Beleiver
#1 of Stories
I wrote "Believer" as a submission for the magazine "MegaMorphics", inspired by another piece of fiction by Arilin; her story had a particularly "mythic" feel to it, which I really admired; despite being a short-story, the story itself felt "big", like there was much, much more to the characters and setting that we weren't seeing.
I had done an art-piece of a giant winged female jackal warrior earlier, and I had the urge to try and drawn inspiration from that as for setting and theme, while trying to emulate that mythic feel, but with an Arabesque leaning, where hers had been more classically Greek in motif.
Nearly the whole of the city had fallen to the warlord Barud, the so-called Conqueror of Makiri; their home-guard units had been crushed, their outdated tanks and rifles no match for his modern weapons.
The rabble in the city had proven far more troublesome, with their barricades and fuel-bombs and rifles older than their thrice-accursed grandfathers. They fought with a ferocity that appalled his soldiers and commanders; men, women, children who died with defiance on their lips and in their eyes. Dogs, foxes, jackals, hares, the lowliest of the low, scrawny children of the desert, their resistance incited him to fury!
But soon, soon that would be over; his main forces were mopping up the last of the guard-forces on the outskirts of the city, and then his tanks would roll in, would crush them like the trash they were, and the city would lie at the feet of Barud, the Conqueror, the Merciless!
The leopard threw his hat down on the turret of the armored command-car in frustration, and snarled questions and commands: the conscripts and mercenaries cowered and then ran to obey, they knew too well the quickness of his anger, the pettiness of his rage, and the brutality of his punishment; "Go! Go! Where are those tanks, or I will have someone's head!"
Far away, Alliyah stirred from sleep, awoken by a voice, small and faint. She had been sleeping for longer and longer as time went by, as fewer and fewer came to see her. When you weren't needed or wanted, it was easiest to sleep, best to sleep, to dream of the old days when you were loved and desired.
But the voice remained. It was a small voice, a little voice, but it was insistent, and it carried notes that Alliyah had not heard in a long, long time: hope, and belief. She opened her eyes.
He was a fox, he could not have been more than 12 summers old, skinny as boys his age tended to be, almost-men, but not-yet-quite. He was dirty, scruffy, he carried a crooked stick, and he wore a harness that was unlike any Alliyah had ever seen, and yet she recognized instantly; a soldier's harness, the girdings of war.
Tamas wasn't sure why he'd come here; the city was falling, try as they might his friends and his family and all of the others couldn't stand against the warlord's killers. The ancient rifles and pistols, shotguns and home-made bombs were no match for assault-rifles and machineguns and rockets.
It was foolishness, a fairytale his grandfather had told him, a wide-eyed cub on the knees of a fox so old the child had thought the ancient tod must be as old as the world itself.
"It is told, by my father, and his father, and his father before him, that in the worst of times, when evil comes to the city, you must go and ask the Guardian, go to the temple and plead to her, and if you ask well, she will awaken, and she will save us."
So he had run to the old temple, almost forgotten, to the foot of the ancient statue, the towering stone female jackal, winged like an eagle, clad in ancient armor, armed with ancient weapons, and he had asked.
When Alliyah was sleeping, she had felt this little fox's hope, his belief; they were faint, but they were there. When she opened her eyes, and look down at him, they grew suddenly, a thousand-fold, ten-thousand-fold; it sang through her with all the purity that only a child can muster; it was like drinking lightning, it was like kissing the sun. Suddenly she was completely awake again, alive again, aware again. The city was different, but it was still her city. How long had she slept, a hundred years? A thousand? It didn't matter; her city needed her, they called, she came. It was the belief of only one small child, but it was enough for now. She crouched down, and laid her hand in front of him, palm-up, and he stepped into it without fear, as if it was supposed to be, because it was. Lifting him up to the level of her shoulders, she looked out over her city, and spoke one word "Where?" the little fox pointed. Black wings snapped open with a thunderclap, and she leapt into the air.
As she flew towards the sound of battle, Alliyah stretched out with her essence, and felt: the foe was like a cloud of blackness, a great dark mouth sweeping in to swallow her city, and at the edges of that blackness, her people, like little forges in the darkness, brilliant little pinpoints of hope and love and defiance, being snuffed out one by one. She flew to where the fighting was fiercest, where the people had piled their belongings in the streets, knocked down the walls of their homes, and stood in bitter struggle hoping to someday build up again what they destroyed today. She landed in a square that had been a market long ago, wings kicking up momentary sandstorms that whirled away down the streets. The fighting was unlike any she had seen before: no swords, no spears, no shields, no armor, just the crooked sticks like her little believer carried, and the sound of a thousand carpenters all hammering at once. The hammering all but stopped as she landed; the hope, fear, determination became tinged with confusion from her people. It had been so long that they had forgotten her, did not know her.
