T e i r g a A r c h A n g e l ' s S t o r y
Chapter 1.
In life, Teirga was a hunter. He was born and raised in a world where man and beast were locked in a deadly struggle for survival: and neither truly dominated the other. A world in which the resident species of humanoids were lost in a Dark Age, and thus vulnerable to nature's wrath - whether it came in the form of a colossal storm or sweltering drought, or a roving herd of predatory animals which chose to prey upon the populace of villages nearby. There was no such thing as war. Death plagued that planet through every available source, save for the actions of men themselves. Survival was striven for.. achieved only after great hardship and not without cost. Constant struggle. A chaotic, unpredictable climate had wreaked havok on thousands of acres of soil that could once have been called fertile - turned it into dirt and dust. Countrymen would slave and obsess over crops that grew only with lazy contempt.. which ultimately yielded dried, emaciated matter, disfigured and degenerate waste. This would be harvested and eaten later as if it were food. The drinking water tasted like poison. Raising livestock was impossible, as predatorial beasts were quick to capitalize on such easy prey - the planet's carnivores were becoming more bold with each passing year. Over the course of several decades the herbivore's numbers decreased. In response plant life thrived, at least for a time, while all meat-eating species enjoyed a steady climb in population. This process accelerated.. reaching the breaking-point. Grazing animals were soon driven to the brink of extinction - many species were ultimately terminated in this uproar. Thus the disaster reached a new phase - and Humankind had not the slightest inkling as to what was it's true cause. Plantlife -- in the form of weeds and coarse, hardly ferns and grasses -- temporarily flourished.. because the animals which had eaten them before were disappearing. But the people.. dependant on a steady supply of protien in their diet.. began to go hungry. Efforts were made to direct more attention to farming as quickly as possible to compensate for the sudden loss - other plans were put into motion, executed swiftly in an attempt to avert a tragedy which seemed to be happening much to rapidly to stop.. Over the course of one year 70 species of herbivore died off. Extinctions continued, as did radical population drops. Motile organsims which consumed plant-matter alone became all but non-existant. A major supply of food was gone. So the savage minds of the predators swiftly realized that they had only one alternative once the plant-eaters started becoming scarce. Their bodies demanded sustenance - their hearts hammered and seethed, pumping blood with unprecedented strength through the confines of their bodies - Instinct commanded them to seek out prey to feed their ravenous stomachs, fuel their metabolisms, and satisfy the greed for living flesh which defined their very existence. But their prey was gone. So the animals chose a very simple and logical solution to this problem: Kill anything that moved.
* * *
So the planets people began to die. Men women and children were indiscriminately stalked, ambushed, and torn apart by beast, which struck from land, sea and sky. Each death served only to whet the carnivores’ voracious appetites; every bit of meat consumed drove them to eat more. Oftentimes there were no corpses. People were frequently eaten whole, as even their bones could in some cases be digested by the assassins who had slain them. How could this have happened? How could nature's balance and order have been so wildly offset, that it's own ecosystems could mutate, degrade in such a way, that the plants and grazing animals could be driven to near extinction, so that the beasts which depended on them for food were made to starve, or turn upon themselves in a final, desperate attempt to appease the hunger that sat inside them like a cancer. Thinning them, weakening them and slowly, slowly killing them. Slowly driving them into madness. And then, after they began to hunt their own species; engaging fellow carnivores in crazed, feral battles where swords were claws and daggers were teeth - battles in which the victor would gaze and roar at it's fallen opponent, scrutinizing it's victim with glazed-white eyes, standing grim and gaunt and vile, a vision of death over it's crippled adversary before it finally began to tear away at the creature's vitals, killing it's charge with merciful speed while hastily consuming it's flesh - only to retch and vomit up every scrap of it hour later: because flesh of their own kind was something their bodies could not accept. Only then, after cannibalism failed, and desperation instilled itself into their thoughts so that their hearts beat all the faster and every sense, every resource at their disposal was called upon to find a solution. Any solution to the famine that plagued them all, festering as a wound does - gradually stealing their lives away. And then, they realized with their limited intelligence that there was still one animal which could be preyed on. It lived in villages and tribes. It fed off the meagre plant-matter that grew sparsely across the land. Crops were strewn all around its buildings - it had food to survive on. It walked on two legs. It never hunted. So one by one, the predators realized this.
