Chapter 1: The King of Gol
Year: 7097/03
“He needs to be prepared, Hellen,” the old man said in feverous hushed tones, needing to drive to the point.
“What for, Lor? He isn't sick, what could he possibly need to prepare for?” said Hellen in a strained voice, her disease had hit her throat more than the old soldiers.
“They took Dill, didn't they?”
“Dill was sick, he isn't!” she hissed,
“What do you think they are going to do with him when we are gone? Just leave him here? Keep the outpost going just because he is still here?” trying to show reason.
“What if they come down for him, maybe that’s the best thing that we can do for him. He isn't sick, Lor, they could care for him, give him a proper upbringing, get him off of this god-forsaken rock and hand him a future”
“Then why haven't they, eh?”
“I don't know, I am not friendly with them like you are, why don’t you ask them?” she accused.
“She at least knows that something has to be done, Hellen!” there was a scuffle that told Meno that she had tried animatedly to stop him from speaking so loud, probably with the closest thing she could pick up with a threat of bonking him on the head.
“Shhhh ! You will wake him,”. He gave a small chuckle. “He’s been listening to us this entire time, my dear, haven't you boy?” Meno did not stir, he did not want to explain yet again that he was not going to go, he knew how childish it sounded. It wasn't because he was afraid of the world outside, it did in fact, excite him a great deal, the stories that he had heard had painted a rich tapestry of the Galaxy and he wanted to see it, he wanted to see it all, but not at the cost of these two. He also didn't stir because he didn't want to get in the middle of this repeated argument, being used as a prop to showcase one’s point to the other, pinballing between the two while not being offered an opinion by either. Old cranks, he thought with a smile.
“You see” Hellen whispered, “He sleeps strongly that one, he works hard and he rests harder” Meno could hear that she was smiling, she always did when she delivered that line. “But really, Lor, I know that she might, but what if she can’t? If he leaves this place and they see that as a crime then his entire life disappears before him” This argument had been revisited countless times, more and more recently with their deteriorating health. It made Meno uncomfortable, it made him sad, and he didn't want to focus on a time without them.
“There is not much that she is incapable of, trust me”
“She clearly can’t see that bloody kettle on my window sill, can she?”
*
“You aren't concentrating” Hellen snapped to Meno the next day, “You need to feel like the air rushing through the body, fortifying and empowering every part, it should feel like you can push it out from every pore” she explained. “Again!”. The rooms that they sat in were Meno’s classroom, training room, and recreation room. It had been converted for him some time ago and it held his makeshift training equipment, books that belonged to Swan, who had passed some years back now. All of them were written by Swan himself, in his own hand as nothing was permitted to be brought to this town when they all first arrived. Meno had read every volume, some of them multiple times. They were after all the life work of a man who had dedicated himself to the pursuit of knowledge but had no way of expressing its great power, or artistry to the world. He had always seemed to long for some great debate that he could have with the people of Gol, and Meno had often wondered if he had written the books in order to arm his hoped-for opponent.
He had taught Meno of course, but Meno had been young then, and some of the concepts were complex, so he had left the books for him, knowing that the writing would last longer than he did. He was unfortunately right. The Professor had been a strange man, to say the least. He had ranted and raved about how political structures were warped and manipulated to serve the Autarch, and how tech was eroding people's talents and potential. He drove most of the town mad with it, but he was a man of deep compassion, Meno knew. He didn't go off on a tangent because it didn't fit into a great order that he believed should exist, some type of design that was off and caused his anxiety to tick. No, he said it because of the injustices that he perceived, as limiting people.
‘One should be very careful in agreeing to limitation, for it creeps up and tightens around you. Soon, your perceived freedom is at the permission of someone else’
He seemed to have a slight block in terms of being able to deal with people in a ‘regular’ - as Hellen would say - way, but he had always done everything that he could for the people in Gol. He had fixed water systems and made soap, and also showed the best way to stimulate the growth of the mushrooms on the outskirts of town. A food source that had become their mainstay. There were no animals on Gol, no fields. The disease had done away with all of that.
