A Warrior No More…
Picture Credit
(Made with Canva) [Note that “Mark Rogues” was an old pen name of mine]
Garrun…Garrun…Garrun…Garrun…
The words echoed through his mind in an interminable rhythm, growing stronger with each utterance. The voice that spoke those words was hushed and cold, like a whisper creaking out from a crack in the ice. And it carried great weight; the weight of frozen supernovas, of time-stopped neutron stars. It was a crushing weight, which pressed on his mind. He thought his head would split, erupt in fiery magma.
Garrun…Garrun…Garrun…
Garrun awoke with a start, breath shuddering, two hands grasping his delt-hide mattress while the third nursed his shocked, sweat-streaked face. Every pec and abdominal on his bare chest was tense and tight, as if readied for war. His silver skin glinted softly, creating a silver halo in the pitch-black. Calming himself, he glanced at the other slaves, Orr’uns like him, their silver skin glowing faintly to abate some of the dark. They were fast asleep in their beds; many were snoring. All were oblivious to him.
Garrun sighed, reflecting on his dream. He knew that voice. It had spoken to him many times by now. “The Whisper”, the legends called it. It was said to greet warriors in their sleep, to prepare them for their future. But what the legends excluded was whether that future was one of glory…or ruin.
Garrun had never been much of a believer in the fantastical, unlike many of his people. Orr’uns were big believers in myths and legends; they were ruled by the prophesied words of wizened elders and seers, whose inane mutterings carried with them enough weight to make emperors kneel.
It was on the words of the elders that we knelt to the Vorion Imperium, surrendered our conquests of Kela Major and Sihko to them, Garrun thought ruefully. The elders claimed it would bring us glory, but all the Vorion have brought us are chains. The Orr’un Conquest has collapsed, and the rest of our territories are now theirs.
His chest tightened. His people had once been a glorious, warring race, with territories across the Ca’apal Sector, and along the four sectors of the Aarilith Belt. They had conquered entire systems, faced down even the most furious of enemies. Their history was bedecked with war: the Great Human Civil War, where they had allied with the Ivoravi Federation and the Allied Liberation Front in their fight against the Ethloriaans, the Gallacag War, where they had fought both the Gallacag Alliance and the Krennoans, and countless others.
Garrun himself had marched on the bloodplains of the battlefield, following in the footsteps of his warrior father. He’d fought on the grass-deserts of Kela Major, in the warpholes of Vhoru, and on so many other worlds. Private Garrun, then Sergeant Garrun, and later, Commander Garrun. His only regret over his military career was that he had failed to become a general – though not for lack of trying.
But no longer did the Orr’un wage war. Two years ago, the Conquest had failed to conquer the world of Vadkerheim in the Orr’un-Sacodiar War; that had been the first of the great defeats, which had sent the Conquest on its downward spiral. This eventually led to the Great Betrayal by the elders, as they ceded the Conquered Territories to the Vorion Imperium. The Conquest had been dissolved and the Orr’un people, once might conquerors, had been conquered by the Vorions.
Now the Orr’uns were weighed down by the chains of the Vorion Imperium, their backs broken and their lives spent. The thought made Garrun’s insides coil in fury as he looked about at his fellow silver-skinned Orr’un slaves, lying peacefully in their beds. In time the Orr’un Conquest shall rise again. We will recover from the elders’ Great Betrayal.
Even now, a year after the Great Betrayal, many Orr’un slaves still believed in the elders’ myths and legends, prophecies and foresights. They still believed the elders would rescue them from their toil. In the past, Garrun had looked upon these people with scorn. But now, his perspective had changed.
For two weeks, the Whisper had appeared in his dreams. Sometimes it had incarnated itself in its bestial form of tentacles and fur; other times, like tonight, it simply whispered icy words. His name was endless drumbeat, hissed through the night.
But what does it mean? Garrun’s square face twisted as he thought. But after many minutes thinking, he had found no answer. Determining that this was thought for another night, he turned over in his bed and fell promptly to sleep. The Whisper’s icy words resumed, promising another sleepless night.
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