The air outwall is somehow wrong. There is a wetness to it, and a grit, it carries a scent and a flavor that hangs in the back of Davming’s palate. So unlike the crisp, clean air of the recyclers, life giving and pure. He cannot wait to return to High Peak. Everything about this world is wrong — his violet robes, pressed and shaped just this morning by the tiny delicate hands of his Techlas attendants, now cling uncomfortably against his skin, spots of sweat corrupting its uniform sheen. A layer of fine dust covers everything, leaving long streaks on his platinum forearm bangle where his damp fingers have tried to brush it clean.
Davming winces, and roughly presses at the fabric at his waist, a futile attempt to smooth out the wrinkles and creases of travel. Alongside the palanquin hovercraft, his honor guard strides in impeccable lock-step, every movement crisp and coordinated as if machined. Davming’s gaze settles on Omares Wei, captain of the guard and his personal escort. Yes — a machine, with muscles that flex and joints that shift as if clockwork components, not a thread of his parade dress out of place. Does the heat not touch them? The guard make an imposing sight, to be sure — clad in their most formal flexsteel armor, each holding a silver-plated particle rifle in both hands as they march, polished as to be almost mirrors that catch the light of the sun and dapple the surrounding tree cover as they pass. Behind the palanquin marches his Color Guard, two members dually armed with an impossibly sharp adamant blade and a long conical horn, and two that march with the twin banners of Family Scotts and High Peak Hold. Imposing — and certainly ceremonial. These “people” who live outwall have fallen to what is at best a medieval level of civilization, and cannot be considered an actual threat by any stretch of the imagination.
Davming Valbound, the Herald of Family Scotts, has today a simple duty to uphold, but it is one for which he has been preparing his entire adult life. In fact, generations of heraldric professionals, philosophers, and strategists have written of a day like this one — the moment of First Contact, when the Millenium Gate of High Peak Hold would at last open, and the Herald would pass through to share the will of the Lord of the Stronghold with the outwall world. But it was never meant to be like this. Surely, as the scholars have long written, the First Contact would be with the heraldric staff of another stronghold, or perhaps with descendants of Lunar society, returned to the planet’s surface after their long exile. To think that all his training would come to this instead — a delegation to a backward village of thatched roofs, muddy feet, illiterate savages. Davming wipes a dusty hand across his brow to flick away the gathered beads of sweat, and curses as he realizes he has wiped away a good deal of his ceremonial makeup as well.
After a time, the delegation comes to a clearing in the forested terrain, where the primitive road of placed stone leads to a gathering of modest structures and twisted pathways. Smoke rises in dark swirls from rooftop chimneys, sounds of labor — the clang of hammers, chatter of commerce, and creaking of wheels and carts — hang on that strange outwall air, along with … the smell … an odor of manure, burning meat, and a salty, briney smell Davming had never before encountered. From the survey drone vidfeed that he had studied, he knows he has arrived at his intended destination — a village the Outwalls call Kedrick’s Hole, now forever to be known as the site of First Contact.
With their arrival, various villagers first freeze, and then begin to scurry — some find a place nearby to peer out in curious fear at the company, and some who dash into the maze of buildings and disappear. The sounds of hammers and chatter cease, and a thick silence begins to descend over the streets. Captain Wei motions the squad to halt, and the palanquin comes to a rest. With a strong, focused voice, just loud enough for the squad to hear, Wei issues, “Color Bearers, post. Squad, take heraldric position A3.” With this command, the company forms a new shape, like water flowing into a vessel of blown glass. The palanquin floats to the front of the assembly, with two guards posted in front, three on each side, and two behind. The banners post to either side of the assembly, with a Trumpeter at each flag along with three more guard. Davming feels his craft tilt slightly forward, the palanquin becoming a stage upon which he can make his proclamation. Wei speaks, again in that near-whisper, “Trumpeters, sound.”
As one, the horns release a thrilling blast of musical power — it is as if the countryside itself was shaking and singing, and when the sound has finished, the sky is full of flapping wings, as all the birds roosting in trees and on rooftops are shaken from their slumber.
From out of the one of the stone buildings, five villagers begin to approach the delegation. One, a short, older woman with dark, sunspotted skin and long grey hair pulled into a loose braid down her back, wears a stole of blue fabric over her shoulders and carries a long wooden rod. The others look to her, and she motions them to step foward and form a half-circle around her, facing the palanquin. This one must be their leader … Good. Behind them, other villagers start to assemble, some with children huddled behind their legs, clothing, hands, and feet dirtied — but what could one expect?
Davming looks out over the pitiful assembly of ragged villagers. So be it — this is, after all, His command. The herald holds his hands aloft and makes the required gesture, and his bangle’s projector emits a scroll of light to hang in the air in front. He begins his proclamation.