The only piece of furniture in the room was an old wooden table, that bore the marks of being repaired multiple times, with a wooden chair that Hellen now sat on. Despite the disease, she was still a robust woman, strong, very opinionated and above all, kind. She wore a ragged old dress that came up to her knees and shoes that had been sown over countless times, Meno wasn't even sure what the original colour was. She had wide eyes that were now almost always strained in her struggle for sight and a button nose that sat above her ever-smiling mouth. She wasn't always smiling, she just had a face that looked it.
‘I was blessed with a cheery disposition’ she would prooudly say. Then proceed to throw a pan at you.
The room retained a green tinge from the light that came through the fog. The fog, hung over the town, a town in a valley, poisoned and cursed by disease. She had struggled with her movement for some time now, and she wheezed even in this position, her plump seeming to drag her down. She occasionally brought a handkerchief up to her nose, but merely held it there as she watched Meno more than blew her nose.
He was sitting on the floor, his legs crossed and eyes closed as he focused on drawing in the energy, and expressing it outwards. He focused on pulling it into a centre point of his body, feeling slight tingles within him, and then expressing those outward, and then repeating the process. He had been running through this training for years now. ‘You draw out the natural energy within yourself that is held in every cell in your body, you use this energy and push it out of yourself. Then once that energy alters the natural energies around you, you draw it back in and empower yourself. This gives you great strength, this is Heu.’ she would say as though this was the most sensical thing in the known galaxy.
He sat without his shirt on, not wanting to dirty it with sweat. Soap was something that needed to be made, they did receive some from the soldiers that kept them in this town, but it wasn't much and not often. A small little block for three people, and it stung when used.
Meno was seventeen, or eighteen they believed, nobody really knew. He had been dropped off on the outskirts of the town as a baby, wrapped in a rag and nothing else. The town had taken him in, they cared for and raised him, and they taught him how to read, write, do arithmetic and think. The town had taken its effect on him, his skin was a sickly colour, having not seen much of the sun, and the fog that engulfed the town often didn't let much through. His hair was tied up in rat tails that generally held themselves in position nowadays, but despite the shaggy appearance he was strong, well built from the training that he had received from Hellen and Mr. Dimitri and his eyes held a sharpness and eagerness, something that was always noted by Swan.
“Are you sure I’m not doing it?” Meno said indignantly, his eyes still closed. She chuckled, he opened his eyes and looked at her deeply. Her skin had greyed now, her eyes cataraxed, her hair was rat-tailed, and her dress had lost all colour, some time ago now. Though she remained plump, and had the kindest face he had ever known. Though he had only ever known just shy of forty faces in his life. He remembered all of them.
“Why don’t we try again tomorrow” she said with a kind smile, “Maybe you will get it then” Came the mantra that ended all of the sessions in this training. She knew that if she had told him he didn't have the talent, he would reject it, and would continue trying anyway, ‘I don't know where you get that from’ she would say knowing all too well.
Meno knew that she had only kept this up as a kindness to him, a request from him to keep trying. Swan had always said if you are going to fail at anything, fail at giving up. Meno had always thought that it was quite sappy but appreciated the sentiment. He would always deliver a thumbs up after this and would receive blank faces staring back at his eager one. That had been the first time that Meno realised that Professor Swan was not, cool. He took the words though, they did resonate with him.
“Alright” Meno said jumping up from his spot and stretching his arms into the air, “I really feel like I’m getting it though” It was true, many a time he had mentioned to her that he felt deeply refreshed after his attempts, he put it down to bring the energy into himself, she on the other hand would tell him it was from him sitting still and not doing anything for some time. He was not one for sitting around, and so he had conceded, but the feeling had always remained.
“So? Are you a master yet?” said Mr. Dimitri from the door,
“No,” she said
“Almost,” he said. Mr. Dimitri smiled weakly. He was once a grand soldier in the armies of the Hulfaen, the old King’s army. He still held the personality of a soldier, strong, firm and disciplined, but his body had sunken with the disease. He now stood hunch-backed looking at Meno, leaning on his walking stick that he carried everywhere now. His hair had become wispy and his skin clung to his bones loosely. His eyes, however, never lost their look of determination, their focus.
