Chapter Two

The storm lashed heavily against the shuttered panes; rain tattooing madly, wind howling angrily as it unsuccessfully tried to rip its way inside, and the villagers huddled shamefacedly in front of the central fire. One of their own was outside, ridiculed into braving the maelstrom of wind and water.

None had pleaded with him to stay and truthfully none would miss him, yet they were not heartless people and their actions had been brutal and surprisingly out of character. Kalum, the malformed son of the dead gravedigger received no love from his fellow humans. Even his mother, now remarried, avoided him when she could, a servant bringing the poor youth food and clothing on an irregular basis. His own mother carried the shame of his birth and the obvious evidence of the gods’ disfavour. She sat, pinch-faced, wrapped in her cloak next to her new husband, slightly apart from the others.

A frightened silence gripped them. They neither prayed nor cursed, stoically waiting for whatever the storm would ultimately bring.

*

The boy did not run, he rather hopped and shuffled, his misshapen right leg and foot, his bowed back and oversized head, were not conducive to speed. On such a night, when speed was of the essence, he felt himself handicapped even more. Lightning bolts flashed to the earth, searing the ground in their actinic fury. Horizontal rain stung the boy’s face and arms, even though he kept his thin cloak wrapped as tightly around his body as he could, the wind driving the water through each and every tiny gap.

Pealing thunder rolled menacingly and the storm intensified, as though the gods themselves were angry. This Kalum could understand. It had been beaten into him since he was a small child. Crops failed, milk curdled, animals were still-born and all of this was laid at his door. Deep down inside he accepted it; had not his own mother cursed the day he was born, wishing she had never laid eyes on his father?

Kalum was glad his parents had met, even if his mother’s love had turned to vile curses and hatred. He had at least some remembrances of his father, of his love, and he clung onto them with all his might. Doggedly he toiled onwards, the cemetery coming ever closer, with each painful and hard earned step. It was the one place that he had shelter and solace, among the remnants of both his and his father’s life.

An explosive concussion threw him to the ground, and he rolled over and over, down a slight incline until he was brought to an abrupt stop by the bole of a spindly tree. Looking back, he saw the ground on fire, heaving and boiling from the titanic strike. This was the mother of all storms and he had somehow walked into hell itself.

Another bolt screamed downwards, driving the breath from his lungs with its overwhelming pressure wave. Again the earth complained and molten fire arced upwards in angry response. This was unreal, never had he seen so many lightning strikes so close together, and the colour, not the usual blue-white but a bright orange-red. Climbing to his feet and shaking his head to clear the ringing in his ears, he started off once more, leaning into the wind as he fought his way forward.

Suddenly, Kalum was knocked to the ground by a running figure and a third bolt flew close overhead, tearing into a standing rock and smashing it into tiny pieces. His vision blurred, Kalum strained to see his rescuer, the rain running in rivulets down his face. A flash lit up the sky and he saw him; reflexively he tried to scream, but a huge hand was clamped over his mouth and the boy sank gratefully into unconsciousness.

*

Hyas gazed down on the crumpled form beneath him in wonder, could this really be him? The boy’s cape rolled open as Kalum stirred and Hyas gasped in astonishment, the belt! It lay there before him. His search for the scion of the House of Urion was over.

He roared in pain as the needle round struck him, blood spraying outwards. With a snarl he turned, reaching over his shoulder to draw his axe, but his enemies were hidden by the storm. Weapon held firmly in one hand, he grasped the back of Kalum’s cape and dragged him away, bent double in order to minimise his enemies’ target.

Twigs slapped against his face, as he turned away from the lashing of the rain, his long curly hair plastered against his forehead. Another flechette round struck a nearby tree, sending shards of bark spraying in all directions. This would not work, he needed to see them if he was to negate their threat.

Leaving Kalum propped against the bole of a nearby tree, he hunched down and waited, his axe gripped firmly in two huge hands.

*

“Did you get him,” Lepus whispered to Karson, as he peered into the storm-tossed night.

“Yes, but not fatally,” replied Karson, his fingers tapping restlessly against his rifle stock. “He can’t have gone far, though.”

The big man waved peremptorily at his men and a group of them moved away in an attempt at flanking the Tauran.

*


Kalum slowly regained consciousness, his eyes blurry not only from his befuddled state but also from the torrential rain still pouring down. He wiped a grimy hand across his face and stared at the bulky shape of the man crouched next to him.

Lightning flashed, highlighting his saviour and Kalum gasped in shock, the noise causing the man to turn and gaze down at him.

