Chapter 93: Chapter 86: Price of Loyalty

“Take whatever you want and leave our people out of it!” Jeanne stood up to the hulking brute.

It had all happened so fast. Just fifteen minutes ago, she and the village elder were discussing the cancellation of the festival in the Planet’s honor. Yes, this year’s harvest had been quite bountiful, but it felt awful to celebrate and rejoice when Just Peachy had been so badly affected. She still remembered watching the news and seeing suffocated children being pulled from under the rubble. It gnawed at her soul and Jeanne, the abbess of St Helen’s Church, had decided to act.

Truth be told, she wasn’t much of an abbess. She and another nun tended to the spiritual needs of eight hundred people, half the population of her village of Dores. A modest church, built by the original settlers, watched over their home like a loving mother from a hill above. She had never left this place, not once in her life. Ever since the former abbot had found a crying infant on his doorstep and raised her as his own daughter, Jeanne had devoted her entire life to the faith, debating the divine nature of the dynast with the locals and dissuading them from the heresy that was sweeping the rural areas. Often she and the nun helped gather harvests, preferring to earn their keep and share the hardships of their flock than live off donations.

Dores wasn’t a poor place, and its villagers were a hardworking and compassionate bunch. They proudly agreed to skip the festival in favor of sending charity funds to the less fortunate souls in the Outer Lands.

But today everything changed. A host of violent-looking thugs had arrived, thankfully not harming anyone. A few members of her flock, including non-believers, had rushed into the church, bringing their children, and she had welcomed them all and sent them into the vast catacombs left over from the time of the Extinction. Repaired and cleaned, they served as a tourist attraction. Even now, the nun was guiding them through the secret passages to an exit forty kilometers from the village, where they would hopefully reach Houstad unharmed. Jeanne, the village elder, and the constable greeted the lost souls trespassing in their homes. There were still villagers here, and it was their duty to keep them safe.

“Pretty house,” a bald man softly hummed, examining the icons and the yellow-painted symbol of a planet above the prayer altar. The man pushed past them and touched the icon, showing the world turning from a barren wasteland back to green. “Ah. Not actual gold. Keep this shit.” His eyes found her. “I am Caikhatu. My people have noticed a large crowd running in here. Fear not; as your new khan, I will sell no one into slavery nor touch a single girl. Any of my men and women who dare do so will burn.” He glanced lovingly at the rich fields outside. “Iron Lord spoke true. Siding with Mad Hatter was well worth it. Such succulence! Richer than home, safer than the steppes! A worthy place to establish a khaganate!”

“If it is a peaceful life you desire, then disarm yourself, and I shall vouch for the Dynast before you. The state welcomes all,” Jeanne said calmly, trying to ignore a mutant woman dressed in a cloak of flayed animal skins. Upon noticing a small, stretched, and undeniably mutant face on this horrid tapestry, she clasped her hands together. “May the Planet take you to a happier life, little one,” she said, weeping for the lost.

“I am not little, heretic.” The woman in the cloak stepped closer, the dangling fetishes at her neck accompanying her every move. “This you pray for?” She lifted the hem of her cloth. “My child it is. The Sky had stolen his breath and elevated him to his abode. Dare not sullying his soul through your chanting!” A hand ending in curved talons reached for the abbess. When the constable stepped forward, the woman slashed, lacerating the brave man’s face.

The mutant’s long nose seamlessly flowed into an ever-closed beak that had very human, constantly sniffing nostrils. Her legs were back-jointed; one foot had only two fingers and was covered in thick, robust skin, giving it the appearance of an oversized chicken foot, and occasional feathers covered the woman’s body.

“These are my people you have harmed, Jiguur.” Caikhatu frowned, putting his hand on a sword’s hilt. “Do it again, and I’ll reunite your wretched hide with your boy.”