Heedless, with the foolish bravery of youth, her little believer leaned out from between her fingers and shouted, his clear, sweet young voice carrying over the rooftops like a call to prayer. Again, his belief, his faith, shot through her, ran up her arm like a shock. Below, fear became hope, hope became belief, the longer the little fox spoke, the more heard and believed, and it filled Alliyah with strength.
Down the street, an enemy stepped out, raised his stick. The hammer-sound rang out in the square, and the little believer yelped, slipped, fell from Alliyah's hand. She caught him before he struck the ground, but it was too late: already his essence flickered like a failing candle. A female fox bolted across the square, dropping her weapons and crying out a name - she leapt into Alliyah's hand, all else forgotten in her love and fear, snatching the little fox to her breast.
His belief in his Guardian never wavered, even as he died, bright eyes turned towards his mother, Alliyah, and heaven, until those bright eyes went dark. Alliyah gently lowered them to the cobblestones, and stood, as beneath her the mother-fox lifted her muzzle to the sky in a song of anguish as old as the world.
Anger filled Alliyah; her own, and that of her city, her eyes alight with it. She hefted her spear, she drew her sword. The invaders could feel it, and their growing fear was palpable. The towering jackal rose to her full height, threw back her head, and howled. Then with terrible purpose, stepped over the barricades. Behind her, her people rose, and followed.
"Command, this is Mobile-six, come in."
"Mobile-six, this is Command, we read you."
"Command, we have reached Objective D, report no contact with hostile forces, repeat, zero hostile contacts."
"Say again, Mobile-Six?"
"No hostiles, none, sir, lots of dead, destroyed vehicles."
"Damn, the locals really messed these assholes up!" came a somewhat gleeful comment from the driver's seat of the armored jeep.
The bobcat in the turret released the "talk" button on the mike and glared at the rat in the driver's position "C'mon Pinky, shaddup until I'm finished reporting."
"Mobile-six, confirmed on zero hostiles. There were reports of heavy fighting and intermittent large airborne radar contacts, the locals must have scrounged up some air-power. Proceed with caution, make sure the locals know we're here to help, over?"
"Affirmative, Command, will report in at next objective. Out."
"Damn right I'm making sure these guys know I'm friendly, I like my balls right where they are, thanks a bunch!" the rat was smiling and waving as cheerfully as possibly to several small children who were peering with an odd sort of calm at the passing soldiers and vehicles. The column was currently skirting a destroyed tank, the latest of more than a dozen armored vehicles they'd seen so far, that looked like they had been split up the middle with a meat-cleaver, and then set on fire " Holy shit man, what the fuck does that, Mikey?"
"No idea Pinky, no idea. Maybe they dumped a bunch of satchel charges in it or something." The bobcat decided that the rat was right on the "friendly" thing, and waved to a group of adult civilians having a rather animated discussion on a corner. It was kind of eerie that they all seemed rather unafraid, despite the fact that there had obviously been vicious fighting, right in this intersection, obviously only hours ago; there was blood, bullet pockmarks and shell-casings everywhere. The civilians studied the Unity soldiers for only a moment before solemnly waving back.
"According to satellite recon we're coming up on a square right ahead." the otter in the number-two seat chirped "Should be able to go straight on through to the next objective."
The jeep rolled from the patchwork shade of the street into the bright light of the square, and abruptly slammed to a halt, eliciting a variety of curses and noises of protest from the suddenly buffeted passengers and crew.
"What the fuck, Pinky?!"
"I can drive through a lotta stuff, but I'm not gonna drive through that." The rat pointed emphatically out the windscreen.
"That ain't supposed to be there , boss." chimed the otter.
The bobcat stood on his seat to look over the gun and armor-plate, and whistled softly under his breath. "Well it sure is now, Rizzo."
Bobcat and otter clambered out of the vehicle respectively, and picked their way across the square. There was rubble everywhere, wrecked vehicles mixed with debris. Except in the center. In the center was an enormous statue of a jackal, a stunning female, dressed like an ancient warrior, fantastically realistic looking. She was seated cross-legged, spear propped on her shoulder, one hand on her sword. Her other hand was in her lap, palm up, and in her palm, equally realistically carved, sat a young boy fox, a rifle propped against his shoulder mirroring her pose, smiling up at the jackal as she smiled down at him. The fox was festooned with garlands of fresh flowers.
"Man, but she's a looker."
"Respect, Rizzo, show respect."
"What do you figure that's all about, Mikey?"
The bobcat smiled and shrugged. "Belief, Rizzo. Everyone has to have something to believe in."