“W-w-who are you?” asked the boy, scrabbling backwards away from the frightening apparition.

The man laughed in a deep bass rumble and then smiled. If this was meant to calm the boy, it didn’t work. His chest bare; the man’s huge muscles rippled as he moved, flicking sodden and curly hair away from his face. Droplets scattered every which way as he shook his head; the pair of curved horns jutting from his brow, showering the boy with the displaced water.

“My name is Hyas,” he said, bowing slightly, “I am a Tauran, as you can see.”

Blinking slightly in perplexity, Kalum said nothing, waiting for any sign of this Hyas’ intent, for good or ill.

“Don’t worry,” Hyas grinned, “I won’t eat you!”

The boy’s widening eyes told Hyas that Kalum had only just considered that possibility, and he laughed again.

“I’ve been looking for you for a while now, following Lepus on his search. Thankfully I got here in time, at least to avoid them turning you into some sort of burnt offering.”

“W-w-what …?” gasped Kalum, completely bemused.

“Don’t talk,” said Hyas concernedly, “you’ve had quite a bit of a shock, and we need to get you out of this, before Lepus and his cronies catch up with us.”

He raised his hand, as Kalum began to speak and looked quickly out into the darkness.

“Time to move, boy”, he said, his great axe now visible in his right hand, “we can talk later.”

Not really understanding why, Kalum followed, the strange looking man radiated confidence and he at least seemed concerned about the deformed creature that was Kalum. It was the first example of genuine interest that anyone had showed, since the death of his father.

Then, distorted by the wind and rain, he heard voices and scurried to catch up with Hyas.

*

“We’ll never find them in this,” whined Lepus, clutching his drenched cloak more tightly about himself, “Let’s get back to the ship and wait out this storm. They can’t go anywhere either and if Hyas does take off, we’ll quickly spot him.”

“But my Lord, “protested Karson, “we’re close, I can almost taste him!”

“Almost, ALMOST!” shouted Lepus, “Well that just isn’t good enough. Now, back to the ship, that’s an order!”

Karson followed Lepus, grumbling under his breath all the while, whilst from the shadows Hyas watched, his hand gripping tightly onto the axe’s shaft. They had been very close, too close for comfort. He needed to get the boy safely onto his ship, and then they could work out what to do next.

“Oh, and Karson?” mentioned Lepus, almost in passing as they slogged their way through the now muddy ground.

“Yes, My Lord?” responded Karson, still muttering as he toiled along behind his Master.

“There is one more thing we should do tonight. The kind of job you like, and one that will cheer you up no end.”

“My Lord?” queried Karson, puzzled at the change in Lepus’ manner.

“Once on board,” said Lepus, his voice hardening, “I want you to personally take charge of the destruction of the boy’s pathetic village. There is to be no trace left of my brother, anywhere on this planet. The whelp we will deal with later.”

“Yes, My Lord!” grinned Karson, in an almost cheerful manner, “Anything you say!”

*

At last, Hyas and Kalum reached the Tauran’s ship, the big man activating the entry code and almost pushing the boy on board, his eyes wide as saucers as he saw the myriad of flashing lights and inexplicable machines.

“As I said,” commented Hyas, “There’ll be time enough for explanations later. Let’s get dried off and I’ll sort us out some warm food and drink. I get the feeling we’ll have some time to kill.”

Kalum winced at Hyas’ choice of words, but he was really only too glad to get out of the storm. The only thought in his head now was of the warm food and drink. As with most young people, he lived in the now and thought little of the consequences of his actions, and certainly not how they might affect other people. In this instance, he could not have known; the evil machinations of someone like Lepus were well beyond his simple comprehension.

*

“Ready, my Lord,” smirked Karson, his fingers hovering over the control panel in front of him.

“Just get on with it,” sighed Lepus already bored with the idea, “then we can continue our search for the brat, with at least one loose end tied up.”

Karson viciously slammed his hand down on the panel, the energy beams already locked on their targets. Once more the night sky was rent by the lashing force of strikes, the power of lightning, in this case, harnessed by man.

*

None of the villagers had changed position. Grouped tightly around the fire, they sat in a less than companionable silence. Kalum’s mother’s lips were set in a tight disapproving line. She could not understand why she had to belittle herself here with the rest of them. Her thoughts briefly turned to Kalum, who she also blamed for this, as she did everything. True to her nature, the last thought that ever crossed her mind was a cruel and spiteful one.

