Exhumation: An Epic of Existentia (Acts of the Sojourner Book 1) Read online

  “Keep this to yourself, for now, Serana. Hide this device and all the others as well. They will be safest with you.” He handed the object back to her. Serana turned and placed it inside a satchel that she wore suspended by a strap over her shoulder.

  “Have you seen Jacq yet?” asked Serana.

  “I have. He was with Lothar in the Disciplinarium earlier,”

  “Did he like the gift?”

  “Of course. You and I both know that the mischief he could cause with it is boundless.”

  “I know, isn’t it great?” she said, smiling.

  “I still have no idea where you got something like that, Serana,” replied Pious, with a look of stern curiosity.

  Serana stepped in front of Pious and stood still, looking up at him. “You haven’t visited me for some time, Pious – it’s been at least a Pass,” she said in a disappointed tone.

  “I am sorry, Serana. There is so much happening at the moment. I feel like I can’t hold this place together anymore,” replied Pious with regret and a lowered head. “Not so close, you mustn’t raise the suspicions of the others.”

  Serana shook her slightly with derision at his comment. “The role of Prime Prefect is neither for the faint-hearted nor for the unjust. Of which you are neither. Father entrusted the role to you, Pious because he believed in you,” said Serana encouragingly, as she wiped the remnants of blood from his nose with a silken handkerchief and placed it into small pouch sewn into her dress. She removed her gloves and placed them under her belt.

  Then Serana gently raised his head with her fingertips and rubbed her hand on his cheek. Her soft and delicate touch sent a surge of excitement and emotion through his body, awakening every nerve and cell. There was always a certain energy from the touch of an Eir, but this was different. That moment, her hand on his cheek, reached beyond the confines of touch; it was timeless, emotional, vitalising. It was a moment he knew would be unforgettable.

  She raised herself onto the tips of her toes and gently leant towards him, kissing his lips. A vast undercurrent of powerful emotions coursed through his being. He had always known that he wanted to live a life of peace and tranquillity with Serana, but his duties were always of greater importance than his own desires.

  It wasn’t the first time they had kissed, nor was it all that they had shared. During the previous Cycle, Serana and Pious had wed in secret, with Zosim and Friesia as their witnesses. The union of Pious and Serana would have been considered an incredible travesty and disgrace if it were to be made public – as Serana was Knownborn of honourable stock and Pious was Underborn. A line of Knownborn would be rendered Underborn within one generation, as the chain of ancestors would be shattered. Knownborn were free to pick their suitors from other Knownborn families, unlike the Freeborn of the Districts – who were matched amongst the Freeborn by the Clerics of Union, based upon their trade skills and physical qualities.

  Ever since their union, they had tried many, many times for Serana to fall pregnant, but with no success. Both now accepted that the same scourge effecting the majority of Sanctuary had touched them, too.

  Yet in this moment when her lips met his, he knew he was ready to leave it all behind – he was ready to give up all he knew, for her. He no longer needed a child as the catalyst for his detachment from Sanctuary; he had everything he needed right in front of him. As her mouth left his, the perfumed Zaydin–flower–scented oils she used to moisturise her lips left behind a haunting scent and taste.

  Pious stood in a daze, mesmerised by her beauty. “We really must talk about our last meeting,” she said, with a coy smile. “It’s important, but it can wait until we are alone. Make sure you come and see me as soon as you can – I'll be waiting in my room.” She gave him a flirtatious wink, as her hand gracefully left his face. As her fingertips left his skin, it felt as if an arc of lightning cracked between them, and a tremendous feeling of loss and longing filled his heart.

  Pious sorrowfully watched Serana’s petite, feminine figure walk away down the corridor and out of sight, leaving him with a dreadful feeling, as though a vast expanse was set before them. The urge to vomit pushed up from the depths of his stomach – as a crushing migraine crept into his mind in a surge of light and colour.

  “Follow her, don’t let leave!” a voice screamed inside his mind. Pious grabbed his forehead and ground his teeth together. “You stupid fool! Go! Now!” the voice screamed again.