“Well, let’s see if that mastery has diminished the rest of your abilities, or added to them” he wheezed as he stepped in through the door.
“I’ll get supper started for us,” said Hellen, standing from her chair with effort. Meno knew that she didn't want the help, but he stepped forward and offered his hand, “I’m fine dear” she said, not looking at him. It was only midday, but with her movements being slow, the soup took some time. They were limited in their little village, so the soup was a mix of herbs and mushrooms that were foraged. Meno naturally foraged these himself, first thing in the mornings, a duty he had taken upon himself a few years back now. He had watched her try and move to the edge of town with difficulty then, and she moved much better than she did now.
“Now, let’s begin with the first form, and focus on Hellen’s training while you are doing it” said the old soldier who stood with his back against the wall, ready to analyze Meno’s movements as he lowered to a half crouch and thrust his fist forward to start, form one. This was a usual practice from Mr. Dimitri, repetition of the first forms before training started, Meno never minded. It was a reminder of the man's past, his former days as a soldier dictated how he lived his life, and how he trained Meno. He was sometimes subject to low moods when he thought that Meno did not notice him watching. Looking over Meno with deep pity and sadness, something that he would immediately pull away from when he knew that he was being observed.
This was not a man that felt any comfort in showing emotion and was always concerned more with others, and keeping theirs up. He would go to the sick of this village when they battled through their last breaths, telling them that all would be okay and that he would handle things, they no longer needed to strain themselves. He was a man who was ready to shoulder others' burdens, not out of shame of that person being unable to carry it themselves, but almost as though he saw this as his duty to those people. It was no crime that he was trying to pay off, but rather, as Hellen would say, the mark of a man of true service. Meno admired this about the old soldier, that he would in the face of inevitable pain and death, rise early, look for where he could help, what load he could take on and how he could better the lives of those around him.
Meno endeavoured to learn as much from him as he could and had always felt a small tinge of guilt that he preferred that Mr. Dimitri and Hellen had lasted longer than the others. He had loved them all, even the ones that did not have as much time for him as he did for them, but Mr. Dimitri was his first hero, mentor and trainer, and Hellen, was his defacto mother, though she would never say as much.
Hellen had stayed out of the way during Mr. Dimitri’s training, and gave the impression that she did not like that he was receiving it, but knew that it was important. The two trainings were meant to be combined, drawing in the energy and then using it to strengthen one's muscles and reflexes, but Hellen never liked the ‘fighting’ focus of it all. Meno knew that this had been an argument previously, but he thought that she had conceded knowing that the man was a soldier. Or she had compromised on this to win another argument, that is a far more likely scenario.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
‘He’s too young to be a soldier, Yor’ would come the words from Professor Swan, when Meno was still only around 5 or 6,
‘He doesn't seem to believe you’ would reply the old soldier in response to Meno’s willingness to be all that Yor Dimitri was and embodied.
“What are you finding difficult with Hellen’s training?” he asked while walking with his stick around Meno who knew too well not to stop his training, lest he be smacked with said stick. The man may have been feeble now, but he still swung that stick with the vigour of a much stronger man.
“I’m trying to figure it out” he replied with strain as he did pushups with rocks from the stream atop his back. “I feel like I am doing it, but I am not pushing any energy out” The old man considered this,
“Why do you feel like it’s working?”
“Internally…” Meno breathed out sharply and in again as he pushed up with his arms, “I feel everything that Hellen says I should feel” he relaxed in his push for a moment and Mr. Dimitri placed the end of his walking stick on the rocks and pushed down, Meno exasperatedly laughed and continued, “It’s just that it…it doesn't reflect outwardly”
“It is a complex training that she offers, one that not everyone is capable of…”
“Well, I am!” the old man chuckled,
“Then tell me how you can accomplish it” Meno considered this for a moment. There was no such thing as ‘unable’ or ‘inability’ with Mr. Dimitri. He would never allow for such a thing to be said. There was only the problem and figuring out how to overcome it.