* * *
Six months after the famine began, at night's end, five beasts - great woolly animals called D'Kayne, standing thrice a man's height and possessing the strength to crush stone - entered the tribe of Metamiray. Had there been any survivors, then perhaps details of the raze could have been recounted. But by daybreak all two hundred seventy inhabitants were dead. No corpses. Only bones were left; many of them shattered and crushed, others scarred by the predator's teeth. Every one was picked clean. Metamiray was the first. More beasts attacked after that - some solitary, some in twos or threes, and some in packs. Cities were turned into slaughterhouses - their people were consumed, sometimes while still alive. The solution spread rapidly - the animals were amazingly efficient killers.. and they were smart. In four days the entire continent was overrun with them - in five, Ganin was attacked by over fifty amphibious predators of various species; all of whom had joined together in an attempt to take the city. They succeeded with ease. Ganin was located on a land bridge that connected three out of the planet's five major continents. In eight days, predators were everywhere. No city was safe. What ensued was an unfathomable loss - people were killed off by the thousands. Their lives ended only to sate the hunger of those who had killed them, who would kill again as soon as instinct commanded. On the fifteenth day defenses were mobilized. Men armed with swords and spears and shields and resolute determination were organized in every city, town and village. Women alongside men. Adolescents were not forced, but urged to join. Technology in this world was primitive at best - its people could not even begin to speculate as to the cause of the disaster that had befallen them. Men would rave amongst themselves, terrified. Some believing that an angry God was responsible for this deed, executing it as retribution for the sins of his people. Others thinking that sorcery or witchcraft were to blame. The opinions were as innumerable as they were farfetched. No one knew. Guesswork would do little to save them anyhow - for they had survived the harsh famine and droughts which had worsened this calamity, survived by their resourcefulness and their surplus of necessities; water, plant-food, in some cases even grazing animals were found - but now they were faced with a far more dangerous threat. They were in a Dark Age. They had minimal knowledge of technology of any sort - swords and shields were the weapons of choice. They were dying. The predatorial population had stabilized and would soon begin to rise from the new source of food which it had discovered. The average number of humanoid deaths per day in every continent numbered roughly twenty thousand. At that rate extinction would occur in less than two months. So the people fought back. On the fifteenth day the first assemblages of men and women were called forth. They were given almost no instruction on how exactly to battle as there was very little to give. Each was given a sword. Some wielded shields and spears. They formed a ragged line around their cities accessible borders. They represented the only chance of the humanoid race. They were the first warriors.
* * *
In mid afternoon the predators decided to strike the city of Ahln. Casualties numbered at 57; 31men and 26 women. 2 unaccounted for. Minimal collateral damage to buildings at Ahln's edge. Victory went to the humanoids. Twelve D'Kayne died that day. Their corpses added to those of several reptilian creatures who were brought down by a spear-barrage as the javelin divisions all threw in unison to bring a rain of jagged steel down onto their enraged opponents, breaking a charge. The close combat was fast and brutal. It was during this time that the dozen D'Kayne met their ends upon great shafts of iron and bronze, which thrust deep into their eyes, mouth, throat, and heart, slashed at and killed rapidly by soldiers with war cries and trembling hands. In mere minutes the carnivores were in a harried, frantic retreat, racing away as fast as possible to regroup, to cut losses as best they could, and to flee from the metal that was such an effective killer, so sharp and fast - this they had not prepared for. So even though the people had suffered a greater loss of life than their attackers, they were still exultant. Exultant because they had proven that the adversary was not invulnerable. Morale soared, reaching the point of hysteria. The beasts were driven back.
* * *
Ahln was the first. Other battles took place that very same day; in some the people emerged victorious, in others the beasts managed to escape with few injuries and fewer deaths - while pieces of men, women children would be left behind, littered like trash about the fields and cities they had striven to defend. Armies were formed. Militias improved. Training camps appeared for the first time, and turned out soldiers by the hundreds per day. Every nation responded, became focused on creating it's own fighting force to repel the predatory threat. Thus began the war. Daily there were attacks, and daily the people needed to battle for their own lives. It wore on for years - as a Stalemate.
