feel it’s unlikely: if they were alive, why wouldn’t they transport themselves?

Perhaps, Anger of Lun said, unconvinced.

They rigged the containers into sturdy networks of rope they could hang from their shoulders, each working on the other’s arrangements, and neither was disappointed when they tested their harness.

And so we go, Honour of Lun said. I wonder if we’ll have any new members.

If Lun wills it, so shall it be.

Well, of course, but…. Forget it. Let’s go.

The two Lun Cultists shot through the forest. Anger of Lun was a little slower than Honour of Lun, having travelled far from his home already, but his comrade accounted for his fatigue and kept her speed down.

Lun’s Lake rested in a clearing far to the east, so Anger of Lun was double-backing on himself to get there. Not that he minded: these Disciple artefacts had to be brought before the others. Many of the faithful had been in these lands longer than he, fighting the monstrous Disciples and protecting the secret ranks of the Lun Cult, so they may know what should be done with these cylinders.

They might even channel Lun’s Voice to ask him…

Anger of Lun shuddered with religious pleasure. He had only conversed with Lun’s Voice a few times, when preparing to go north and protect Geos. Of course, he’d read the man’s essays and thoughts on all matters, but to be noticed by such a tremendous man was a great honour, and would be again if the group decided to speak to him.

Sol had sunk low by the time they arrived at the lake. It was a bright, open evening, but Lun was not strong enough to shine through the treeline so soon into the night: he would no doubt grace them with his magnificence during his servants’ gathering.

The Lun Cultists' gathered each month when Lun was brightest. Anger of Lun didn’t enjoy these meetings: he wasn’t fond of forced conversation, of meaningless pleasantries, but the potential for borrowing a new sermon from a recent arrival, or hearing word from Lun’s Voice, always made the trips worthwhile.

Many Lun Cultists were already at the lake when Anger of Lun approached it, milling around the small, silver lake and chatting as they waited for their meeting to start. Graceful insects with glowing thoraxes danced above the water behind them, night crickets chirped, and the air had a sweet smell, like lilac.

Anger, Honour, said Thought of Lun, the senior Lun Cultist of the group. She had long, dark hair tied into a plait, and a leathery face. It is good to see you. And it is interesting to see you carrying something for us to discuss.

Anger of Lun winced: every such meeting was full of contracted names. He did not approve – Lun’s Voice had given them their new names for a reason – but he was the only one.

Good. Our conversations on small matters were turning tedious, Shield of Lun said, his deep voice seeming to shake the nearby waters. I’m glad there will be a shift.

Are we not early to begin proceedings? Anger of Lun asked, pulling back his hood to expose his face. He hated doing so, knowing his form was a betrayal of who he was, but decorum required it. The dark brother is not near his zenith.

Thought of Lun nodded. And we are still missing some of our brethren.

Anger of Lun registered who was in attendance. There were two new Cultists, both slender and slight, but Grief of Lun and Hand of Lun were missing. It was unlike either to be late, but Disciples moved at night too, and they both lived the furthest from Lun’s Lake. Creeping concern engulfed Anger of Lun as he joined in the small talk that filled their wait as best he could. Which wasn’t very well at all.

After an hour of boasting and shared tips on securing and maintaining their homes, as well as taciturn questions to the newcomers about Geos, Thought of Lun stood and clapped. We shall begin. If our missing brethren do not appear next month, we shall have to assume they died at the Disciple’s hands.

May Lun allow them rest, the faithful said in unison.

The agenda was to be simple until Anger and Honour brought these strange devices, she continued, I feel we’ll be here a while longer than planned, which may be no bad thing. I throw the floor open to the two of you. Tell us what you’ve found.

Honour of Lun stood and explained what they had found, recounting them finding the human Disciple and the strange containers they carried.

Human Disciples exist, Shield of Lun said. It is as Lun’s Voice predicted.

You sound surprised, big man, teased Fire of Lun, a young thing with designs on the larger warrior.