“I will” Meno said, not an answer without explanation of how he would do this, but that he would endeavour to develop a plan to overcome the challenge.
“Good. You need more rocks, you have outgrown this weight, before dinner I want you to go and get three large ones from the stream” Meno stopped himself from swearing loudly, and hung his head.
“Yeah…okay”
*
Meno collected all of the rocks from the stream and placed them outside of the training room after his training with Mr. Dimitri. He had walked through the town that he knew so well. Meno had been raised by the entire town of Gol, a town named for the moon that it was on. An old timber town that was held by the fog. They had all been placed within the fence that surrounded Gol, keeping them in, with the small military outpost hidden within the forest just outside the boundary. It held three or four guards at any time. Some of the towns folk, the old crow, had told him that the fences went up first, and then the mist had descended. Meno smiled thinking of Dot, she hated everything.
He had grabbed a book from the training room and then made his way home after stopping by the stream once more to wash off. The waters were cold in the shallow stream. There were no fish, no frogs, no sign of life in the waters at all. He made his way back, following the scent of the soup that Hellen had been making.
“Reading that one again?” she said to him as he poured over one of Professor Swan’s books at the dinner table. Meno had collected the rocks and placed them before the training house for review the next morning before he had come home and washed himself, now sitting at the table with his hair still damp he was pouring over a book, sure that it would give him some clue as to how to accomplish his goal of completing Hellen’s training. He looked up at her as she shuffled her bowl over to the table, Mr. Dimitri and himself both had theirs in front of them already.
“He’s the one, isn't he? The best, Professor Swan always said” Meno said trying to find any clue on the pages that would lead him to a possible answer.
“That thing caused nothing but trouble, he did” she said laying her tattered napkin down on her lap as she began eating. The ‘thing’ that she referred to was a young boy, the story that Professor Swan had written down at the request of Meno, the story of the last Sha-En, who in response to his House being destroyed by the Kryptea had overcome them in a single battle.
Meno had asked many times whether the story was real or not, to which he received the answer, ‘no, of course not’ from Hellen, and ‘Yes, of course, though it has been embellished somewhat’ from Professor Swan, and ‘There were always rumours’ from Mr. Dimitri. It was a broadly discussed story in the town and was often put down as a way to mark the awful crimes of the Kryptea. After all, it was a fact that they had destroyed House Sha-En and had therefore incurred their punishment from the Autarch of service to the throne. It was a way for people to understand the story and sympathise with the Sha-En. The story was only some thirty years old or so, though Professor Swan had said that it was reminiscent of many stories from memoriam, a young boy, taking revenge for the crimes committed against his people and was probably some form of retelling for modern-day purposes.
“They say, that he was the most accomplished at wielding Heu, something that you are trying very hard to teach me” he said cheekily, which was always a risk with her.
“By they, you mean Swan” she said sharply, “He filled your head with too much nonsense” she admonished dismissively. Meno merely smiled at this as she dipped her head down and focused on eating. She had always been like this, she had never had any time for ‘nonsense’ like philosophy, theory or anything that could not deliver tangible results. She was pragmatic and believed in hard work as the only measure of a person's worth. She would work until absolute exhaustion and then sleep with a smile that night. She had had children herself, children that she was taken away from when brought to this place. She had been a House Maid, though she had never shared with Meno which house, nor which persons she was in service to. Dot, who had been Hellen’s closest friend while she was alive, an older nutty lady with a cackle of a laugh and a sharp word delivered with a smile to anyone she deemed worthy of it had told him once that she had been sent here for a crime that she had committed against the family that she served and was therefore ashamed to even mention them as not to bring shame upon that family.
‘They twisted her mind you see little thing, she still feels beholden to them, even though they threw her in with us. Rotten little stinkers, the whole lot of ‘em’ she had said in secret while foraging for mushrooms in Meno’s youth. He had decided then that Hellen’s story was none of his business, and that he would not allow anything that happened off Gol to dictate his feelings toward the people that cared for him,
“Regardless, even if it is nonsense, there is always some truth in stories, right?”