Chapter One

Sweat dripped off the man’s face as he strained in a rhythmic time worn motion; blade of the shovel striking earth, pressure of foot, heave of shoulders, relax. The gravedigger found this monotonous repetition soothing, it freed his mind from all but the appreciation of the dawning day. He always started early, preparing the ground long before the funeral cortege arrived, leaving the earth banked symmetrically so that the green-dyed cloth he used would mask the recently broken ground. Mourners needed no more reminders of the finality of today’s ceremony and he took pride in his work.

Adair had lived here now for what seemed a lifetime. He had arrived with the intention of losing himself and instead had found a pretty wife and loving son. Granted his boy’s infirmity caused talk around the village, but Adair rejoiced in Kalum’s happy and carefree existence. He loved the boy with all his heart. His wife though had become ugly with bitterness and self-pitying shame; they had fought again this morning and he pushed the remembered taste of her anger to the back of his mind, losing himself in his work.

The first indication of trouble came with the sound of approaching footsteps, which interrupted Adair’s peace and quiet. No-one came here, myths and stories kept the curious away and at this time of the morning those awake were tending to their animals or making their slow and steady way to the fields.

A shiver of premonition caused him to glance quickly at the small sack tossed carelessly near to his overcoat. Chastising himself, he shrugged the feeling off and continued digging, determined to maintain his sense of tranquillity for as long as possible.

“You there!” hissed an oddly sibilant voice, “We are looking for the one called Adair.”

The owner of the voice was unknown to him, but not the distinctive intonation; they had found him.

“He’s not here,” Adair responded in as surly a fashion as he could, hunching his shoulders to avoid showing his face, “said he was sick, so I’m here, doing his work for him.”

“How droll,” said another voice, one which this time Adair recognised, its cultured drawl all too distinctive.

Stabbing the spade into the ground, Adair slowly turned, his raised hands now close to the sack where it sat innocuously by the side of the half-completed grave.

“Hello brother,” he said, instantly taking in the three armoured men who had fanned out around the dug over area, “very kind of you to visit.”

“Adair, Adair,” replied the tall, skeletally thin man, “always the joker.” He brushed a loose strand of hair away from his face and looked around distastefully. “Did you think that you could hide forever?”

“I’m not hiding Lepus,” said Adair as he made to jump out of the hole, but his brother raised a hand in protest, and his men instantly gripped their weapons tightly.

“Not a good idea, brother dear,” suggested Lepus, poking a toe at the recently patched overcoat where it lay on the floor, “you really have come down in the world, haven’t you?”

“What do you want Lepus?” asked Adair flatly, his hand now lay next to the neck of the sack.

“You know,” replied his brother, “tell me where it is and this will go easier for you.”

Adair laughed derisively, “Lepus you’re going to try and kill me anyway, so what’s the point of playing games?”

“Yes, but there’s ways and then there’s ways….,” he began, then stopped, a puzzled frown on his face, “did you say try …..?”

He was already moving as realization dawned on Lepus’ face, hand snaking inside the bag and grasping the butt of the pistol concealed there. A quick tensing of his finger sent needle-like flechette rounds spraying outwards, slicing into the first of Lepus’ soldiers and sending him screaming to the floor. The other two ducked for cover as Adair fired again and he saw Lepus scurrying away, waving his arms frantically; what was he doing?

Something slammed heavily into his back and Adair tried to twist away, but it was too late. A second blow hammered into his shoulder, numbing his arm and causing him to drop his pistol. One booted foot smashed into his head and a roaring blackness enveloped him.

“My Lord?” said the huge man, offering his hand to Lepus and dragging him to his feet.

“Is he dead?” asked Lepus, brushing fastidiously at his now crumpled tunic.

“No, My Lord,” responded the man, hefting the wooden stave meaningfully in his hands, “but he easily could be. You only have to say the word.”

Lepus looked disdainfully at his henchman and sighing moved to stand over the prone figure of his brother, “No, I do not want his blood on my hands and besides we still don’t know where he has hidden it. Can you make him talk?”

“With time, My Lord,” said Karson, scratching his beard, “but time is something that we just don’t have. We’ve lost them for now, but it won’t be long before they rediscover our trail.”

“Very well,” responded Lepus,” search him quickly and then toss him and his meagre belongings in the hole he has so thoughtfully prepared for us. We know where his hovel and brat are and once we’ve lost our pursuers, we can always return.”

“And once he’s in the hole, then what?” insisted Karson.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something, dear boy,” replied Lepus, moving away and smiling mirthlessly, “I’m almost positive of it.”