I was merely confirming it, Fire, Shield of Lun hissed back.

The predictions of Lun’s Voice are always proven correct, eventually, Honour of Lun said. But that isn’t the point to discuss: what these strange things the Disciples were smuggling are. These artefacts were destined for Geos, no doubt. The question I would have is why.

It almost doesn't matter, does it? What matters is that they are important to the Disciples, Anger of Lun replied. The Disciples sneak them down using a human representative, a resource they may not have much of. There was a great risk taken, and a likely great cost in their loss.

Where were they going, though? Honour of Lun asked. Where were they taking them?

To Disciples in the south? Shield of Lun suggested.

Fire of Lun tutted. That makes sense. But they risked so much in sending a human...

We are trained to listen for Disciples, Thought of Lun pointed out. Not for humans.

That is true, Anger of Lun said. We might not have heard their passage had they not sneezed. It was Lun's will that we found this.

There is another option. It could be that there are not Disciples in the south, but sympathisers deeply buried in the Solarist power structures, Resolve of Lun said.

Everyone looked at Resolve of Lun. She was a former Shield, amongst the first Lun Cultists Voice of Lun had recruited. Her opinions were held in high regard, mostly because she shared so few of them.

How do you mean? Thought of Lun asked.

The former Shields stood, stretching her scarred body. Stations are secretive, like us. They protect their ways and means, and in so doing allow great autonomy to their members. It’s possible the Disciples have buried into them since the Second Invasion, especially if they have human agents. If they need a smuggling route into Geos, many would have the freedom and power to trade such favours for access to the Disciples' darker miracles.

Another silence. The thought of a whole people being governed and controlled by secret Disciples brought a sickening, deep terror to all present.

Again, as Lun’s Voice predicted, Shield of Lun said. He wrote that we could not trust the Solarists until they had purged themselves. Many assumed that meant their fear of Lun. We were wrong.

If that’s true, we must speak with Lun’s Voice.

Yes, we must.

He will know what to do.

Enough! Thought of Lun said. I will decide when we contact Lun’s Voice, and I will not be hassled into such a decision.

The group fell silent. Thought of Lun looked around, judged each member of the faithful for their response. You are right, though, she said. We must report this, and understand where his wisdom will take us.

Anger of Lun nodded, excited. Whilst Lun directed the faithful over small matters, his responses to complex issues required some interpretation: the individual's perceptions clouded the message, leading to arguments. Only Lun’s Voice could analyse the god’s will in such matters, because only he regularly met with Lun.

The Cultists arranged themselves in a circle, and each held out a whip. Those new to the gathering did not join in. Ten whips dangled loosely, their gems facing one another. Then the Lun Cultists closed their eyes and concentrated, sent a prayer and a message to the head of their faith, their leader, the man who had recruited them to this life of sacrifice.

Anger of Lun felt the response after ten minutes of praying, a sort of tug on his faith. He allowed Lun to take strength from his gem, form a connection to their leader, and half of his power was absorbed by the ritual. A silvery flash lit up the world beyond his closed eyes, and a deep thrumming spurred into life.

You have summoned me, my friends, Lun’s Voice said.

Anger of Lun opened his eyes and saw Lun’s Voice. The lower half of his face was covered by a fabric half-Lun, which allowed them to see only his sharp eyes. The form beneath his black robes was stooped, frail, but held in a controlled manner that showed his strength of will.

We have, my friend, Thought of Lun said, using the honorific Lun’s Voice insisted upon. We have found evidence of human Disciples, and a potential smuggling method the Disciples are using to move materials down to Geos.

Voice of Lun sighed. Proceed.

Thought of Lon retold Honour of Lun’s tale, keeping the wording curt and respectful. When she finished, Lun’s Voice looked around them, the fourteen in attendance. "Who among you found this evidence?

I did, my friend, said Honour of Lun, nervous of what he might say.

As did I, my friend, Anger of Lun said, having no such worries.