“Threatening me, are you!?” The woman turned so fast that the hem of her cloak slapped Jeanne hard enough to bruise her. Rage-filled eyes met Caikhatu’s calm gaze. “Wretch of Iron Lord. Forgotten you about the gifts Brood Lord Khan has laid before you! Like shreds on the wind your ilk are, flying from one master to another! It’s not tolerance the Khatun preach! You lot are failing her test by not murdering or selling the infidels! Rusted your Khan has become!”

“It is for Khatun and Iron Lord to decide. You will address my master with the respect given to him by…” Caikhatu choked, clawing at his own throat as Jiguur raised her hand, her talons twitching. The flesh on Caikhatu’s neck bulged, the muscles of his throat contorted, denying him air as if an unseen ring collared him. The man’s body rose and his legs helplessly dangled, not touching the wooden planks.

“Fool and dumb you are! I give respect when it is deserved. You!” The crazed eyes found Jeanne. “Know of God?”

“We believe in the Planet in this humble church,” Jeanne said, bending down and tearing a piece of cloth from her robe to stop the constable’s bleeding. “There are many different faiths in the Reclamation Army…”

“Heresy all!” Jiguur roared, pointing a finger at Jeanne.

The abbess had never fought in her entire life. The closest she had ever experienced to a brawl was when a drunk slammed his fist into her face, knocking her unconscious. But what slammed into her in the chest was far worse. A series of cracks accompanied the immense agony of her very breasts dented into her body, and her left arm went limp. A faint cry of pain escaped Jeanne’s lips when invisible fingers cruelly grasped her sides, breaking her ribs one by one. An unknown force jerked her from the floor, shoving her belly against her intestines. A silver necklace wrapped itself around her neck, forming a gibbet’s noose and robbing her of any attempt to breathe.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Jiguur approached, still pointing her taloned finger at the abbess.

“Oblivious you are, Shaman.” The woman spat. “Many faiths? How come you have no gifts, then? False shepherd! Too feeble to resist, too weak to protect! Look how the Sky has treated me! Gift after gift I was given, because my deity wooed my ancestors and earned the loyalty of their children forevermore. Where is the power of your demon, weakling?”

“I have no need for strength, for I wish no subjugation,” Jeanne whispered after the necklace’s lock loosened enough for her to breathe. “To treat others as we wish to be treated, to build a world of understanding and peace—these are the teachings of the Planet. It leads us to a world where everywhere …”

“Words of the meek, infirm, and impotent! A world for everyone is a world ready to stumble and fall!” Jiguur laughed. “Small wonder the Sky has unleashed a tornado upon your lands. The strong rule, the weak obey, and your sheepish faith won’t save you. Worry not. Your children we’ll strengthen. Proud they’ll be, believers and conquerors. Tell me about the pretender! Tell me about God! Where is the one who tortures the Avatar of Heaven hiding?”

“I have no idea…” The necklace coiled around her neck, every chain biting deep, and a single movement of Jiguur’s eyes splattered the mayor and the constable against the walls.

“Burn you will, but utter a word of falsehood, and I shall see your people exterminated with cruelty, deserving a legend! Your false idols…”

The roof exploded, sending down wooden beams and stone chunks. In a flash, Jiguur cast Jeanne aside like a doll, raising her clawed hands to stop the rubble from squashing her. Jeanne flew across the room, preparing to endure a spine shattering landing against a wall and the agony that would follow as the edges of her broken bones kissed her lungs.

Something—no, someone—stopped her flight. Two metal hands grasped the woman’s body, and a gigantic shadow clad in dark red armor spun to carefully diffuse the impact carrying the abbess as they descended. The floor groaned under the newcomer’s immense weight when steel greaves thudded, and a giant Wolfkin lowered Jeanne on a bench, exposing her back to the enemy.

Jeanne had seen them on the news. Unlike their more cultured relatives, the Wolf Tribe were supposedly rude and arrogant people, and several television broadcasts had blamed them for turning a recent robbery into a bloody massacre. Not a single member of their tribe had seen fit to answer the journalists’ questions, telling them icily: ‘No comment.’ But when the helmet slipped from the person’s head, exposing an elongated head covered in very silky fur— the strands adorned with a layer of ash—and glowing amber eyes, Jeanne thought she was saved.