PEOPLE OF KEDRICK’S HOLE, PEOPLE OF HUMANITY. GREAT TIDINGS BEFALL YOU TODAY, AS THIS HERALD COMES TO SHARE THE TRUTH OF YOUR SALVATION AND GLORY. LONG HAVE YOU PATIENTLY AWAITED THE RETURN OF LORD COR’VAL SCOTTS, AND SO TOO HAS THIS LORD PATIENTLY WAITED TO BE REUNITED WITH HIS PEOPLE. NOW THE MOMENT HAS ARRIVED, AND YOU NO LONGER NEED LIVE IN SQUALOR, BUT THE LORD OF HIGH PEAK HOLD SHALL SHOW YOU THE WAY TO WEALTH AND PURPOSE. NOW THAT WE ARE HAPPILY MET, YOU WILL RECEIVE A GOVERNING DELEGATION FROM HIGH PEAK HOLD, AND DETAILS OF YOUR TITHE AND RESPONSIBILITY SHALL COME FORTHWITH. CONGRATULATIONS ON RETURNING TO YOUR STATUS AS CITIZEN SUBJECTS OF FAMILY SCOTTS.
As Davming completes his message, he feels electric, the adrenaline coursing through him — he can almost still hear his words reverberating through the clearing. He turns to gesture to Omares — it is time to hand out the Scrolls of Goodwill, which have upon them transcribed the words of his message for local posterity (not that anyone here would be able to read it).
“I don’t believe I know if this land has ever had a Lord, and I’ve never heard of a Corval Scotts. But I’m the mayor of this town, and I can tell you we won’t be paying you any tithe.”
Davming feels like he’s been hit in the chest — his gesture to Wei freezes and his blood goes cold. Certainly not the response he expected. The mayor spoke with a strange accent, but she was possessed of a thin but sure voice, however lacking she was in education. She continues, “We are independent folk here in Kedrick’s Hole. You can tell your Lord we aren’t interested.”
As she speaks, a sixth individual comes to join the five in front. A tall young woman, with skin as red as ruby, and a ridge of bony horns that jut out along her spine and up over the crown of her head. Revolting. Davming can feel the insides of his wrists begin to sweat, and lets out an anemic cough of a laugh. “Ah… yes… we do understand that there may have been some… degradation in the quality of the education system – civics and history seems to have particularly suffered…” His words come too hurried, tumbling out from his mouth so that they trip, unbalanced, over his tongue – where was his heraldric demeanor? He forces a slower pace. “But indeed you do seem to have forgotten your ancestral fealty to Family Scotts – and where might that fault lie? It is no matter, the Lord Scotts is generous in his leadership, and I will personally ensure that a Pedagogical Mission will follow our delegation to convey the necessary –”
Beside the mayor, the red woman flips her hands over, and rises a meter off the ground. Alongside her, five large paving stones rise up from off the road, shaking loose and releasing with a creaking of earth.
Davming starts, and looks for signs of antigrav propulsion, or an impulse drive. Nothing. The woman — the thing — is now eye level with him, floating as if with a hovercraft of her own. “What is that?” he gasps aloud. The Hold scientists will want to study this beast, surely some abomination borne from centuries of fallout and mutation.
“Captain Wei, subdue this creature — we will bring it back to High Peak Hold for examination.”
It is as if everything happened at once. Davming suddenly finds himself on the ground, cut, scraped, and covered in dirt, the hovercraft upside down beside him, bashed in by tremendous impact from the five floating rocks. Around him, guardsmen fire particle beams, cutting down villagers who crumble before them, screams filling the entire world. Over the cries he hears a call from somewhere in the village, “BY THE CONSTANT STAR, LOOSE!”
Arrows fall from the sky, and where they strike the guardsmen, Davming sees a black web of necrotic rot weave over their neck and faces. They fall, gasping for breath that will never come.
“Wei!” Davming grapples to his feet and dashes to his escort. “Wei, this is enough, finish these savages and get me the hell out of here!” He grabs at Wei’s arm, but it comes off in his grasp – too easy, like pulling tender meat off a bone. Wei falls, and Davming looks on as his face melts into the grassy square, leaving a skull completely clean and white.
Behind his body, the monster hangs in the sky — red skin radiant, covered in horns, holding a hand above her head in a fist. Davming lets loose a scream and turns to run — around him, thorns and vines six centimeters thick break through the surface of the ground, spearing the guard in place and ripping the banners of the Hold to shreds. He stops in his tracks.
“Fools! You have no idea what you have done. You have no idea what He will do!” The monster floats down to the ground in front of him. So close now, he can see her face. It is a soft face, he is surprised to find — a sad face, with gentle eyes of a deep alien blue.
And then everything goes dark.