I have long suspected the Disciples have infested the Solarist ranks. You have only added weight to my predictions. Their leader stopped, put his hand to his chin. Though I admit, I wish I had been wrong.

What are your commands, my friend? Thought of Lun asked.

Lun’s Voice looked round them again, ensured he had their attention. Search and destroy. That is all. Spend your time seeking the hidden Disciple, the sneaking human supporter, and wipe them from this existence. Turn their artefacts into dust, and their bodies into ash. Search, my friends, and destroy.

Lun’s will be done, the Lun Cultists said.

Farewell, my friends, Lun’s Voice said before he severed their connection.

Well, that was clear, Shield of Lun said. We must reorganise.

Thought of Lun nodded. A new phase of our war has begun. Lun’s Front now exists to prevent Disciple artefacts getting to Geos, and to kill any Disciple sympathisers we find.

Anger of Lun smiled. A new purpose was upon them.

Chain

‘What if Lun isn’t the enemy? What if we’re resisting darkness that has always been a part of us?’

--The last words of Group, a Heretic executed at the Front by Contegon Reflex Force, 89AC

Chapter 4

Chain stopped leading her daughter along the mountain path and took a deep breath, enjoying air free of Aureu's pollution and life. She might never get used to this purity, to the feeling of her lungs being clean, and that would be a blessing.

Mum, what makes a mountains? Carmen asked, skipping along behind her, long blonde hair bouncing.

Sol made the mountains, little one.

Her daughter frowned, unsatisfied with the answer. How?

Chain smiled. At first, she viewed Carmen’s refusal to accept basic answers as troublesome, but that was her fault, not her daughter's: Carmen's inquisitive nature would make her brilliant. Chain had come to realise it was her job to encourage and teach her, something her own parents hadn't learned.

Well, there are different ideas because nobody knows for sure: we weren't there as Sol made us later. Some think he just snapped his fingers, Chain snapped hers, and made the world. Others think, when he created Geos, he set two great islands to crash together, making the mountains where they struck.

Carmen tried to snap her fingers and failed, just rubbing them together. She examined her fingers, her tiny brow furrowed. Then she shrugged and looked back up at Chain.

I like walks, she said, changing the subject.

Chain knelt and scooped her up. I like walking too. But do you know what I like more?

No! No! she screamed playfully.

I like tickles! Chain shouted before tickling her daughter. Ahhhhh! Tickle tickle tickle!

Carmen shrieked and shrieked in delight, laughing in between.

Chain stopped and put Carmen down, let her catch her breath. It was a shame she could not spend much time with her little one, but that was the nature of being a Contegon: her holy duty was just as important as he motherly one. She was grateful, though, for these early evening walks with her daughter.

A bunny! Carmen squealed.

Where?

There! It's there!

Chain knelt and followed her daughter's direction. Sure enough, down the valley in wild, unclaimed land was a black rabbit. It twitched its ears and hopped, oblivious to its audience.

What do rabbits eat, little one?

Grass!

And?

Veggiebulls!

Vegetables, yes. They are herbivores.

Hervibores.

Not quite. It's 'her'

She waited for Carmen to repeat the syllable. Her.

Bee.

Bee.

Vores.

Vores.

Her-bee-vores. Herbivores, Chain said with a smile.

Herbivores!

Chain rubbed her head. That's right. You learn so fast. Soon, you'll know more than me!

Nobody knows more than you, Mum!

I thought that once. I was wrong.

Carmen frowned and tilted her head, trying to work out what she meant.

Chain felt guilty for confusing her daughter, sinking back to her past, so she shook her head and grinned. Never mind. What do you think the bunny's doing?

Running!

Chain looked back. The rabbit was running, having spotted a fox that was stalking it. Rabbit and fox engaged in a pursuit, darting across the untamed grassland. Thankfully, the prey got to its warren before it could provide Carmen an unfortunate lesson in the cruelty of nature.

Bye bye rabbit.

Bye bye rabbit, Chain echoed before standing. Come on, little one. Let's go see what Auntie Bracket is making for dinner.

