Halo: Minorca Saga/Chapter Eight

SEVENTH CYCLE, NINTH AGE OF RECLAMATION (COVENANT BATTLE CALENDAR) / ALPHA CANIS MINORIS, JIRALHANAE SLOOP “SAVAGE EMBRACE”

The journey through the planet’s atmosphere had been mostly uneventful, almost disappointingly so. Erebus’s blood had pounded, adrenaline flooding his body and the smell of excitement flooding his nostrils. He had yearned to join the battle, earning glory.

But there were other considerations. Firstly, if they had tried to engage they would trade away their one advantage, stealth. Even the Ministry of Tranquillity had drawn the line at giving them energy shields beyond those needed for protection against minor space debris, and the ship was only armed with a trio of point-defence lasers.

Secondly, it would mean joining the Sangheili in battle, and as much as Erebus yearned for glory he’d be damned if he’d earn it by saving Sangheili.

And thirdly, the battle was not their priority – not even whether the Covenant captured the planet or not.

Their priority was much more important. And much harder to find than mere battle.

Erebus consoled himself by reasoning that while he had lost opportunity for glory in battle, he still had the chance for glory through holy work – work normally reserved for the Prophets themselves. The High Council would surely call him and his pack heretics for their work, but it had been silently condoned by the Ministry of Tranquility. And that must hold some weight, surely?

The sloop hovered silently and invisibly over thick jungle. Erebus gazed out of one of the viewports.

“A prayer for your thoughts, packmate?”

Erebus turned, smiling at his fellow Jiralhanae. “Merely thinking, Kantus. Does this remind you of somewhere?”

Kantus squinted. His eyesight was not the best, but his shrewd insights into Sangheili politics and tactics made him invaluable.

The other warrior grinned. “Surely it looks like Worsatz, does it not? Minus the lava flows and aurora in the sky, but still the resemblance is uncanny.”

Erebus sighed. “It has been a long time since I visited my tribe-state, Kantus. It has for all of us.”

Kantus nodded solemnly. “Our service to the Covenant demands much, but its rewards are greater than the sacrifices we make.”

It sounded like something he’d memorised from one of the prophet’s holy sermons, and it probably was. But Erebus had to agree with him.

Being chosen for such a task was a rare honour. He knew the Sangheili would be outraged if they found out about the Jiralhanae involvement, and worse that it had been kept secret from them, but by then it would probably not matter. An errant pack of Jiralhanae warriors paled in comparison to the battle that raged across the planet’s surface.

Erebus tapped a key on the holoscreen beside him, and a three dimensional topographical map of the region sprung up. Green regions outlined where the Covenant had managed to gain footholds, and many of them had linked up in the past few days. Others had blinked out of existence as they were wiped out by the human occupiers.

Red outlined known or suspected human strongholds, and where green and red overlapped was fierce and bloody battles still raging. The Covenant had invaded the human’s capital city a few days ago, and the battle still raged on as each side attacked, took ground, and then the other counter-attacked.

But there was a lot more red.

Erebus flicked the picture off with a sigh. But twenty lone Jiralhanae would do little against the human vermin, and even if they could the Sangheili would be too outraged to accept their help.

He returned his thoughts to their true mission.

“Is the Scarab prepared, Kantus?”

“We have finished the preparations, and have found a clearing where we may deploy. The Lekgolo are eager to join battle with the enemy, but they must wait long.”

“As must we,” Erebus muttered.

“What of Ashkenazus?” he asked. “Does he suspect?”

“No, pack-mate. He regales the pack with tales of the Warrum Uprisings, and appeals for honour and ferocity in the coming battle.”

“Good. The fool shall be so blinded by his memories he won’t see the arrow of our vengeance until it has struck.”

Kantus shifted uneasily. Erebus didn’t blame him – the death of a pack chieftain was a normal part of Jiralhanae politics, and was accepted as tradition. But it was meant to be single-combat between incumbent and challenger, in plain sight before the rest of the pack. It was meant to be honourable.

Erebus had had a tough time convincing the Pack Elders that honour was something he could not afford if he were to take control of the pack. There was agreement that he was fit and able, and that Ashkenazus’ time had come. But there was still unease.

It was change. A change from the ways they had known for generations, and change did not come easily against such immovable thoughts. But come it must, or the Jiralhanae would be left behind by progress as the Sangheili raced at the fore.

Erebus had the support of his pack, and the skill to lead it. He had vision. He had plans.

And those plans did not include Ashkenazus.

The Scarab detached from the bottom of the sloops hull with a dull clunk, dropping a hundred metres to the jungle clearing below. Erebus steadied himself against the inner hull, but stayed standing. Around him, the other Jiralhanae collected themselves.

He gently stroked the core, feeling the pulsating Lekgolo worms beneath his paw. They looked slimy and cold, and he had shuddered at first when he’d thought about what he would have to do to control the walker. But they were surprisingly warm, and as dry as bare flesh, certainly not like how he had expected.

He patted it softly, and a gentle hum of contentment throbbed up through his arm.

The Scarab lurched forward through the jungle. It was too big to go unnoticed – trees were left shattered in their wake, leaving a swathe of destruction in their wake. The hoots and calls of alarmed jungle animals rang out from the trees nearby, so reminiscent of the Worsatz jungles back on Doisac, Erebus’s homeworld.