Chapter 2.
Such was the world that Teirga was born into. During childhood he was a peasant. Dark eyes and a thin face and wildly strewn black hair were the things a person saw when first levelling him with a condescending glance - labourers and their offspring were not favoured in that world's society. He worked the land alongside his mother and father, dutifully fought whatever creatures threatened his parent's territory with as much savagery as any grown man; perhaps more. Teirga was, however, a child. In the end he fared far worse against the might of a beast than most boys his age - numerous times his life was saved by a quick sword strike from the soldier adjacent to him, so that Teirga would look on in shock at the creature wounded or drawing back or impaled upon the other man's blade, which his own eyes had not seen in time, and his own weapon had not the speed to avert. He was banned from fighting after only six battles, as his actions were endangering the lives of those warriors around him, who were oftent at times compelled to defend him in his plight. Children could hold their own and at least keep the animals at bay while the adults nearby would take the kill. Teirga could not manage this. For all his effort, for all his determination, he could not fight. Three weeks later his parents perished, the sole fatalities of an ambush. Teirga was put into a facility that served the purpose of an orphanage as well as a training camp. For several months he stayed there, during which time children's combat education had not been made mandatory. So he did not participate. Four meals a day were the things the orphanage gave to him. And a cot to sleep on, and a roof above it. He lived there and followed with solemn obedience every rule in that place. At dawn food. Noon was exercise, then food again. Same in afternoon. Same at evening. At sundown sleep. Such were the requirements of children. He only spoke when spoken to. He thought about his parents, and wondered where they'd gone and when they'd be back.
* * *
One day, Seyn and a few of the other boys, some of them adolescent, were gathered in a small huddle around someone, talking excitedly. That someone was a teen named Harnakht. In his left hand was a quiver with arrows. In his right was a bow. He had stolen this weapon - from where he would not tell. Archery was not taught to the youths in the facility, as it was a practice useless to children, and difficult for even the most seasoned warriors to become skilful at. Marksmanship was poor. In battle, four lines of infantry would draw back their bows while their enemies were still advancing, and fire to the skies; aimed fifty-degrees. The arrows would soar diagonally, arc, then come down on a herd of predators in mid-charge, killing some before the actual melee could begin. After that, swords were employed - they were the instruments used to slash, to disembowel, to deflect talons and teeth, to strike over and over and over again until finally they would succeed in burying themselves in some critical place, ending the lives of their targets. Archery was just a tactic used to kill a few of the beasts while they were still far away. It was simple. It was inaccurate. It was effective, in it's intended purpose at least. The boys had never handled a bow up close before. Only adults were given bows - for they alone had the strength to execute the long-range attacks. It still held a fascination to them, just as battle did. Swords were commonplace but an arrow could fly. An arrow soared as fast as any blade, striking down a foe before they could even get to you. They stared at it, awe-struck, and envied Harnakht for his weapon; that elegantly-sweeping bow, auburn in colour, made not from wood but some other material, flexible yet sturdy in it's integrity and strung through by a twine chord of taut, sinuous thread, coupled with a black quiver containing nine arrows; each greyed rod was carved into a perfect line, tipped with metal that narrowed and tapered off to a single, lethal point. The heads all shined with a sly, unfocused lustre far more tempting than any sword. Silver arrowheads. And the boys grinned, and the crowd grew with newcomers. Harnakht had stolen it - it was his now. So he was the first one to try his hand at it. The target was a stout old tree standing a hundred paces away. With a squint and a smirk punctuating his ugly face, Harnakht withdrew an arrow, set it into the bow, and aimed. Teens stared, enthralled, only a few feet away. Flanking them were the little children, equally intrigued. Each watched, spellbound, captivated by the simple weapon held in Harnakht's grasp. He grinned, allowed the moment to drag on, taking pleasure in the attention. Languidly he closed an eye, and drew back his arm. The bow bent - the chord tightened. He smirked, and fired. Miss. Five feet off the mark the arrow raced, flying several