I know!

Do you?

She told me, Carmen said with a nod. It's a surprise.

Am I going to like the surprise?

Carmen grinned widely. I can't tell you. It's a surprise!

Chain couldn't argue with such logic. Alright, I'll just have to wait. Off we go.

Bracket... her friend had been a veritable Servant of Sol since they'd left Aureu. When she'd returned home in her... temporary absence following the Hereticum, she turned to her best friend from before the Academy. Tall, plain, and on hard times, Bracket had been scrabbling for a job when the Guardian recommended Chain take a Contegon post in the Gravit Mountains. Bracket offered to come with her and act as a Nanny. She raised Carmen whilst the Contegon protected the mining town of Buckle. Chain couldn't think of anyone she'd rather have looking after her child.

Sol certainly had a strange plan for Chain. She reflected on it often, though not as much as when she raged against the Guardian, the Acolyte Maya, and everyone who had wronged her. Chain now realised that, after playing a crucial role in the Battle for Aureu, she had been given a chance to build the unfurling Acolyte Station. Being pregnant would have been an inconvenience, but that connection with Sol was her reward. Her pride and anger had robbed her of that.

Sol never shut you out completely, though, even when you stupidly broke an oath to the Guardian, the spiritual and political leader of Geos. Chain still couldn't believe she did that... but that was in the past. Sol still had a future in mind here in the north: Buckle, Carmen, and her new life.

Carmen skipped down the mountain path, leading the way. They'd walked this path so many times her daughter knew the way by heart, hardly paid it attention. She hummed a hymn and tried to jump as high as she could. Chain just watched her, her heart full of pride.

After ten minutes, they rounded Sister, the smallest of the Family's four mountains, and entered the wider plains of Geos. The Family stood tall and proud over them: Father and Mother, snow dusting their shoulders; Brother to their right, only a hair shorter, and Sister lowest of all. The Family Mine was at the base of Brother, its equipment, rough wooden stores, and carts abandoned for the day. During the day it would be crawling with Miners, a subset of the Merchants.

Mining was a tough business, but at least they had a great home to return to. Buckle was a jewel, a wooden haven set amidst Geos' endless green. Holding maybe four hundred people, it was a vibrant community with a playhouse and town hall. A new town, its buildings were handmade and fresh. People took pride in that: a new house had to last generations, so they put time and effort into their craft, cutting their own wood, and helping each other as Buckle expanded.

They were out now on the area known as Lower Range, a few hundred feet higher than Aureu far to the south-west. Great patches of forest rested between the roads and Farms that sustained Buckle.

How are roads made, Mum? The Mister wants to know.

The Mister, Carmen’s imaginary friend, had shown up shortly after Carmen had learned to talk, a figure Carmen drew as a green man. He covered much of Carmen's inquisitiveness, perhaps due to Chain's initial dislike of her questions. Hundreds of horses flatten it down by riding the same way with big, heavy loads.

They flatten trees?

No, we cut them down first, but that was a long time ago.

Carmen nodded and skipped ahead, considering something else now. Chain returned to examining her town. She was responsible for keeping its people spiritually-primed to delve into Geos' bowels. Every Miner worked for a Merchant named Muster, with Par the great man's proxy, but it was their faith that kept them going. When you've seen your friends crushed, or had your child called up to the Shields, you need a stern and authoritative voice to tell you Sol planned it.

It didn't hurt if that voice comes from a hero from the Battle for Aureu...

Buckle, like many small towns, had had many of its young called to the Fronts. The town had stopped expanding as a result, and Miners were unable to take their Rest: some foremen were in their sixties, too frail to traipse in the dark, but they had to earn. Many had their children later too, leading to complications for Doctor Marsh to deal with.

Being a small town's Contegon wasn't as simple, and as thankless, a job as she'd once thought. Like many other things in life. The responsibility of being a mother and leading a whole town, speaking with normal people and putting aside her airs, had changed her. And she was grateful for it: