Shadows Bear No Names (The Blackened Prophecy Book 1)

SHADOWS BEAR NO NAMES

THE BLACKENED PROPHECHY PART I

Oganalp Canatan

Copyright © 2016 by Oganalp Canatan.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

Oganalp Canatan / Kardanadam Medya Co. Ltd.

Beyazgül Sitesi A2 - 19, Koru Mahallesi

Çankaya, Ankara - TURKEY, 06810

www.oganalp.com

Cover artwork by Yiğit Köroğlu

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Book Layout ©2016 BookDesignTemplates.com.

Shadows Bear No Names / Oganalp Canatan. -- 1st ed.

Three people supported me from the very beginning when all others I hoped to see there were absent;

Fatih Canatan, Necla Canatan and Elif Bilge, thank you.

I also have to thank Allison Williams for teaching me how to write.

Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the Universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying.

―Arthur C. Clarke

Chapter one

INTO THE VOID

“Praetor Ga’an, we are ready to engage the enemy and die a glorious death.” Left Hand’s voice gave no hint of fear.

He is afraid of the outcome, but too proud to admit it, like the rest of us. Too proud to acknowledge our end…
“You will die when you are ordered to do so. Until such a time comes, obey and serve.”
Meaningless words, written for rituals and ceremonial times. We, the Nucteel are now at war. Our final war.

Ga’an knew it only too well; even if his officer voiced his fear of facing his true death, he wouldn’t dare show his feelings, afraid of the shame he would bring on his family name. Every soldier died twice in the Empire. First, when they entered service, severing their family ties, and again when the real death embraced them in battle. Their pride defined their ways and their pride ensured their doom.

Praetor waved to his Left Hand dismissively and turned his attention back to the maps before him. He wasn’t in the mood to carry out formalities in such a desperate situation. The outlook was dim and growing darker by the hour.

His command carrier,
Mira,
was positioned in the middle of the map display with countless blue triangles circling the super-titan. The scanners showed no other contacts but Ga’an knew they were outnumbered and outgunned.
Too proud to admit we were weak until it was too late.
There had been skirmishes between their scouts and
Baeal
—that was the name the Wise Ones had given to their enemy—but the enemy’s main forces were holding back for now, awaiting their last stand.

Baeal
.
A fitting name.
It meant “Death Bringer,” and they were raining death on Ga’an’s people. It was the name of The First Evil, the first broken blood told in the religious texts, heeding the words of darkness and taking innocent lives for a life eternal.
A religious folklore. A tale for children.

“How many cycles?” Ga’an mumbled to himself. He had been fighting the battle for well over thirty cycles now, seven of them as a Praetor. Every day, thousands died or lived to see another dawn by his command. In his first few weeks, Ga’an kept a memory of each soul he sent to death, mourning for their families and a life unlived. Soon, the task became impossible. He’d refused the post when the previous commander of the fleets had fallen, but his position as second-in-command and the passionate will of his soldiers had dictated he take the charge. That, and the will of the Emperor. Ga’an wondered how many of those soldiers were still alive. He felt old.
Too old.

“Baeal,” he murmured. The unknown force had appeared out of nowhere some forty cycles ago. He was far too tired to remember the exact date, not that he cared much. Ga’an’s people had learnt that Baeal was an unstoppable menace soon after their first contact. Now, he’d been in too many battles to remember what it was like before
them
. In these forty-some cycles of struggle, they’d never had any direct contact. No one knew why the invaders had come or what they wanted. Baeal had simply come and started terrorizing space.

The Nucteel’s massive armada stood before him, over two thousand destroyers and more than fifty titans. Like
Mira
, the titans were named after their ancestors:
Ka’nach
,
Jar’n, Peku, Tabai, Akna
and more, each representing another glorious moment of the Empire’s past
. Mira. The Guardian of Home.
It was a fitting name, but Ga’an didn’t fool himself even for a second that names would save them from the carnage up ahead.

The Praetor found himself admiring Baeal forces’ crude effectiveness. They didn’t bother with strategic maneuvers or detailed tactics, instead using sheer force to smash Ga’an’s fleet like a blacksmith’s hammer. Their main force seemed infinite, and each day more poured from the enemy dimension gates. If the Nucteel outriders were lucky or skillful enough to stay alive, they passed the numbers to the fleet, updating the Praetor’s battle plans.

Our arrogance and self-confidence made us lazy. We were unprepared for such an enemy. We put our faith in some stone trinkets. Children’s stories never save you.
Maybe his forces needed a reckless attitude, too. He looked at his family circlet; a ring made from finest jewelry, stones of
tyigma
mined from molten rocks that shone in bright silver color, with six small discs. Ga’an’s eyes stood on the largest circle. It had been almost a full cycle since he last saw his soul mate. He growled, “Damn you.” Three of the six circles were now empty. He couldn’t bear re-living the memory of breaking his own sons’ discs, no matter how many cycles had passed. “Imha. Ran. Ni’a. I will avenge your souls.”

The flickering screen rescued the battle-worn Praetor from another war he’d been enduring lately—melancholia. It was the First Dearant
on the screen and Ga’an was thankful for the distraction. He already knew what his officer was about to say.

“Praetor Ga’an, it is time for our death,” the man announced, squaring his shoulders. “The gate has become active.”

“Any news from the Wise Ones?”

“No, Praetor. The Arinar remained inactive. None of the candidates were able to activate the stones as the scribes told.”

“And the statue? Any more visions?”

“Nothing, Praetor. No energy readings, no hidden mechanisms. It is only a statue.”

Ga’an sighed. “Then death will guide us home.” He saluted the First Dearant and turned toward the observation window. Ga’an didn’t think they would win a war with some statues but one thing was clear, the scriptures said they needed a
touched one
to activate the Arinar, someone in accord with the energy of the artifacts. They hadn’t found any. For years, the Inquisitors of his Majesty had searched for touched ones; people who could communicate with the stones, but never found one. Ga’an remembered when The Emperor himself tried to activate the stones. The propaganda and media following his failure lasted cycles. The Emperor, no matter how harsh a ruler, was an insightful man. He had ordered Ga’an to prepare for this scenario from the very beginning, and prepare the Praetor had.
Expect the worst.

As if to confirm his darkest thoughts, a gigantic fleet began pouring from the huge, artificial black hole. Ga’an couldn’t help but wince at the sight of the alien armada coming through the gate.
Black, like the void itself and threatening with their insectoid shapes.

“And so, they have come.”

***

“Hard to port!”

The super-titan wobbled hard as it took another blow to the belly. The battle was fierce and Ga’an had resorted to drastic maneuvers more than a few times to avoid colliding with the enemy capital. Baeal forces seemed to welcome the chance to collide with the Nucteel destroyers, ignoring the hazards or collateral damage. Ga’an didn’t have the luxury of ramming ships around like children’s toys.

“Curse the blood!” he whispered as they cleared off the enemy mother ship by the skin of their teeth. He wondered if they would be able to take down the worm-like monster at all. Ga’an was pushing
Mira
and the crew to the limits of their abilities, but their efforts were in vain. Two times now, the super-titan had faced its opponent head-to-head, raining fire on the hulking monster, only to divert hard in the end, avoiding death by the skin of their teeth. When the behemoth passed, it wasn’t raining fire; it was raining the true death itself.

At their first clash, Praetor’s ship had already lost its port shields, leaving the hull vulnerable. Ga’an had no data on how big the enemy capital was but it looked at least six times the size of
Mira
and under each of the shell-like platings covering its surface was a turret, delivering a serious punch to Ga’an’s super-titan.

Their second run was worse. “A total disaster,” his teacher back in war academy would say. The mother ship had fired all its side turrets, focusing on the forward fuselage as
Mira
made another pass. Although their counter-salvo had inflicted a considerable blow, the price tag was expensive; now the right-hand bow was half destroyed, taking one of the main mortar batteries with it. Almost a quarter of the ship’s firepower was done for. Damage reports were sketchy at best with all the chaos on those decks, but it looked like
Mira
was flying with one less forward thruster.

Just as
Mira
completed her flanking move, a deafening sound echoed throughout the ship’s speakers and a violent blast hurled the crew in all directions, scattering them around the bridge like leaves in autumn’s wind. Alarms were ringing and half the room was on fire. Ga’an was stuck under one of the fallen ceiling panels, which probably saved his life. The last salvo hit directly the deck on top of his captain’s chair, tearing half the hull plate. The command center was reduced to debris and they were venting out their air. Most of the crew died on the spot when the first beams reached them. The ones who were lucky—
or unlucky
—enough to survive the initial volley were sucked into space through the side wall. Before the emergency barrier came online, Ga’an watched seven of his men fly into the deep dark.
Like dry leaves in autumn winds
. The Praetor didn’t have the luxury of mourning the dead though, he was alive and the battle was raging.

He pulled himself from under the debris with some effort. He couldn’t see any serious damage to his legs, just a funny, tingling sensation in his left knee. He grimaced whenever he had to lean on his injured side.
Something I can ignore
. Ga’an thought he would need medical attention sooner or later. If he lived another day.

“Report!” he barked at his Left Hand.

“Praetor, we lost control of the ship!” His commanding officer was still at his post, trembling. Half of his head was covered in blood. “The helm is not responding and we lost power to the engines. We are adrift!” Left Hand
was half shouting, half crying.

Ga’an thought he understood the man’s feelings. They were headed toward their doom, their true death, but his Left Hand didn’t cry because the true death was at hand. He was angry at being helpless before the brutal odds. What made it worse was; every time the enemy mother ship fired, it broadcasted an unstoppable sound through
Mira
’s internal speakers like a herald of destruction. The irritation was nerve wrecking.

The Praetor looked around one last time hoping to find a spark of promise. Something that would give them the chance to meet their end in glory. He saw none. Ga’an could see the worm-like ship turning around in the distance through the big gap at the far end of the bridge. The enemy behemoth had a strange, black smoke covering its hull, giving the ship an eerie feeling of life.
A living, breathing machine of doom with a size to match the Imperial Island.
His command post became a huge gallery to witness their final moments, a premium spot to watch the fireworks.

“Left Hand, give the abandon ship signal and take out your key.” If this was to be his last order, he wanted it to mean something. He took out his necklace, a rectangular glass key glowing with pale green light. At the other end of the station, his first officer took out a similar key. His was in yellow, glowing like Ga’an’s own. “Computer, begin self-destruct countdown. Five turns.”

“Self-destruct lockdown. Authorization keys required,” a stern male voice responded.

Ga’an put his key into one of the sockets positioned near his seat and pushed it all the way into the hole. He turned back to his Left Hand and nodded at him to do the same. When the man placed the other key into the hole on top of the tactical console, the alarms abruptly went silent, leaving the male computer voice echo through the halls of
Mira
.

“Command verified. Self-destruct sequence initiated. Beginning silent countdown.”

Ga’an’s jaw tightened. He gave a curt nod to his Left Hand
.
“It was an honor, Commander Vrishna.” Ga’an was a man of few words and his emotions were buried deep under his stone like face but this time, Ga’an allowed himself to show his pride of Vrishna.

“The honor is mine, Praetor.” The man saluted in equal awe.

“Take the remaining crew to the escape pods and make for the nearest ship,” Ga’an said. “Report to the First Dearant and continue your battle.”

“We will seek glory per your orders, Praetor. May you die a glorious death.”

“Death will guide me home.”

The commander rushed to the exit, screaming orders at the bridge crew, sending them to the emergency pods. It seemed to Ga’an that Left Hand regained his courage, seeing his Praetor standing tall and strong even at the very end of his time, staring into the eyes of death itself. Ga’an nodded after the man. Vrishna had truly become a fine officer.

Tradition dictated the ship’s captain go down with it. Ga’an was always skeptical of ceremonial ways, but this was one custom he was willing to honor.

He half-sat, half-fell near one of the consoles and found a suitable spot before the gap to watch the worm-shaped enemy ship lazily rounding
Mira
. If the captain of his nemesis was half as intelligent as Ga’an suspected, he—
Or she,
we do not even know how they look—
would know this final pass would take down the wounded and broken
Mira
for good.

Ga’an grinned. He was betting on another close pass. It was one of the main enemy capital ship maneuvers; making a close pass, firing everything they got onto their target and relying on their superior hull strength. Baeal didn’t care much about the damage their ships got in return. It was all about taking down your opponent.

Come. Come and meet the abyss
. For all the pain he’d suffered under the never-ending invasion of the Baeal nightmare, Ga’an saw it as his right to be granted the chance to watch his sworn enemy burn. He’d spent his life fighting the unknown. The war and Ga’an’s duties to his people as Praetor held him from attending the final requiem of his son Ran, who had fallen at the outer frontier.
No, this time, I will have my revenge
. The self-destruct would take down the insectoid horror or cripple it enough to make it vulnerable. Then, the rest of the fleet could finish the job.