yards past it before losing enough momentum to fall static onto the ground. Harnakht frowned, promptly taking out another arrow, trying a second time. Miss. Two more attempts. Two more failures. Seyn asked to try. So did Quro, and Vennitex. All missed. A few more teens started to ask and the arrow's spell seemed to weaken. Only adults could use them, after all, and even they could not do so with any degree of accuracy. This simple fact reinstated itself to the children, so that the instrument before them was suddenly viewed in a different light: Inexact. Crude. Useless in a fight. The crowd thinned. Teirga had been watching all this quietly from thirty paces away with some interest, caught in the weapon's allure. On a whim, he stepped forward, walked up to the girl who was presently trying her luck with the bow, and asked if he could use it when she was done. The girl - her name was Stila - took a glance at the small boy addressing her, saw rags and dishevelled hair and patient, thoughtful black eyes set in a pallid face, looked back to the tree and took hold of the quiver's last arrow, placed it into the bow, and fired. The target escaped her projectile by more than two meters. She frowned, then tossed the bow in Teirga's general direction as she ran off to play with a few other girls on the other side of the courtyard. Teirga picked up the bow, and went to retrieve a few of the arrows that were littered throughout the field, as the girl had shot the last one. He found five, and slowly walked back to where all the others were standing moments ago in a small mob, all but two were gone. The youth's attentions could be just as easily averted as they had been caught. Only Seyn and his brother remained. Even Harnakht had left. Teirga fixed the arrow into it's bow, drawing it back. A few children watched from their respective areas of the courtyard. He paused, staring at the tree ahead of him, resolute. Quiet. He let go. The weapon took flight... Miss. Off by less than an inch. The arrow nearly grazed the tree's rough bark. Seyn blinked. The other boy's brow furrowed. A few more children took notice. No one had hit so far, but no one had come that close either. Teirga took out another arrow, shot again. Miss. Almost exactly the same as before, except perhaps an inch farther away from the mark. "Luck." said a voice behind him. "Try that again, Tei," said another. "Hey, you almost got it!" exclaimed a third. Teirga spun around to face three new boys in addition to the first two, standing behind him in sudden contemplation. A growing number of teens were watching from around the field - the facilities youth began to spectate. The girl who had used the arrow before him turned now, in response to the beckonings of her friend, and glared at Teirga with condescension and contempt. That coarse little boy, not a penny to his name - ragged and unkempt with neither mother nor father, just a meager piece of refuse that the orphanage was obligated to deal with until one of the predators finally ended his miserable life; an uneducated working-class vagabond. How was it that he could wield the weapon? This same thought flashed through the minds of the other children, coupled with the fact that no one could handle a bow, --at least not in That way-- and that a basic rule of warfare was the incompetence of an arrow in flight. Never sure in it's course, always inaccurate, only to be used in group-fire at long range and not at all in close quarters. The crowd grew. Harnakht watched.. as did Seyn as did Vennitex and Quro and Seyn's brother and the other children and teens scattered throughout the courtyard of the training facility. They saw him kneel, and pick up an arrow. They watched him place it into the bow, and draw back it's chord. They watched him. Stila frowned. Teirga fired, aiming several centimetres to the right of where he intended to contact. The arrow slid cleanly through a hundred paces of air, nearly silent in it's scudding flight. All that was audible was a soft hum, high in pitch, apparent and gone as soon as it was detected. A grey shaft struck the tree dead centre. Its silvery head imbedded deeply into the relenting wood of its target; lodged so strongly that no man could have drawn it forth without the aid of awl or axe. Pieces of bark cracked, split off and fell down from where the projectile had hit. Teirga smiled, took out another arrow, and shot again. Once more the tree was wounded, just above it's previous blow. Harnakht grinned outright. Seyn shook his head, thoroughly perplexed. To Teirga's right, an older girl asked him to show her how he aimed. At least four other voices enquired the exact same thing. Someone told him to back up and see of he do it from farther away. Another swore it was all freak luck. The group around him was suddenly afire with words, declarations, and excitement. Arrows were fast. They could shoot over