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

  Many attempts had been made by the Operarius Sciens to affix safety rails, with minimal success – as no known tool can penetrate the ancient metals.

  As the initial disappointment at getting no response from either of his Tribunes subsided, he looked down the immense set of stairs that hugged the edge of the spherical wall, descending to the base of the sphere far below. He took the first of 3,333 steps in his descent on the long and winding stair, which led to one of two entrances to the Crypt below. With each footstep, the sound of his boot striking the step echoed through the sphere, reflecting off all its surfaces a seemingly infinite number of times.

  As usual, Pious let his mind wander to personal and private matters during the long descent. Even more usual, the visage of Serana entered his mind. The more he thought about Serana, the more he regretted not listening to Lothar much earlier. He could have left Aurania with her and taken a well-deserved rest in the lush environs of Serica.

  He liked the Sericans. They were friendly, hospitable, and noble and devoid of the self-righteousness and bigotry that was rotting at the core of the Sanctum. Not once had he been slighted by a Serican. The more he thought about leaving, the more he wanted it. He had sworn an oath to protect Serana – and what better place to enact that promise, than Serica?

  “I’ll ask her,” he mumbled to himself, as his foot struck the landing at the bottom of the stairs. There, he faced a metallic wall almost 3 spans high, with a flat circular roof and a door hidden in the shadows of an alcove.

  Pious took a few steps into the alcove. Taking hold of the door latch, he tested the lock of the foreboding set of doors that stood before him. He smiled, and nodded to himself, as the door was secured firmly. He looked to the sign above the door, written in Common –

  “Let none pass with a tongue of Old, for even those of pure intent shall become readily theirs.”

  Pious huffed to himself in frustration, stepped out of the alcove and began to make his way along the circular path which led to the other entrance to the Crypt. He had read the sign which lay above both entrances to the Crypt innumerable times and was still none the wiser as to its meaning. He had never received an answer from those in the know, whether in relation to whoever had put it there, regarding what it meant. He had always felt the sign was of some import, but could never give it too much attention, as he felt it was a wasted endeavour.

  As he walked the path around the circular structure, he couldn’t help but feel stupid. The Ecclesiasticum had already tried as hard as they could to push him out of his position, and the current circumstance of an unmanned Dome of the Decree would be enough for them to gain support to do it.

  The cunning insults of the self-righteous and self-serving never truly bothered him. Harshlander, Sympathiser, Dagger Lover. All petty names spat out by those intimidated by his presence, position and merciful judgement. However, failure, that bothered him – deeply. The more it bothered them that an Harshlander ruled one of the Focal Powers, the more their contempt steeled his resolve to continue to do just that. He would not let the decision and legacy of Felixius Parabellum fall into disrepair and disrepute.

  As he walked the metallic path, he investigated all that he could, searching for any evidence as to the Elder’s activity. He looked upwards to the tremendous bridge and ring structure above, trying to assess whether anyone was attempting to enter or leave the Dome.

  He trusted his Tribunes entirely, and it was unlike them to be absent. Sincerus and Tyr were meant to be on duty – and something must have gone seriously wrong for them to abandon their posts, especially like this. Pious couldn’t let go of his ever–increasing list of concerns.

  As he approached the alcove which led to the second entrance to the Crypt, he saw that the door to the crypt was open, with a fine smoke-like haze rising from the opening. Pious stared, frozen with surprise. The entrance to the Crypt being open was not a good thing. It was against Sanctum law for anyone to be in the Crypt without the direct approval of at least a Tribune of the Unbreakable Guard and the acceptance of a Hierophant Perfecti.

  As Pious entered the crypt quietly and sealed the door behind him. He turned and looked deeper into the bowels of the Crypt, as the faint smoke slightly obscured his vision. A voice, faint and distant, gripped his attention.

  The Crypt

  “...And where you hear whispering, catch the defilers in the act. Speak loudly, clearly, and with certainty. For surely, you will banish from amongst your midst the selfishness of the psyche that causes plot, rumour and dissent…”

  Lectures on the pursuit of Heretics,

  Cedric Pervigil 9°, High Inquisitor Initio and Advocate of Lumerus.

