New Enemies

  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.”
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  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