long distances. They were stealthy. A unit of soldiers could lie in camouflage, all aim for a particular foe when a herd of carnivores was reported to be passing through and bring them all down at once, before the animals could even react! The sheer absurdity and flaws in the aforementioned argument were many, but this did not matter to the children. What did matter was that this lowly child, peasant by birth.. He, of all people, showed marksmanship that not even an adult could approach. A hand shot out, grabbed Teirga by the neckline of his shirt, and closed into a tight fist around the fabric; belonging to Harnakht. The group fell silent. With ease he hoisted the startled youth up into the air, and smirked, peering at him with small, pig-like eyes. "It's my bow, kid. I stole it, and now you're going to teach me to use it just like you do." Teirga sneered and squirmed, struggling to free himself. The other children backed off. Harnakht was a fighter. No one crossed him. "Show me how you did that, kid." His grip tightened. His other hand reached for the bow still held in Teirga's fingers - Teirga swore at him. Harnakht frowned. His other hand retracted itself, and closed. An uppercut collided with Teirga's stomach. Harnakht's victim coughed, gasped. His head hung down. His breath came in short, quick inhales. The other children looked on dumbly, as spectators. Harnakht's arm outstretched again to take the bow . . A single word stopped him. The voice behind it was thick and deep. Heavy. Stern. It spoke but two syllables, not intended as a shout, but it could easily have been mistaken for one from all the volume that it carried.
"ARCHER."
Harnakht froze, then released the child in his grasp. Teirga hit the ground back first, then scrambled awkwardly to his feet. Small huffing sounds accompanied his respiration - his abdomen felt like it had been dealt a blow with a club. Everyone stood at attention. Everyone looked South to the main doors of the facility, and the adults standing there, watching them. One stood out among the rest; it was he who had spoken. The man was tall. Black skin, deep black, like ebony. Muscle collected in grotesque bulges at his arms, which were crossed firmly over a great barrel chest. Dark blue pants were the only clothing he wore. A scar on his right shoulder. Hairless, save for grey wisps of eyebrow and the ragged beard on his face. Thick lips.. a fat nose and a lean square jaw. White eyes, milky as pearls, scrutinized the children. He was known as Bax. "Step forward, Archer." Teirga did as he was told, and stood before the black man, trying not to let his fright show. Bax was headmaster of the facility, due to his prowess as a trainer and warrior. He excelled as both, the latter especially. He killed off beasts by the dozen, and was ever-present in the front lines, always in the centre of battle, and always emerging unscathed. His screams would echo throughout the melee, as would the sickening crunches and noises of his axe as it would plunge, slash, cut, tear away at some miserable creature's body, turning it instantly into a corpse. He was fast. He was strong. He was one of the best. "What is your name?" Teirga swallowed, finally having caught his breath, although still feeling pain in his abs. "Teirga." Bax nodded, still staring. "Cabin." "Sixty-seven." The black man smiled. "I am impressed, Teirga. No one can use the bow and arrows in the way you have demonstrated." He paused. The adults behind him stood with ennui, as if waiting for an outcome, which they saw as inevitable. In truth, he was too, but with considerably more interest than they. Teirga looked down, not saying anything. "You are to Stand at Attention." Teirga looked back up before this sentence was even completed - the children heard it spoken to them often, though usually only the younger ones. His posture straightened. Bax frowned. Behind him the adults murmured something amongst themselves. His voice rang out again, clear throughout the courtyard. "I wish to see it again. With a different target." his mighty arms unfolded from their resting place over his chest and his right fist opened itself. Bax looked down from his great height at the small child whom he dwarfed, "With this." A metal sphere glistened sharply in the palm of his hand. It was used commonly by smiths. A soft alloy, used for sharpening swords, called a Galt. Teirga gazed at it, already knowing what his superior was about to do. "Raise your bow, and aim for the skies." Bax watched the child retrieve an arrow from the quiver which lay on the ground beside him, set it into his bow, stretch taut it's chord, and raise the two instruments in unison to point a silver-tipped shaft at the heavens. Clouds skirted faintly overhead, governed by wind that blew in spasmodic gusts, disturbing the trees nearby, causing them to rustle and whisper every few seconds or so.. it dropped