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

  Pious headed towards a large central flight of stairs, like those in Caregard. As he passed by, a clerk tasked with greeting, and guiding visitors looked up. When she noticed it was the Praetorian Prefect ascending the stairs, she resumed her tasks, well knowing that stopping a senior member of a Focal Power would usually generate more work than necessary or at least an undeserved reprimand.

  Once Pious reached the top of the stairs, he took a few steps forward towards the entrance to the Curator’s office – the office of Kazieress Stasha Progresso. He stared at her door, then down the corridor to his left. He knew he should knock on her door, enter, and tell her everything. He raised his hand, formed it into a fist and rested it on the door. He could hear her inside, having an unintelligible discussion.

  He let out a breath through his nostrils and turned away from the door, walking down the corridor to his left.

  Two long corridors stretched out on either side of the stair’s landing, with each corridor having a multitude of rooms connected to it. These rooms, known as the Chambers of Righteousness, were combined offices and quarters, reserved for those who were or had served as Magisters for one of the four Focal Powers.

  Pious stopped in front of a door and gave it three solid knocks. Lothar never hurried to do anything, so rushing in impatiently would usually be met with chastisement. Not receiving a response, Pious knocked again.

  “Lothar,” said Pious, as he tested the locked door.

  Lothar had retired from his position as High Inquisitor many cycles ago. Now he was provided with a Chamber of Righteousness and served as an advisor to the current Kaiziers on Inquisitorial matters. Pious had decided that he wanted to speak only to Lothar, no matter the consequence. To Pious, Lothar could do or say no wrong.

  Pious turned his head slightly upon hearing the door behind him begin to open. A small, elderly, silver-haired man peered through the crack in the door, with a pair of spectacles held low on his nose.

  “Oh, it’s you, Pious,” said the man quietly, before opening the door a little more and looking out to inspect the empty corridor.

  “Hello, Magister Ropert,” replied Pious, nodding his head slightly in greeting.

  “I heard Lothar outside my door earlier,” said the old man, before abruptly closing his door again. This didn’t bother Pious. He knew Magister Ropert well – well enough to know that he was quite indifferent to the affairs of others, yet enough of a busybody to listen in on their conversations.

  “Thank you, Ropert!” said Pious loudly through the door, before turning and making his way out of the corridor and back down the stair.

  On his way, out of the Magistratum, Pious went over to the young woman behind the front reception desk.

  “If Magister Lothar returns, please let him know I am looking for him – tell him I will wait for him in the Northern Cardinal Dome,” said Pious, tapping the counter top as he walked past. A man and a woman dressed in the robes of Kazieri Scribes stood on either side of the counter, reading some administrative documents. As the female scribe turned the page of a document she was reading, she let out a few coughs. Pious stared at her for a moment. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t recall where from exactly.

  “Yes, Prefect,” said the clerk quietly, as Pious briskly exited the Magistratum.

  As Pious strode confidently along the corridor, he felt a presence catch up to him from behind – and slow its pace to walk alongside Pious.

  Pious turned and recognised one of the Scribes who had stood alongside the greeter in the Magistratum.

  Pious looked back in the direction he was going, in seeming disregard of the scribe. “Yes, Scribe?”

  “Do not go the Northern Cardinal Dome, Prefect – do not seek out Lothar.”

  “What?”

  “We are undertaking an investigation – which you are about to severely compromise.”

  Pious stopped in his tracks, staring at the scribe. “Who – is 'we' exactly?”

  “The Advocates.”

  “Your credential?” Pious snapped at the Scribe, holding out his hand.

  “I don’t have anything, Prefect. We are undercover – if we chance to be caught, you know that we cannot carry anything like that.”

  “Then get out of my face, before I reprimand you as an imposter,” said Pious, pushing the scribe out of the way.

  “Damn it!” exclaimed the scribe, as he turned and sprinted down the corridor with the utmost of haste.

  The Northern Cardinal Dome

  “Either side of the Dome has an entryway, which leads to a corridor connecting to the next Cardinal Dome, with the entrance to the Focal Tower of each of the Focal Powers located midway along the corridor.

  These interconnecting corridors have a multitude of rooms attached to them, relative in function and purpose to the corridor's Focal Tower. In the centre of each corridor is the grand entrance to one of the four Focal Towers, those being the Ecclesiasticum, the Magistratum, the Praetorium and the Operarium. Each Focal Tower is the administrative seat of their namesake's Focal Power,”

  A facsimile of various notes from the recovered journals of Lan’Tsa Nichon regarding the structure of Sanctuary,

  Qan’Fu Ensan, Imperial Archivist.

  1114th Revolution of the Grand Míngxīng.

  Once Pious reached the Northern Cardinal Dome, he quickly ascended a flight of stairs that led towards the upper-level mezzanine, pushing past many folks already beginning to enjoy their downtime. Pious scanned the area for Lothar, but after not seeing him anywhere, he ran towards the entrance that led to the observation deck, overlooking the Arboretum.

  He scanned the area once again, to see if he could find Lothar. Lothar was still nowhere to be found. He looked again, to see if he could spot anyone familiar – anyone who might know the location of Lothar.

  Pious spotted Magemnon Frentus, the Governor of the 1st District, leaning on the railing, overlooking the Forecourt and the gardens of the Arboretum, puffing away on a smoking pipe filled with Marshmallow leaves.

  The gardens were illuminated by the colourless Tenebraen light from above. However, there were patches of green, illuminated by the lodestones fitted into lampposts, as well as by various people walking through the gardens with lodestone lanterns or staves. Pious also spotted the lights of the Winged Sentinels, who had increased their patrols and scattered themselves around the grounds.

  “Beneficence be praised, Governor,” said Pious as he joined Magemnon at the railing.

  The Governor turned his head towards Pious and blew out a thick and luxurious stream of Marshmallow smoke into the cold air. “May it forever be so, Prefect,” replied the man, before again looking to the gardens below and coughing a few times.

  “Governor, have you seen Magister Lothar?” questioned Pious, still scanning the observation deck.

  “Well – actually I have, Prefect. I met him here not that long ago. However, he ran off quite abruptly. The crazy bastard thinks he is being followed.”

  “Followed?”

  “Yes – wouldn’t tell me by whom though. Old age, huh?”

  Pious grunted to himself quietly in frustration. “Thank you, Governor.” He turned to make his way back into the Dome.

  “My pleasure, Prefect,” replied the Governor as Pious walked away. “Pious!” Shouted the Governor.

  “Yes?”

  “Can I give you some advice?”

  Pious stared back at him, confused. “Sure”

  “If I were you, which I'm not, but if I were – I would leave Sanctuary. Find Serana, Jacq – and leave.”

  Pious clenched his teeth slightly, turned and walked off, re-entering the dome.

  As Pious was going down the stairs to the ground floor, a man garbed in the uniform of a Magistratum messenger was sprinting up the stairs.

  As the gaze of the messenger met Pious, an expression of relief crossed his face. “Prefect, Prefect!” shouted the young lad, barely in his teens, as he ran towards Pious.

  “Yes, messe
nger?” replied Pious.

  The messenger stood in front of him, catching his breath and staring over the edge of the stairs at a group of female Acolytes before looking back at Pious. “I have a message for you,” said the messenger, handing Pious a scroll.

  Pious peeled open the still–warm wax seal of the Magistratum that bound together the ends of the piece of ribbon holding the scroll in its rolled position. Pious carefully unrolled the scroll, holding it by either end and began reading the hastily written and wet letters quietly to himself.

  “Pious – you are about to potentially jeopardise several Cycles of thorough investigation. We are all in danger. Nevertheless, you are close to being in the utmost of danger. Be advised, Pious – no matter how suspicious the activities may seem, do not enter the Dome of the Decree. It is under strict observation and arrests are soon to be made – as long as you restrain yourself from entering and chasing their lure. Be diligent with the dispersal of your trust – even the Advocates have been infiltrated. Most of all - do not trust your confidant, Lothar. He aids the Daggers in their pursuit to reclaim the Sanctum. Your eyewitness account of the interaction at the Prevention is highly important, and they understand you know of it – and they will stop at no end to ensure that the information disappears with you. If you do not take heed of my cautious words and fall into their trap, we will aid you when you are not being watched. However, I must warn you that harsh measures would, in that case, be required to secure your freedom, measures in which no quarter can be given. Destroy this scroll and watch your back.

  L.R.9°

  The scroll bore the mark and seal of an Advocate of Lumerus and an anagram of Leon Regulario, chief Provost of the Advocates. Pious began tearing up the scroll in confusion and frustration.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” asked Pious as he handed the shredded remains of the scroll to the messenger.

  The messenger looked over the side of the stairs again, once again distracted by the beautiful women below.

  “I don’t know, Prefect, I’m just a messenger,” smiled the young messenger, staring over the balustrade.

  “Hey!” said Pious loudly. He punched the messenger in the arm, distracting him from his pathetic flirting attempts.

  “Who sent it?” he asked.

  The messenger rubbed his arm with an expression of pain.

  “Concentrate! Who sent it?” said Pious, pushing the messenger in the shoulder.

  “Another scribe gave it to me and told me that you had just left and were heading here and that it was of the highest priority – full sprint. It was lucky I found you… or not,” replied the messenger, trying to focus all his attention to Pious, as he rubbed his aching arm.

  “You may go,” instructed Pious, gesturing for the messenger to leave, pointing down the stairs.

  The messenger turned and made his way down the stairs, quickly running past the group of Acolytes, who were laughing at his chastisement by the Prime Prefect.

  Confused, Pious made his way down the stairs, until he was standing in the main chamber of the Northern Cardinal Dome. The events of the Pass were taking their mental toll on him, and no conclusions to his concerns were in reach. He hadn’t even had a moment to stop and eat something – and his stomach groaned with hunger.

  The Northern Cardinal Dome was very quiet, as it usually was. The Dome was mainly used a thoroughfare between the Ecclesiasticum and the Magistratum, with most Sanctum’s inhabitants not needing, or wanting, to use those facilities. There were several Ecclesiasts standing around, discussing mundane matters in the Dome.

  As Pious made his way across the Dome to the Corridor of Ecclesiasticum, he heard a distracting whistle and turned his head to face the Dome of the Decree. He saw a hooded Elder struggling to close the door to the Dome of the Decree.

  A Centurion guarding the entrance stopped the Elder, after assisting him to close the door. Pious watched the Centurion question the Elder briefly before they both looked at Pious and the Elder walked away from the door towards the Ecclesiasticum Corridor.

  “What is going on here?” said Pious to himself, concerned by the scene before him. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, being too distracted by his own thoughts and the contents of the cryptic Scroll, but there were no Vigilant Praetorians in sight. In particular, there was no one from the 1st Vigilant Cohort guarding the entrance to the Dome of the Decree.

  Pious walked over to the Dome’s entrance, where a Centurion blazoned in the colours of the 1st Authoritor Cohort had returned to standing guard. The Centurion met Pious’s approach with the usual Praetorian salute.

  “Centurion!” snapped Pious.

  “Prefect!” replied the centurion with haste, standing at full attention.

  “Helmet off!” ordered Pious, with restrained fury. The Centurion removed his helmet, placing it under his arm and standing to attention once again. His skin had the unmistakable hallmark inflammation of a Strength Serum Enhanced Centurion.

  “Why is an Overwatch Centurion guarding the entrance to the Dome of the Decree?” Pious demanded of the Centurion, his face reddened with frustration. Pious scanned the interior of the northern Dome again. Still, not a single Vigilant was in sight.

  The Centurion reached to his side and grabbed his Orders tube, suspended by a chain attached to his belt. He opened the tube and withdrew an Order, which he swiftly presented to Pious. “I was handed this order, Prefect,” said the Centurion as he gave it to him.

  “I understand that there was an incident involving the 1st Vigilant Cohort. Prefect Quistin ordered me to guard the entrance in their absence,” the Centurion further informed him.