“Yes, well, he also doesn’t exist, so perhaps if you just try harder,” she said with a cocked eyebrow at him, though a smile was being held back.
*
Meno stabbed the shovel into the ground and wiped his forehead, his calloused hands no longer bleed, they no longer opened at the labour of digging graves. He looked down at the now-filled earth and exhaled deeply. His eyes shifted to Hellen Milton’s neighbours, just stones to mark their graves, no names attached to them, there was no need, nobody would ever come back for them here, but Meno knew who rested in each, he knew their names, their stories, their teachings. These were the people that had raised him. Sixty-two was the total now. Meno had not dug all of the graves, he was too young when some of them had succumbed, but his number was now thirty-seven graves, that had been dug, and filled by his hands.
He placed his hands together to offer a prayer of thanks to Hellen, the woman who had taught him how to read and write and cook, the woman who had shown him how to clean clothing, and most of all, how to care for others. She had taken care of all of them, for so long she had held off the effects of the disease. Always put a smile on her face, always giving a quick smile and an ‘I have it dear’ to whoever was about to stand to help. She had been so strong for all of them, she had been so strong for Meno.
“I’m sorry, boy” Mr. Dimitri’s frail voice carried in the silence,
“What do you have to be sorry for, Mr. Dimitri” Meno said turning with the hint of a smile on his face, “We both lost her, just you and me now. I’m just glad she didn't suffer too long in the end” Meno knew that these words weren’t true, and he saw in Mr. Dimitri’s eyes that he had known it too. She had been in pain for years. Just as he was now, and had been for some time. He had been trying to stand straight, as he always did when they buried one of their comrades. In respect, like a military man would. It was difficult for him now.
“This will be your last grave, my boy” The words made Meno’s heart sink. He knew that Mr. Dimitri would force him to make an escape from this place now, but he couldn't think of abandoning the old man.
“Think I’m going to just run off? Or are you planning on living forever?” Mr. Dimitri looked at him sternly as he said this. “Come on, I’ll make you some supper,” Meno said with a smile, wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible. He glanced one more time at Helen’s grave, he felt her loss already, he didn't have a chance to say goodbye last night. “How do you plan to survive without me, old man, you can’t even make soup”
It took time to walk Mr. Dimitri back into the misty town where the houses had started to fall apart with the moisture that clung to this town. There were days when you couldn't even see the house across the street from you it was that thick, even though they were only a few meters away from each other. There was no point in maintaining all of the houses, and therefore Meno hadn’t. The three of them had been all that was left for the last five months. So they had moved into one house, Hellen’s. It wasn't because it was the biggest house, it was because it felt like home, even for the old soldier at Meno’s side.
“You will need to continue your training even without Hellen” said the old man, moving his stick in place one of his legs that he had lost some more movement in recently.
“I will” said Meno trying not to show how emotional he felt. He was trying hard not to think of missing her, but rather to be grateful for the time that he had had with her. Something that she had taught him when they had lost Dot.
Meno looked back fondly at his ‘school’ that they passed now. He had removed the doors from it years ago, to send invitations to passers-by to join him and tell him about their lives and teach him what they could. He loved learning about the outside world from all of them, loved hearing about the different peoples and about the history of the Universe and how it worked, it seemed so big outside of his little town of Gol. He had not always been the best student to some of the townspeople, sometimes sneaking out and hiding in the forest to think on the lessons he did appreciate:
‘He’s obstinate, and doesn't pay attention’ would say, Dot, who wanted to teach him how to sow and gossip,
‘Always making up excuses or creating ruckus to make an escape’ was a major complaint of Frederick who tried to teach him the value of following the orders of authority.
‘He has no potential whatsoever, can’t even sit through a lecture on how to behave, and he called me a bitch!’ said Eric, the zoologist.
‘So, stands up for himself, resourceful and focused?’ Meno smiled remembering this, she had always supported him, even when he was being obstinate, dismissive or a know-it-all.
