A new discovery breeds confusion in an age where all is certain
They brought steel to Senutzka.
We were a peaceful farming village on the edge of the Thundertree Jungle. If you went there in the night, the elders said nobody would hear your screams over the ringing of the feasting banyan trees. And each night we heard the thunder, warning us to keep away. Through the Jungle was the manor of Lord Reyano. He was kind, and gave his protection in return for our grain. Red-cloaked soldiers protected the roads from bandits and the monsters of the fields. Two years ago, the Acerai descended on his land. They burnt his estate and slaughtered his family. Their warriors enslaved our people, forcing us to work the fields. “More!”, they ordered, their hunger unending. We had lost all hope of being free. That changed when we found the source of the thunder.
One day, the Acerai in the village were called to war. “To conquer the east!” they said, before their black steeds raced into the night. They would return in four months and expected twice the grain we had produced thus far. An impossible request. They did this to send our people into the Jungle, laughing as the thunder killed our people. But when the last horned warrior left the village, we went in of our own accord.
It was Hessop who first braved the night in the Jungle. Defying the elders, he said the trees did not kill us. We thought him a fool in the beginning. When he returned the next morning, chased by the creature, we thought him insane. More so when he yelled to the butcher to feed the monster as he dashed through the village. The butcher hurled a slab of meat, and, fast as a swallow, the beast pounced. Its four hind legs hurled the rest of its armoured body forward, while both of its outstretched talons tore into the flesh. It devoured the flesh, the light glinting off its sharp teeth and glistening carapace. Cunning intelligence brewed in its yellow, catlike eyes. Sparks flew as it rubbed its talons together, and we heard the familiar sound of rolling thunder. From the Jungle came three more of the creatures, looking hungry. The butcher warily brought out more of the meat as the creatures waited patiently. They growled in appreciation, marking the start of our friendship.
We named them “Steelspringers”. They became our family. We told them of our enemies. And they gave us claws. The animals were more than beasts. They hunted the Jungle at night, but Hessop had convinced them to spare our kind. Now we share a bond stronger than blood.
Nobody disturbed Senutzka while we trained. Hessop took the shed claws of the Steelspringers and worked with them in his forge. Even once discarded, the claws were harder than any metal we had seen and glowed pale blue in the moonlight. For weeks we heard Hessop’s hammering, until one night we saw blue lightning streak from his window, disappearing into the jungle. He emerged wearing a set of new claws and demonstrated his invention. Even the Steelspringers looked impressed and joined Hessop in celebration. A thunderstorm of our creation rolled across the land that night. Over the next four weeks, Hessop and the Steelspringers taught us to use the claws. Over the next four weeks, we became warriors.
Today, the Acerai come for their dues. I watch now as the first rider approaches, waving the banner of the Conquest. He leads a stampede of destruction, scores of hooves trampling the life from the earth. Hessop walks to the edge of the village, head bowed. His hands are held behind his back. The rider halts in front of him and plants the banner into the ground. “Bring the grain.” he growls, the thin eyeslits of his horned helmet fixated on Hessop. Death does not bring greetings.
His head is down, but I sense Hessop’s smile. Wordlessly, his hands fly forward and his claws click together. There is a flash of azure light as the energy discharges through the rider, cooking him in his plate mail before he falls, dead, beside his crumpled horse. I sound the battlecry and rush to defend the village as the rest of the riders gallop towards us, their steel already flashing in the midday sun. The thunder of their hooves is met by the thunder of the Jungle.
The Steelspringers leap from rooftops and bound out of the trees to meet our mutual enemies. The Acerai’s screams are drowned out by the ringing of our claws. Our fury echoes across the battlefield as they fall, one by one. When the storm finally calms, we stand knee-deep in shattered darkness. Bones crunch as the Steelspringers begin their well-earned feast. For the time being, the threat is gone. I look towards the banner of Conquest planted in the village, the woven snakeskin depicting a black horse crushing a skull. As I tear it down with my claws, my village cheers. I look past them, westwards, through the Jungle where the Warlord sits on his ashen throne, carved from the suffering of the enslaved.
Now it is our turn to bring the steel.