“False gods?” the warrior inquired in a dignified and bored voice. “If they are false, then who sent me on a path to avenge crimes committed, Shaman?”

“You dare!?” Jiguur shrieked. The wooden beams around her splintered, and a spiky storm descended upon the Wolfkin. “I am a priest of the Sky! The sole true deity in this world gazes through my eyes! Shaman?! For insulting me, you have earned a divine punishment!”

The sharp wood splinters of wood and stone pieces struck the warrior, and she paid them no more attention than a normal person would to a sprinkle of water, raising a gauntlet hand to shield her eyes. Tongues of flame hissed from the barrels of the massive weapons strapped to the Wolfkin’s wrists, and searing streams poured down on the shaman.

Jiguur laughed madly, half chuckle, half shriek, welcoming the challenge. The heat stopped short of her body and circled her head like a halo. The shaman clamped her hands together, and the fire flew backwards, splashing against the Wolfkin’s head and momentarily obscuring it from view.

“You threatened to burn a citizen?” the voice asked, unburdened by the heat. Jiguur’s eyes widened in concern and she twisted her hands, squeezing out an invisible rag. The warrior’s gorgeous power suit shuddered, but withstood the assault. “Experience it yourself.”

Almost lazily, the Wolfkin hefted her weapons, and Jiguur raised her arms, seeking to shield herself again as a blue inferno was spat in her face, overwhelming her every attempt. Jeanne had no idea if Jiguur’s strength had failed or if there was some providence at work, but the wall of hellish flame engulfed the woman, drawing a long, desperate cry of pain as she was carried several paces away. She fell, rolling, screaming and mindlessly clawing at the benches in a futile attempt to save herself.

It horrified the abbess. The scream, fading with the lack of oxygen, the skin cracking and blackening, the clothes burnt to ashes. What happened to the woman’s eyes, she didn’t even dare to imagine, and Jeanne tried to stand and fell to her knees from the broken ribs.

“Deliverance,” she ushered in a weak voice, facing the amber eyes. “Mercy. Show mercy.”

The Wolfkin closed in on Jiguur and lifted a leg, stomping down so hard that it broke both the burning body and the floor. Caikhatu and the others slipped off the walls as the force that had held them suspended vanished after the shaman’s death. Screams and yells came from outside, and dozens of legs announced the raiders’ approach. Caikhatu’s warriors charged inside, aiming guns at the Wolfkin, and were stopped by their leader’s gesture.

“I…” He coughed, struggling to stand up. “Have no desire to die. None of my warriors touched even a hair on the locals. Jiguur, she is not ours; Dalantai had rotted her brains…”

“Yet you brought her.” The Wolfkin’s claws scraped the raider’s gorget, drawing lines close to his face. “My pack has this place surrounded. Do you yield?”

“I…” Caikhatu licked his lips. “Do not know the word’s meaning. Common is difficult.”

“Do you surrender?” The Wolfkin rolled her eyes.

“Yes. Spare us, and our loyalty is yours, Khan.” The man bowed.

“What is the worth of such a fleeting thing?” The Wolfkin let go of him. She picked up the constable and the mayor and carried them to the abbess’ side. “Do you have healers among your ranks, servant?”

“We do, they are needed… to keep our jagun healthy,” he faltered for a second, calling for a henchman, and the Wolfkin grunted. “Not everyone among us is so bold as to follow to the end of the world. We care nothing for slaves or bondsmen; our desire was to find rich lands. Twenty-eight of my jagun I lost crossing your stronghold. If you promise us lands for our khaganate, our lives are yours, merciful Khan.”

“Address me as Warlord Ashbringer,” the Wolfkin said and glanced at the wounded. “Honored shaman, honored citizens. Rest and relax. We will take care of everything. You are safe. And you.” She faced Caikhatu. “Tell me everything about this horde of yours.”