The town had lived in stasis for all of Meno’s life, the guards in military uniform patrolled the fence in their masks with their guns, the population diminishing at its steady pace with the losses of all of his friends. The people that had brought him up in a doomed world, but still chose to take the time to teach him all they knew, and never let him rest in complacency.
The losses always hit Meno hard, but tried to hide how much they hit him, though, it was noticed. Mr Dimitri would regale stories to comfort Meno during those losses, stories of the legendary Kryptea and their Silent Army, the triumph of the Autarch and the War King over the old god-king, of the great empire of Sha-En and the last living child who would set war into motion, the Empire on the other side of the universe that favoured poetry and peace above all things. Mr. Dimitri always gave particular attention to his favourite subject of the old Hulfean war god Locne and his triumphs from millennia before. Stories of how his armies swept through systems and triumphed over great evils and injustices. The old man would enjoy telling him the stories, even though it meant a harsh word from some of the other townspeople, especially Hellen who never wanted Meno to learn anything about the conflicts of the universe and wanted him to focus more on how to take care of himself, and be a good citizen,
‘War is for tyrants and bastards’ Hellen would always say, ‘You be a good lad and you take care of your own, don't worry about people who fight, it’s all they will ever do’. She was always telling Meno to put his head down and make sure that he didn't cause a fuss. Then would inevitably cover for him once he did cause a fuss.
He remembered that she would also tell him tales of giants, vampires, ghosts and of course, the boogeyman that would ensnare kings and turn empires. He found himself already missing her telling him stories, it had been years since she had, but he longed for it now, just to hear her voice.
Their dinner was quiet, calm and just what they both needed. They did not ignore one another but were rather, giving each other the space that they both needed to reflect on Hellen’s passing. After dinner, Meno helped the old man into his room and wiped down the surfaces as Hellen would have. Not that it was ever necessary as Mr. Dimitri had always been a clean and neat person. His belongings were few and the room contained only a small bed and a wooden chair where his clothing was folded. The old man now refolded them as Meno took the old cloth across the window sill. He didn't say anything.
Meno wished him a good night and made his way to his own room, not wanting to leave the old man, but knowing that fussing over him would do nothing for either. He was scared now. Meno was no fool, and he had always known that Gol was a doomed place, that it would one day come to an end with only him left in the town. He just hadn't expected it to come as fast as it had.
He prepared himself for the conversation that he knew was coming the next morning. Mr. Dimitri would tell him that it was time to leave. He knew in his heart, that he would have to.
The next morning Meno woke with the sunrise, he had always been an early riser, this morning felt strained to him though. He had tossed and turned in his bed that night, moving through thoughts of uncomfortable conversations ahead, and unable to escape them into sleep. He lay in bed for longer than he usually did, his arm over his forehead. She would want him to move forward. She didn't want him to run away though.
He made his way downstairs and grabbed the small basket that she had woven from reeds that he used to gather the mushrooms and herbs. Mr. Dimitri was not up yet which was unusual, but with all that had happened, he decided to let him sleep. The day was clearer than it had been for some…
“What is that?” he asked the old man who was not still sleeping, but standing outside in the street leaning against his walking stick. His eyes too fixated on the structure atop the highest hill lining the valley. It was an enormous black ship, a smooth elongated oval-shaped structure that hung vertically from the heavens, not quite touching the ground below it. It was the most foreign thing that Meno had ever seen. It must have stretched up nearly a thousand meters into the sky from that peak. “Is that a Pillar?” Meno said not looking at the old man but marvelling at the ship. Mr. Dimtri did not answer, but Meno knew, from every explanation and description that he had ever heard about these ships that this was a House Pillar. A warship, a symbol of power and occupation. These were the chosen weapons of the Houses, their instruments of control. One of these ships could control entire planetary regions, a number of them strategically placed around a planet could disrupt enough of the planet with its subtle weapons and energy manipulations that it could render that planet uninhabitable. It hung there, unyielding to the winds or physics itself looming over their small town made of wood, held in the foggy valley.
“It’s time we start making a plan for your escape, Meno”