  Pious stared into the Centurion's eyes. He seemed legitimate. His gaze, his posture, his breathing– all seemed in order to Pious, not the usual behaviour of someone lying, especially in the presence of a Prefect. Then again, Pious was also too aware of the apathetic and sociopathic tendencies induced by the Serum, and its user’s incredible capacity for lying. Pious bit his lower lip in frustration. “Why was an Elder in the Dome, unescorted?” he asked, pointing at the door.

  “He said he was lost, and did not mean to enter,” replied the Centurion.

  “Lost?” quizzed Pious, with a look of frustration on his face. “How long have you been standing here?”

  “It’s hard to say, Prefect, since the Tolls have stopped working,” replied the Centurion.

  “Did you see the Elder come in?” asked Pious, looking at him angrily.

  “No, I did not, Prefect,” replied the guard, beginning to show an expression of anticipated chastisement. The Centurion attempted to respond, before being cut short by Pious.

  “Do not let a single entity pass through this door until I return, do you understand?” commanded Pious.

  “Clearly,” replied the centurion, before saluting and returning to attention.

  “Your Prefect will be made aware of this,” Pious informed the Centurion, as he opened the large, ornate door just enough to slip inside. The hinges groaned under the immense weight of the almost thirty–spans–high door. As he slipped through the open door, he spotted the purported Advocate and his female counterpart, watching his actions. The Advocate shook his head discouragingly and in disapproval of Pious’s intentions.

  Pious closed the door behind him. The sound of the closing mechanism latching shut echoed throughout the Dome of the Decree.

  The Dome of the Decree

  “In the centre of Sanctum is a tremendous Dome, titled the Dome of the Decree. Nestled inside this Dome is a numinous structure titled the Sanctum Sanctorum. It is this Dome and its interior, which intrigue me the most. My curiosity was sparked by it being the one place in Sanctuary that I was not allowed to access. I can only imagine what curiosities wait in this mysterious location – a location which I can tell is the root and heart of this grand city.”

  A facsimile of various notes from the recovered journals of Lan’Tsa Nichon regarding the structure of Sanctuary,

  Qan’Fu Ensan, Imperial Ar
chivist.

  1114th Revolution of the Grand Míngxīng.

  Pious stood sombrely in the entrance of the Dome of the Decree, which even after his uncountable stations in the Dome still had a foreboding and ominous effect upon him. The Dome of the Decree, being the upper half of a tremendous sphere, made anyone who entered feel tiny and insignificant.

  Inside the giant sphere was suspended the Profanum Profanorum, a massive Icosahedron, comprised of twenty equilateral triangles, which formed its outer structure. The Profanum Profanorum housed the immovable and heretical tome, the Decree of Sirius, shutting it away under lock and guard as one of the Unbreakables.

  Pious was standing on a bridge that led from the entrance of the Dome of the Decree to an inner ring which surrounded the Profanum Profanorum and then projected to the adjacent surface of the sphere. Two flights of stairs spiralled downward around the surface of the sphere, to the Crypt lying deep below.

  All the surfaces within the Dome – the bridges, the stairs, the Profanum Profanorum and the outer sphere – were of a metallic blackish–blue colour, with hints of a full spectrum of colours, as if the surfaces had been subjected to the highest of heats. The surfaces had a slightly reflective satin finish, partially illuminated by the ever–glowing stones which were placed on either side of the Dome.

  “Tyr!” shouted Pious, as he scanned the area. His voice carried throughout the Dome.

  “Sincerus!” he shouted even louder, in the hope that Sincerus would reply from the opposite side of the Dome. He waited for a moment for the echoes to subside.

  “Where are they?” he muttered to himself, disappointed by the lack of response. The lack of Unbreakable Guard minding the entrances disturbed him deeply. The reasoning for having high-ranking Tribunes taking watch over the entrance to the Dome of the Decree and its interns was twofold.

  Not only was it done to preserve the security of the location, it was also done to record and keep safe those who ventured inside. Entering the Dome could prove fatal, as there were no rails running along the bridges or staircases. Any wrong move or slip along the bridges or the stairs to the lower level, and the several hundred-span plummet to the ground below would spell certain death.