Legends Of The Multiverse #8 - The Green Valley

A terrible scream raced over the tree tops, reverberating between the barrier mountains.

Kraken savored the sound as it clamored in vain to escape. Slowly, the phantom voice passed away and silence returned to the Green Valley

"Take his armor and cannon."

A small horde of heavily armed men in a hyena frenzy hovered over the warm corpse.

"Only those with ten or less."

Kraken's giant hand reached down and wrapped around the dead man's right ear.

"Of those - only to the strongest."

One fierce tug and the ear came loose, held aloft to the dangerous roar of men. A melee began over the dead stranger's armaments, but Kraken passed through it untouched, the Pharaoh of murderers.

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Your search is over.
There is water, fresh and cold,
Inside the Green Valley.

On the peak of each surrounding mountain, in letters ten feet high, lit at night by sun-charged batteries, the Kraken's invitation beckoned.

It was no lie. Kraken did not lie. The Green Valley's water was chill and clear, with no other source for one hundred miles. Once upon a time some might have considered the invitation a deception, but all of those people were dead.

The ones who remained understood well enough the final, unwritten line.

Take it, if you can.

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A hierarchy formed with geologic cruelty, in striated layers of men instead of stone. Where creation had failed the world, destruction became a creative act.

Agriculture became the art and bounty of violence. One sowed the crop with fist fights and pain; watered the fields with blood drawn by luck or happenstance; and harvested at last, with an earned kill - volitional and premeditated.

Those at the bottom took the bulk of the arms. The deadliest took the least. Kraken wore only a thin set of wild bull leathers, a small knife, and a revolver.

The gun was cared for meticulously but never fired. The knife was whetted and oiled, but had not tasted blood in six months.

Kraken's hands ached.

Babes use lead.
Boys use steel.
Men require neither.

Kraken whispered the mantra to himself each night as he fell asleep.

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The full moon's thin, cool light filled the Green Valley. A small figure stood silhouetted on the cusp of the southernmost peak.

There came a high pitched yell in the night. Flocks of sleeping pigeons were startled into the air. Kraken's eyes opened and the stir of the hunt teased at his insides.

Kraken pushed aside the flaps of his tent and stormed into the yard. As his eyes adjusted to the moonlight a heavily armored figure ran screaming in the direction of the stream. The barrel of a low-slung machine rifle dragged uselessly behind him, leaving a trough in the dirt. Both the man's eyes sockets were cupped in his hands, and blood streamed freely down to his elbows.

Kraken stepped forward, nude in the moonlight, and throttled the sightless man as the rest of the camp stirred. The man's yell became a gurgle, intensified, and grew quiet.

A blind man is a walking corpse.

So spoke Kraken's undefeated father, kneeling on the block so many years ago, before Kraken swung the sword.

Wiping the other man's eye-blood on the grass, Kraken examined the body. One of his own, not five ears to his name.

Kraken stood up and peered into the dimly lit treeline. The rest of the camp began to surround him, taking a moment each to spit on the body of their fallen brother in combat.

No valor in defeat, no honor in death.

Horns of alarm blared. Men armed themselves. Kraken donned his leathers and weapons. Parties of three were formed to scour the nearby woods.

All was about to set in motion when Kraken saw her. A small figure, wearing a thin layer of linen and simple shoes, burdened only by water skins, a mask and goggles for the sand storms.

In the midst of the chaos she kneeled by the side of the stream and drank deep of its cool waters.

Kraken bellowed a command and all movement stopped. One by one, the men followed their leader's gaze, until every man was watching her. Half a hundred guns raised up. She began to fill her water skins as though she were alone.

Silence filled the Green Valley.

Kraken spoke. "My man."

The figure did not turn, heedless of any danger. Her left cheek was a mess of healed scars. "He pointed his gun at me. I took his eyes."

Every man turned to look at the blind corpse of their compatriot, then back at the small woman by the stream. Several gun barrels now faced the ground.

Kraken considered. She was a great killer of men, there could be no doubt. Kraken could attack her directly, but he could not order an attack. To do so would undermine his strength and spell his doom. But, a lesser man might seize the opportunity.

And so one did. He was of a high renown, with 20 ears to his name. He wore a bolt action rifle and a bowey knife. To use the rifle would have disgraced him were this another man. To use the knife against this woman would mean forceful castration one night while he slept.

So the rifle and knife fell to the ground and he charged forward with a roar, racing for the figure's center of mass. At first, the did not react. But as the brute's monstrous fist was about to make contact, she juked, lightning fast, to the right. Her foe tried to stop, but the stranger's left leg tripped him and, as he fell, her right leg raised up in a vicious strike under the chin.

The dry wood snap of his neck could be heard for a quarter mile. He fell to the ground, alive but unable to breath.

The figure turned to address the crowd of armed men with a look of calm invitation as their disgraced brother asphyxiated in the mud.

Kraken waited for the man to die. It took some time. At last Kraken spoke. "What do you want?"

The woman had returned to her task in the stream, her demeanor unburdened. "Water and passage."

Warriors of equal skill could avoid conflict without shame. Kraken knew this, but still he worried he would come to regret this choice. For Kraken also knew this was no warrior of equal skill.

"Hm."

Without another glance, Kraken returned to his tent. Slowly the others returned to theirs as well.

Only the weakest among them contemplated their options for a time. She was only one woman, after all, and they had so many guns. A single bullet could earn men of their station great honor.

But, each of them thought, "what if I missed?"

The stranger finished filling her water skins and passed on, over the northernmost precipice, toward the setting moon, leaving a wake of silence in the Green Valley.

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Photo by Silver Spoon (Own work) [CC0 - Public Domain], via Wikimedia Commons

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