to a breeze and crept through the courtyard, winding along the building's wall, weaving inbetwixt the adults there, making them shiver and curse.. . upsetting dead leaves, making the grass bend in it's wake. The children it could not affect - they stood rigid and silent in obedience to their headmaster's command as it passed them by, almost soundless, with scarcely a touch to their bodies. Bax closed his hand around the Galt. The breeze ceased, turned into still air. "Hit this, and you are excused from punishment." Teirga swallowed, his eyes on the sky.. waiting. Bax smiled. "Archery is forbidden to children.. so if you fail, you will be dealt with accordingly." His grip tightened around the metal, and his hand went to his waist. He did not approve of liars and trickery, especially not in a facility whose training would end up crucial to a person's survival. He would end this charade in a matter of seconds, though not before reinstating to the evidently naiive and impressionable youth that archers Died when parted from their swords - that arrows were good for inaccurate long-range fire, and Nothing Else. Then he would interrogate Teirga as to exactly how he had accomplished this little ruse. And then, the child would be punished. Bax threw the sphere. A blur flew into Teirga's vision - his arms moved, leveled their weapon - aimed for the space two feet in front of the glimmering metal that raced like a gnat through the air, speeding upwards.. fifty meters away... one-hundred ..... one-fifty........ The arrow shot up after it. A few seconds passed. Bax stared at the sky. Frowning. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out another sphere. "Again." Teirga barely had time to blink before he had to turn west, and try once more to hit that impossible target... that tiny orb that shrank away rapidly from his vision, chased by an arrow that proceeded to do the same. Bax scowled, still watching the sky. The wind resurrected itself, gave a sturdy blow, and raced out of the courtyard, disrupting the scene with an abhorrent wail.. fleeing that place almost as fast as the projectiles preceeding it. He turned back to Teirga, and stared at the boy for a long moment. Each try had been a miss... just as he had predicted.... but .. .. . Each a miss by several millimeters. The adults hadn't seen. They were still standing, disinterested, some distance away. The children hadn't seen - they had been facing forward the entire time, not even daring to cast a sidelong glance at the things going on around them. Teirga was standing still, his shoulders slumped, as thin and unsure and ragged as always, regarding Bax with cautious dark eyes.. waiting for the next change of events, which would surely contain in them some sort of consequence for him... containing physical pain, no doubt. "Dismissed." Bax said. The children began to leave for thier cabins, scattering like glass under a hammer-blow. The adults supervised them, following closely. "Except for Harnakht and Teirga." Both boys stopped in their tracks. The others left without a word, abandoning them without hesitation.. thankful to be excluded from the black man's sentence. Bax's deep voice carried a slight echo as it filled the now-empty field. His words held their usual intimidating tone. "Harnakht, you are to walk the bogs, thrice. Once for stealing the weapon, again for firing it within the confines of My facility, and yet again for striking the boy." The black man grinned smoothly. "And in the unlikely event that you should emerge unscathed, I will deal with you personally. That I promise." Harnakht showed no outward manifestation of his fear - the bogs were dangerous. Predators roamed there at times... . and though adept when fighting with fists, his skills with the sword were lacking.. . . "Report to me at when the night is done. I want to examine your wounds." The teenager nodded, saying not a word. "Dismissed." Harnakht hastily left. Bax looked at the sole child left standing before him for a long moment. A cloud low in the sky ended it's obstruction of the sun, and morning light stained the field a dusky yellow .. then receded again to the perpetual grayness of before. Teirga peered back at him incredulously, wondering exactly what sort of punishment was is store for him. And Bax smiled, flashing white teeth that shone like quartz in his coal-colored face. "Come with me." And he turned right, and began to walk for the facilities exit, not bothering to look back, as the youths always followed his every order and command. Teirga paused, and then did as he was told. The facilities heavy metal doors groaned, opening moments later.. and the two walked out of that place - the towering black man, walking with erect posture, confident in bearing and stride.. and the small peasant boy quickly pacing at his side to keep up. One spoke, while the other listened. The doors slammed shut.