*

They found the body four days later, after an extensive search of the area, having tried to complete the excavation begun by Adair. His broken and crumpled corpse was left where it was and re-covered, there was no money for anything else. A simple wooden marker was placed over his resting place and the only tears shed were by his young son, his wife refusing to demean herself.

She tugged fitfully at the boy, trying to pull him away, but gave up when she saw the others watching.

“Stay here then!” she snapped shrew-like, “See if I care! In fact I’d be better off without you!”

Adair’s son watched uncomprehendingly as his mother left; she was to be true to her word, she never returned for him and in the ensuing years he would cry himself to sleep, wondering what he had done to so offend the gods.

For now, he just wept, crying desolately for the loss of the only person in the world who had really cared for him. Sniffling to himself, he remembered his father’s parting words as he had passed his worn and curiously fashioned belt to his son that morning. The boy’s own belt had snapped, unable to cope with the constant tension of restraining his deformed and misshapen body.

“Look after this Kalum,” he had warned him, “one day it could well save your life!”

He had asked his father why, but Adair had only smiled, ruffling the boy’s long curly hair and carefully avoiding the bony stubs which it covered. Then he had left, whistling cheerfully and promising to explain everything when he returned that evening. That had been four days ago, and now he would never be coming back.

Kalum rubbed the strangely formed belt buckle between his fingers, his digits unconsciously finding and picking at seven curiously shaped holes within it. Now he would never know and would never see the bright smiling face of his father again. Wailing in semi-hysteria, he flung himself full length onto the ground as his heart broke in two.

*

Hyas sat in the control chair of his craft, scanning the viewscreens around him. A constant stream of data scrolled across them, and he watched intently until he found what he was looking for. Staring more closely, he checked and rechecked his numbers before grunting in quiet satisfaction. It had taken him many years to decipher what Lepus had been doing and particularly where he had gone, but finally he knew.

His fingers flew across the keyboards, control string after control string being entered and subsequently verified, until at last he punched a final key and his ship once more began its journey.

With a surge, space itself folded around him and his tiny craft sped onwards, hour after hour, yet he never left his chair. Each moment meant that he was closer to his goal and the task he had been given nearer to its fulfilment.

At last the big man stretched and rose to leave the room, with one last glance at the course now locked into his computer and the star flashing brightly on his screen.

*

“Where is he? Where’s that thrice damned Tauran?” asked Lepus petulantly, as he read the information on his data pad, “there has been no word of his pursuit of us for far too long. Do you think….?”

“I do indeed, my Lord,” agreed Karson, standing sloppily to attention, “it was only a matter of time before he deciphered the convoluted trail we had left. No-one ever said that Hyas was an idiot.”

“Then it’s time to go back?” Lepus asked, biting nervously at an already splintered fingernail.

“Yes, My Lord,” said Karson, “and with all the speed we can muster. It would not be in your interest for him to get there first.”

“Fine!” snapped Lepus, abruptly flinging the data pad against the wall, “Then get on with it!”

“At once, My Lord,” said Karson, backing away carefully from the indignant figure in front of him.

*

In another part of the galaxy, a brilliant blue-white star shone down on one of its favoured planets. Its rays warmed the frosty earth, already having dissipated an early morning mist. The day promised to be mild, no rain clouds scudded through the sky, only wispy trails appeared now and then, which were quickly sent on their way by an intermittent breeze. Then the peace and tranquillity of the day was shattered.

Bells rang and symbols crashed as the procession slowly wound its way up the incline towards the temple entrance. Pure voices were raised in prayer and joyous celebration as the white robed acolytes fulfilled their annual pilgrimage. Unusually the wide streets were empty of people, normally they would be filled with screaming crowds, madly waving national flags and religious banners.

Today was different, as a curfew had been instigated by the ruling House, effectively forbidding the congregation of more than three people at a time and clearly stipulating when citizens would be allowed to leave their homes.

The church orders had always been outside the law and they did not see any reason for this to change. After all, were they not celebrating His own day, in the first temple consecrated in His honour? Unfortunately, politics and religion, although usually inextricably meshed had today taken clear and separate paths.

A loud roaring was heard, the sound of engines pushed to their limits and a ground car careened onto the wide boulevard below the hill. The driving of its owner was erratic and frenzied, the car slamming into and bouncing off the low walls that lined the main thoroughfare.

Its journey was abruptly ended as a beam of energy lashed downwards, spearing through the glassed cockpit of the car. Smoke poured from the vehicle, a mute testament to the fate of those inside and an armoured aircar floated slowly downwards, stopping to hover just above a nearby grove of trees.