  A moment later, Serana’s Ayldar Shield–Maiden exited the room, walking off slowly in pursuit of Serana and distracting Pious from his painful throes. Pious turned squinted his eyes in pain and re-entered the room.

  Zosim had set up a small workstation on a table against the wall and had set up the piece of equipment Pious had carried for him earlier.

  “Please remove the bandages,” Zosim asked the young Eir who had remained in the room with him.

  The Eir gently removed the bandages, revealing a gaping and blackened open wound underneath.

  Zosim withdrew the moss from the satchel and dropped it into a large glass sphere with an opening at the top. Then he poured in the remaining liquid from the satchel and replaced the glass lid of the sphere.

  He proceeded to rotate a handle on the side of the contraption, which began to spin a set of counter-rotating blades inside the sphere, macerating the moss into a thick paste.

  Removing the sphere from the top of the contraption, he went over to the side of the woman’s bed, where he handed the sphere to the young, blonde-haired Eir.

  “Put this on the wound, dear. Completely cover the wound, and put it all on.”

  The young Cherish began to apply the almost black paste gently to the wound, starting from the outside and working her way towards the centre of the wound, without as much as a movement or flinch from the patient.

  Everyone in the room watched intently as she applied the entire mixture and covered it again with layers of clean gauze.

  Meanwhile, the Eir’s Shield Maiden cleaned up the equipment that Zosim had used in the procedure.

  “We will see that your equipment is returned, Master,” said the young Ayldar.

  “Thank you, lass,” said Zosim. “We cannot do any more here; we must let the moss do its work now.”

  Pious and Zosim silently made their way out of the infirmary wing and into the main atrium of Caregard together. “Pious!” shouted Friesia from atop the stairs, almost as if she had been waiting for him.

  Pious turned and faced Friesia. “Yes, my lady?”

  “Can you please join me upstairs? It will only take a moment. My apologies, Zosim.”

  Pious patted Zosim on the shoulder and made his way up the stairs. Zosim nodded contentedly as Friesia made her way back into her room.

  Pious entered Friesia's quarters and found her standing next to a large cabinet. She held in her hand what appeared to be a small piece of fabric.

  “I had forgotten all about this. It was only when I saw you with Zosim that my memory returned to me,” said Friesia. “Put out your hand.”

  Pious stretched out his hand. Friesia took his hand in hers and with the other hand placed the soft piece of fabric in his palm, before closing his hand with hers.

  “This belonged to your… mother,” Friesia said in a solemn voice.

  Pious opened his hand and inspected the item. It was a white silken handkerchief, with fine embroidery on it. Woven elegantly into the surface of the material were two Corvax birds and two Rapax chasing each other in a circle, with a spear-wielding man and a mighty bristled Bara towering above him, fighting in their midst. In the bottom corner was some obscure and unreadable script.

  “She said that I should give it to you if you were ever to return,” said Friesia.

  “Do you know what the writing says?” he asked, looking once again at the obscure text.

  “No. I’ve never tried to find out. It’s yours, Pious, and it's for you to find out what it says if you so desire,” replied Friesia.

  “It’s
beautiful,” said Pious, while holding the fabric with both hands and inspecting it intently. He folded it in half, then in half again, and placed it underneath his vambrace.

  “Indeed, it is,” said Friesia, while staring far off into the distance, seemingly to another place and time.

  “I wish you would release yourself from the burdens of the past.” Pious pulled Friesia towards him and embraced her gently. “Lothar said that you couldn’t have done anything.”

  Friesia placed her head comfortingly on his shoulder. “Maybe… maybe I could have.”

  “Well… at least you still have your memories – good and bad,” replied Pious, as he slowly detached himself from Friesia's embrace and held her arms softly at her sides.

  “I had better move on, Friesia,” he said with a smile, trying not to be rude.

  “Right, you had better not keep that old oaf waiting,” Friesia said in jest, as she composed herself and wiped tears from her eyes.