He felt engulfed by a wave of nostalgia. He had played in trees like these as a cub, and they brought back memories of friends no longer alive to share them with him.

He clenched a fist. He would not fail. For their sake. For the Covenant. And for the Prophets, who promised honour, glory, and ascension for his people.

The Scarab lurched through the jungle, towards the hill. Even through the thick treeline, it was still easy to see – a tall hump of foliage that towered over the trees, a jungle-covered earthen hill.

He looked down at the Luminator. A million glyphs scrolled across its fringes, which he had been told by the Prophets meant “Heretic”. Humans registering on the tiny device from millions of miles away.

And a single glyph that pointed straight ahead of them, different to the others.

It was…well, confusing was a term that he used for all Forerunner glyphs. There was no seeming logic behind much of them, and most merely seemed stylised for the sake of it. But this one was unique in other ways.

It was an oblong, elongated horizontally. There was a horizontal and vertical line bisecting it twice, and then diagonal lines connecting with the other cross in the centre. And at the center were two circles, one in the other. It was not as ornate as other glyphs Erebus had studied, but it was just as intricate.

Even the Prophet had been confused at its meaning. He had thought that it meant “confusion” or “mystery.” Some texts thought that it referred to a specific place, others that it was merely a description of a theme.

In Erebus’s head, he arranged them together as “Labyrinth” – a place of confusion, certainly. He did not know if it was literal or not.

Well, they’d find out soon enough.

He raised a clenched paw, barking out the order to halt. The Jiralhanae looked at him expectantly as the Scarab rumbled to a stop, shifting on its legs uneasily. Erebus patted it again, and swung himself down from its control panel to the deck.

“Kantus, take your lance and scout ahead. If there are humans here, I want them dead before they reach us. Lapetus, have your lance man the turrets. Horus, there appears to be an unused logging road heading west. Take your pack and see where it leads to – if it can be used as a base by the humans, destroy it. The rest of us shall proceed to the dig site.”

There were barks of affirmation. Behind them, in the Scarabs core, a little trickle of blood seeped out. Erebus scuffed it out with his foot, and shifted Ashkenazus’s body to a less visible position.

There was no room for doddering old fools who couldn’t even see uprising when it was right in front of its nose…

The thick jungle hampered the progress of the Prowlers. So they were set in a small clearing, foliage dragged over them as camouflage, and Horus’s pack continued on foot.

He grimaced as his foot slid into a puddle of rainwater, and shook it dry. Branches slapped at his face, and he had to be sure of his footing lest he lose his balance on a patch of loose leaf litter. He crushed a branch as thick as his arm under foot, and ducked as a branch swung out, almost colliding with his face.

He growled. “Accursed forest! It was better back at the ship!”

Another warrior murmured agreement, and another, and another. None of them wanted to be here, in the thick and sweltering jungle, when the sloop was safer and more comfortable.

Still, it was their new Chieftain’s orders, and the Chieftains word was law.

Horus didn’t know how he felt about the new Chieftain. He had defeated Ashkenazus, yes, but not in fair combat. It seemed underhanded, but it got the same results. On the other hand, Erebus was strong, young, experienced, and wise beyond his years.

The only thing Horus counted against him was his habit of studying the Sangheili.

He had been raised to know that the Sangheili were arrogant and blustering fools, unfit to bear their place as the Prophets escort. But Erebus insisted there were reasons why the Sangheili still held their place in the Prophets’ hearts, and spent his time studying their history, tactics, and culture. The phrase he used was “know yur friends well – know your enemies even better.”

There was wisdom in it. But to Horus’s mind, paying too much attention to the Sangheili would be of little use if Erebus neglected his duties as Chieftain.

He waved a paw near his ear, where the blood-sucking insects that infested this accursed jungle were trying to get at the sensitive fur-free membrane. Insects back on Doisac were bigger, but that made them easier to swat. These things were tiny, and agile, and Horus growled in frustration at them.

He stopped his growl. Ignoring the insects, he ordered his lance to get down low, as the jungle thinned. Lance hidden, he crept forward towards the jungles edge.

He heard voices. Human voices.

He felt on his belt for the spiker rifle that he carried with him, grasping its handle firmly. The ferns and branches kept him hidden as he watched, his dark fur blending in with the jungle shadows.

There was a vehicle ahead of them, in what looked like a small town. The buildings looked overgrown, abandoned for decades. A few of them had been cleared of the vines, mosses and lichens that had made their home there, and human “Mareens” were carting out boxes.

There were another three humans near the Warthog. Horus didn’t recognise what they were, but they were tall, almost as large as Sangheili, and wore full-body grey armour. Their helmets were reflective, so he couldn’t see through them. They looked almost machine-like, and Horus would have mistaken them for statues if one of them hadn’t shifted their footing.

What were these things?

“What news?” whispered Kratus.

Horus nodded to the settlement. “Humans. Perhaps two dozen. And those things. They look to be loading up supplies of some sort.”

Kratus grinned, reaching for his Mauler pistol. “Come, pack-mate. Let us kill thenm now!”

Horus bared his teeth. “NO! There are too many. We would kill many, but they would cut us down. We must report back to Erebus, let him decide what to do.”

Kratus frowned. “A Scarab is overkill for so few, surely?”

“Perhaps. But at the very least, the Chieftain must be told. And he won’t know if we’re all dead.”

Kratus nodded grudgingly. “By your command, then, pack leader.”