The acolytes continued on their way, secure in their faith and belief in the strength of their leaders. It was then the aircar, painted in House colours, opened fire.

Prologue

Excerpt from A History of Urion: Man or Myth


Centuries passed and internecine war changed to intergalactic war with the Tauran Confederation ever expansive. Solar system after solar system fell until they ran headlong into the seven systems which made up the loose association of the Ori.

Seven separate Houses, each claiming descent from the Great One himself, attempted to physically convince their neighbours of the folly of their ways. The Taurans’ arrival provided the catalyst for the birth of the greatest figure within known history.

Stories vary on where he came from, one tells of a meeting of the Great One with a poor farmer, who fed the hungry giant. Afterwards the farmer was asked what was his greatest desire and he said a son, he had worked hard all of his life and had never found anyone willing to share in his hardships. The Great One took pity on him, and asked him to bury the remains of their meal in one of the farmer’s most fallow pastures. As the poor man slept, the Great One returned and breathed life into the bones and meat that lay between the earth. The following morning, the farmer found a mewling babe there and gave praise to His Mighty Lord.

This was then used to explain the differences seen between Urion and other men, how he was marked out for greatness from an early age. Although scholars expostulate that Urion was in fact a half-breed, born from a union between the Taurans and the Ori. This theory has been denounced by the Church Orders as heresy and the relevant scholars excommunicated.

Whatever his meagre beginnings he rose rapidly, commanding men and then armies. He united first one planet and then another, driving the Tauran invaders from his home world and continuing his campaign until he was proclaimed defender of the Faith and given the first of the seven sacred jewels. Here was where his legend was born.

The sacred jewels have been studied and written about in other texts, their miraculous powers have become the property of the Church and no-one can be certain of their true nature. It is written that they were a gift from the Great One himself and given to Urion as a means to unite the people. Whatever they really were or what powers they truly held has been lost in the mists of time.

Tauran fleets strove to exert their dominion over Urion’s forces and system after system joined his banner, until all of the seven Great Houses bowed before him. For each House was crafted a singular jewel, and each jewel was endowed with mystical power.

Urion was reputed to be a giant of a man and the jewels were fashioned into one spectacular adornment which he carried with him into battle. They were set into the buckle of his great belt, on which hung his divine sword. There was no-one who could stand against him and he smashed the combined Tauran fleets in one epic battle.

Urion led his forces against the Tauran Confederation and all fell before him. A lasting peace was enforced and Urion led his people into a golden age. In time Urion was crowned ruler of all known space and he took unto him a wife. Their seven sons grew strong and were given the rule of the Houses of Ori.

This caused much discontent and signalled the start of the First Civil War. Urion reunited his forces and put down the rebellions, in so doing he was forced to kill six of his seven sons, who had been swayed by the entreaties of the corrupt Houses.

Only the youngest of his sons survived, and foreswearing all claim to his kingdom and his rights, he took his young family and was lost from all records..

It is during this period that historians diverge in their recounting of Urion’s life. Some claim that he was mysteriously taken to the Great One’s bosom and rests there still. Other, less religious men talk of poison, even regicide, but the only thing that can be confirmed is that Urion and his belt disappeared. The jewels themselves still reside with the scions of each great House, waiting it is said for Urion’s return.

Of the belt, less is known although this historian would like to believe the story held by the Rigelians, who claim that a loyal servant spirited it away and fled to Urion’s youngest son’s side. The belt is so held to be with the line of Urion’s only faithful son and, one day, will be returned to his long suffering people in triumph.

As this historian has said, it is his fervent wish that this would be true, although being a pragmatist, this writer in truth holds no hope for this occurrence.

In the following chapter, will be described the rise of the seven Great Houses and their dominion over the Tauran Confederation.



*

Our dim lit halls cry out your name,
Broken buildings alight with flame,
Ragged flags lie limp with pain,
And tears run freely as the rain.

Where art thou Lord, what do you do?
Your people hope with faith anew,
To run, to laugh, to hear, to see,
A dream come true, our heartfelt plea.

They struck you down, in all your might,
Our golden dream then put to flight,
A heel that crushes hard, that smears
The brightest star, expands our fears.

Come home to us and raise us high,
Your warrior’s roar becomes our cry,
Enemies will quake with fear,
When once again you draw us near.

Urion your people wait,
Here in front of death’s dark gate,
Lead us is our clarion call,
And watch how our dreaded foes do fall

-Anonymous-