  Pious turned to make his way out of the door.

  “And, Pious –” said Friesia. Pious stopped and turned to face her.

  “Please pay more regard to Serana. She cares for you greatly.”

  “I will, Friesia. I would give her all my time if I could and I will when I can.” He started towards the doorway and then turned once again to Friesia. “Do you think Serana would like the gardens of Xia?” he asked.

  “Of course – but only if you were there to show them to her,” she replied, smiling at him.

  Pious smiled to himself, cherishing the thought of walking hand in hand with Serana through the majestic subterranean gardens of Xia, deep below the surface of Serica. “Farewell, Friesia,” he said quietly and made his way out of the doorway and down the steps towards Zosim, who had fallen asleep in his chair.

  Pious took hold of the two handles of Zosim’s wheelchair and started wheeling him out of Caregard.

  Corridor of the Operarium

  “Alas, if we all did nothing but ponder on Beneficence, the truth would be lost to the Void. What power is there in Beneficent thought alone? It is the Beneficent action, the hauling of the concept from the void and making it form, which is the noblest of deeds. The glorious labour, the manifestation of celestial concepts, is the foundation and strength of the Beneficent Path.”

  An excerpt from Structuram Civilitatis, Chapter IV,

  The Wise and Noble Lumerus.

  Dated the 1st Cycle of Truth.

  As Pious and Zosim entered the hallway, Zosim woke from his sleep, seemingly unfazed.

  “I have some very serious information, Zosim,” said Pious in a tone of concern, while keeping his eyes fixed ahead. He pushed the wheelchair at an even and steady pace, the vulcanised Fieldstrap–lined wheels moving silently over the polished floor.

  “What is it, lad?” replied Zosim, turning his head to the side to hear Pious better.

  “Attaran Vizieri and a detachment of Dragoon Guard were in the Great Forest, not far north of the Prevention.”

  “That is very serious, Pious… very serious indeed,” replied Zosim, staring at his hands held in his lap with his fingers interlocked, circling his thumbs. “Do you know what Observance they were from?”

  “No. But what does it matter? They were Attarans – they are all the same,” replied Pious.

  “That is a very grave mistake, Pious. They are most definitely not the same,” replied Zosim sternly. “The sooner you understand that, the simpler it will be for you to combat the enemy successfully,”

  “It’s all heresy, Zosim, and heresy should not be tolerated – or given any thought,”

  “No matter how delusional you think their concepts may be,” Zosim replied, “how can you logically say that one group of people who pray through the medium of good deeds and good thoughts for divine blessing are the same as a group who sacrifice the lives of others for the favour and appeasement of malicious beings?”

  Pious continued to push the wheelchair in silence, trying to summon an answer to one of Zosim’s standard logically sound propositions.

  “That’s right,” said Zosim. “You can’t. What does it matter, if the delusion inspires good as well? Is it really any different to the adherence of upholding the Nine Virtues?”

  “Laws are laws, Zosim, and I will uphold them. I think that is enough talk of heresy for now, don’t you think?”

  “You must learn that the Daggers battle and they despise the Iniquities, as much as what we do – just in a different way,” said Zosim. He looked down at his hands, bringing the conversation to a close.

  “Anyway… what is worse, Zosim, is that they met and had an exchange with a Prelate,” said Pious, trying to bring the conversation back to the topic at hand.

  Zosim raised his head. “A Prelate? – Did you determine who the Prelate was?”

  “It was Prelate Vicario,” replied Pious.

  “Vicario? That is very interesting. Didn't he disappear recently?”

  “He did. But it’s irrelevant now,”

  “Irrelevant. How is a missing Prelate found meeting with the Attarans during the dark steps irrelevant?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “Dead… devoured by a Shaydean Tabanidon.”

