Without a knock, or even hesitation, Plackart pushed through the door.

The barn’s interior consisted mainly of a single room, with a high ceiling and large walls about the perimeter. These walls were barely visible, however, due to the stacks upon stacks of barrels, boxes, and crates piled upon each other. On the far side of the room was a stone hearth, with a meagre fire blazing within. Sitting around this was a small group of Humans, their pale faces turned towards the Simian intruders.

Farris’s throat immediately went dry as he drew closer to the group. At the front, was one elderly man with an ill-fitting chainmail coif around his head and shoulders. Next to him stood a burly middle-aged man who gripped a spear in trembling hands. Behind him was a woman of a similar age, who stood before two young children, as if to shield them against the Simians who had barged into their home.

“I am General-Commander Plackart of the Triad,” boomed the Simian’s voice as he approached. “The army of the Triad has need of the grain and provisions of Point Grey left behind by the horde. If you—”

The middle-aged man spat on the ground. “You think you can come in here and steal from us? After all that’s happened?”

Plackart paused. “If you were to let me finish, we have ships that can take you to Penance in return, where your needs will be looked after.”

The old man stepped forward. “This farm has been in my family for generations. The stars themselves will fall before we hand it over to you rats!”

Farris grimaced. Please. Just listen to us. Please.

“You do not have any choice in the matter,” said Plackart, gesturing to the piles of crates around them. “These supplies are surely too much for a small family and will spoil before you can put them to use. The army of the Triad however could—”

“You can’t take it!” cried the middle-aged man. He moved to stand in front of his family. The spear in his hands was no longer shaking but raised towards Plackart. “Are you really going to kill a family of farmers for some food?”

Please. Let them see reason. Gods, let them see why it’s so important for them to listen.

It took Farris more than a moment to realise he was praying. He was actually praying.

“We’ve fought off worse than you,” said the woman. “We’ve protected this farm from crop blight and drought. Infestations of weevils and mice. Even the undead army came and went, and we stood through it all.”

“Exactly,” said the old man. “And what’s a few armoured rats compared to the mass of the undead?”

Farris closed his eyes. Please, let them see reason. Just let them give us what we need.

Plackart took his greatsword into his hands. Its blade was as longer than the armed man was tall, and thicker than the elderly man was wide.

“We will not ask again,” said Plackart. “In the name of the Triad, I command you give us control of your supplies. We wish to resolve this peacefully.”

But the family stood strong.

Of course. This is their home. This is the fruits of their labour. Why would they listen to us? We are strangers… intruders… no different than the Firstborn four hundred years ago.

He closed his eyes. There must be another way. Another solution. Perhaps we can take just half, or offer to purchase a volume or—

A creak of wood overhead disrupted Farris’s trail of thought. He opened his eyes but dared not look up. Instead, he saw the middle-aged man glance upwards for a moment, then back at Plackart.

Something’s wrong. Farris shifted the grip on his halberd.

Closing his eyes again, he focused on the sound overhead. Somewhere between the beats of his pounding heart, he heard it again. A slight creak, like a foot upon a wooden beam. Then came the faint sound of a sharp intake of breath. Farris bent his knees, ready now for what was to come.

A dark shape fell from the ceiling, plummeting towards Plackart’s head. As soon as it came into view, however, Farris leapt, swinging his halberd towards it. With a sharp yell, the dark shape fell aside, the light of the fire revealing it as a young lad clutching a dagger in two hands. He wore a simple white shirt, stained heavily with blood pouring from his waist.

Farris glanced down at his own weapon; the axe-head covered in the blood of the boy.

“No,” Farris whimpered.

The woman screamed, clutching the two children into her body. Both Humans ran towards Plackart, the younger plunging the spear towards him.

“No!” roared Farris. “We can—”

But the Commander’s greatsword was already in motion. With a deft forward movement, Plackart swung the blade in a large arc, striking both men at once. The two fell, and the woman’s screams were joined by those of the children.

“No!!” Farris cried. He dropped to his knees. The stone hearth was stained with blood. The body of the younger lad still twitched in the light of the fire.

“As I said,” continued Plackart, as if there was no interruption. “You will be compensated and re-housed in Penance in exchange for these provisions. Do I make myself clear?”

The woman barely managed to nod her head, which was enough for Plackart to give the order to the other scouts to send news to Penance they had succeeded.

But Farris’s eyes remained fixed on the body of the young lad as it went still.

Was there anything I could have said? Was there anything I could have done?

But he knew, perhaps he had always known that there was no way for this to end, other than through bloodshed. Part of him had to admit that this was the only way. As Cathbad would have said, it was just something that had to be done.

And when he found himself agreeing with the old Arch-Canon, Farris hated himself even more.

Chapter 5:

From His Lips

As a child, I always knew I was different. Indeed, those who knew of the mysterious circumstance of my birth would stare and whisper in my presence. But from an early age, I could feel Seletoth’s presence, as if He was an ever-present father helping to raise me. Then He began to speak to me, and from Him, I learned that I was capable of manipulating the elements of the land through magic. He showed me that this was a talent also latent in my peers.

As I taught them how to manipulate Nature and Her fruits, many others came from afar to learn too.

By the age of sixteen, I was the closest our dispersed community had to a leader.

And by seventeen, they made me king.

The Truth, by King Móráin I, AC55

***

Fionn sat in the council room of the house of the Triad. He leaned forward, forearms resting on his lap with both hands clasped. He kept the heel of his left foot raised, and his left knee jittered with anxiety.

What’s taking them so long, Bearach asked. Surely, they would have arrived by now?

The atmosphere of the council hall indicated the others present shared the same concern as the knight. Members of the council surrounded the table, some sitting, others standing, all with eyes fixed upon the single crystallographer sitting at the far end.

The crystallographer tended to a curious apparatus roughly the size of a hand-organ. Embedded in the centre of it was a chunk of white crystal. Filaments of wire encircled the crystal and reached out to connect to the rest of the box at various spots. Through a hole on the side, the crystallographer rested one hand; the other held a Simian-inkpen, ready to relay whatever message came.

Magic in one hand, Simian technology in the other, thought Fionn. He had a rudimentary understanding of how the crystal amplifier worked, though its name was somewhat of a misnomer. At any moment now, a moment for which everyone waited with bated breath, that crystal would begin to resonate with a pattern sent from one of the ships sent out to Point Grey. Using a code known and understood by both crystallographers at either end of the communication, this would be translated into a word, phrase, or even a full report. The pattern of a resonance crystal would typically be too fast for even the most talented mage to read, but the amplifier would take the signal from the crystal and send a slower version to the crystallographer’s hand via a prodding rod. With the fingers of this hand, the crystallographer would be able to speed up, slow down, or repeat specific parts of the message, all while transcribing the message with the other hand.

Fionn had always struggled in the translation part, let alone interpreting and communicating a message simultaneously. Playing with fire was a far more interesting use of magic.