  Zosim shook his head. “What a horrendous way to leave this life,” he said quietly. “Did they kill him in cold blood?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Then they are probably from the Ancient Observance. The Strict Observance would not commit such murder,”

  Zosim began to twiddle his thumbs once more in concentration. “You should speak to Kazieress Progresso immediately, before speaking to anyone else regarding this matter. This is a matter for the Advocates to investigate, and she would take your word as sound grounds to further investigate a matter such as this,”

  “That was my thought as well,” replied Pious. “Maybe I should also discuss the matter with Lothar.”

  “Maybe – but don’t do that just yet. Speak to Stasha first – her impartiality will bring sound counsel,” said Zosim, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to warm them. His joints had begun to pain him due to the slightly frigid interior of the Sanctum during early Tenebrae.

  “Pious,” he said, “be careful. You know as well as I do that the walls of Sanctuary have very, very sensitive ears.”

  Pious smiled, and a brief period of solemn silence was held between the two until they reached the entryway to Zosim’s study. In the usual fashion, Pious released the handles of Zosim’s wheelchair as they crossed the threshold of Zosim’s room, and Zosim placed his hands on the wheels of his chair and took over. He turned his chair on the spot to face Pious.

  “You did a good thing this Step, Pious. You Excelators truly do live up to your titles.”

  “Not a problem, Zosim. This young lady must be quite the enigma, to have piqued your curiosity.”

  “Indeed, she is. She doesn’t dress in any fashion or custom with which I am familiar. All I know is that it is imperative she survive, to ascertain the cause of the wounds.”

  Pious took a few paces back towards the door. “We will discuss this later in detail, my dear friend. I had better get to Stasha to discuss our other pressing concern.”

  “Excellent, because this old fool is ready for his rest,” said Zosim, wheeling himself towards his bed tucked in a small alcove.

  “Do you need some assistance, Zosim?” said Pious. He already knew the response; hence, he kept one foot in the door, the other out.

  “Pah! Get moving,” replied Zosim gruffly. He heaved himself out of the chair and onto the bed, pulling the patchwork–quilted blankets over himself. He snuggled himself into his bed, removed the cap covering his hair, and placed it into a small niche.

  “Oh, wait!” shouted Zosim, summoning Pious from the corridor. Pious looked back in from the door.

  “Blood Snake… Sanguinus Venomax,” muttered Zosim, before falling silent

  Pious waited, listening – trying to judge whether the
old man had fell asleep.

  “The Blood Snake is the Initiator of the Ormish Druids,” stated Zosim, as he yawned and stretched his arms. “The bite, or rather its venom, is said to contain the concentrated will of Concordia. The Ormish Druids wilfully inflict, or self-inflict, the bite of the Blood Snake upon Initiates to the Order of the Waters… it is said that its venom opens the mind of those poisoned with its venom, allowing them to see only the course of time as intended by Concordia, the course of true balance.”

  He rolled over, turning his back to the doorway. “But… that is all heresy, of course.”

  “Of course, sleep well, Zosim,” said Pious. Sensing that Zosim had already fallen asleep, he drew the curtain across the doorway, blocking the dull light of the lodestones glowing in the corridor.

  Pious smiled as he turned and made his way towards the Magistratum, in search of Kazieress Stasha Progresso, the mediatory voice and Curator of the Conclave.

  The Magistratum

  “The Fourth Power shall be the Magistratum: a body composed of those individuals whose role shall be to best see fit the implementation of the Structuram Civilitatis, and to ensure that all adhere to it…”

  An excerpt from Structuram Civilitatis, Chapter V,

  The Wise and Noble Lumerus.

  Dated the 1st Cycle of Truth.

  After extended moments of self-reflection over the events of the Step, Pious eventually reached the Magistratum. The lines between reality and time had blurred as he passed through the tremendous halls of Sanctum – passing by conversing couples, studious loners, messengers and a multitude of others going about their normal routines, with smiles on their faces in expectation of the festivities of Tenebrae.

  The Magistratum was a lavish and stately facility, featuring many offices and archives, facilitating the work of the members of the various councils and governing bodies, as well as housing all the administrative staff required to support them.