  Recorded in the 1st Cycle of Purity.

  The voice. The whisper – it was most ominous. The whispering emanated from further within the Crypt, with the guilty party or parties apparently unaware of Pious’s presence. Pious felt confused, as he could feel the slight heat of flame as well as the faint smell and visual obscurity of smoke – but no fire to be seen.

  To those adherents of the Way of Lumerus, whispering was considered one of the more sinister arts. Wherever there was whispering, there was usually treachery, treason, gossip, plotting and other malefic activities. Whispering was not to be mistaken for the exchange of words in lowered voice, done so as not disturb others. Whispering was the deliberate art of surreptitiousness.

  Within Sanctuary, whispering was a punishable offence and was not to be tolerated, as secrecy and plotting were considered subversive to the order of Sanctuary. Pious’s face was marked by curiosity and compulsion.

  A Vigilant Praetorian, let alone the Prime Prefect, could not stand idle whilst such secretive actions were underway. However, Pious knew that the acquisition of whatever words were being exchanged would be of more benefit than a premature confrontation with the guilty.

  Pious continued to make his way down the black, polished–marble corridor. The Crypt was dimly lit, bordering on complete darkness, except for a red glow further ahead, reflected off the golden metallic walls of a room at the end of the corridor.

  Pious studied the light reflecting off the walls. The flickering crimson light coming from deeper in the complex would most likely be the ambient radiance of a Scarlet Lode, a much sought–after gem mined deep beneath the massive mountain ranges on Drakonis, in the Asius realms.

  Scarlet Lode, like all Lodestones, had the ability to radiate iridescent energy when struck hard enough for the stone to harness kinetic energy and release it in the form of light.

  The chance that the light was being generated by a Scarlet Lode fuelled Pious’s inquisitive curiosity, since these gems, though not incredibly rare, were still not common objects on Aurania. They were sought after by those of prestige to light their halls and domiciles and were mainly to be found in the possession of those of the Ecclesiasticum.

  The idea of someone in the Crypt wielding a Scarlet Lodestone and speaking the way of the Whisperer troubled Pious deeply.

  Pious pushed on further. The Crypt walls were around twenty-one spans tall, and the vaulted arches of the Crypt provided an even greater feeling of spaciousness. The arches had the same grand design as the buttresses on the externals of Sanctum, featuring sweeping curves with an ornate beauty in their symmetry.

  The flickering red glow ahead would show brief glimpses of inscriptions on the dark stones' reflective walls, written in the alleged symbolic script of the Arkons. The so-called Arkonian ideograms were highly complicated, with each ideogram said to reflect extremely complex ideas.

  It was said that the vocabulary of an Arkon was not only impossible to learn, it was also impossible to speak. An Auranian’s vocal implements were of such minute size compared to those of an Arkon that speaking the Arkonian tongue was impossible.

  The Crypt was a strange and foreboding location. The heretics claimed that it outlined not only the victories of the guardians of the Beneficent Way and the Decree of Sirius but also the trials and tribulations caused by the
Ethereal Malignus and their fleshy minions, the Whisperers.

  When an Acolyte was to become one of the Elders, they were led into the Crypt, which was only ever opened by a Praetorian Vigilant. Once inside, they were taught the cosmogony of existence, the contents of the Decree of Sirius and the history of Sanctum, as taught by the followers of Merusul and other heretical sects.

  As Pious approached the end of the corridor, he pushed hard up against the right wall, close to the edge of the corner that bordered on the innermost chamber, known as the Heptakron. The Heptakron was named appropriately, being in the form of a heptagon, with two sides having ramped corridors leading to the stairs out of the Crypt.

  The walls of the Heptakron were lined with a substance known as Aurum, a lustrous metal similar to Gold, but with the physical qualities of Mercury. Aurum could easily be painted onto a substrate, and when the correct electrical charge was applied, it would set harder than the strongest of metals. The application of Aurum was a long-lost art since the ostracising of the Khyramic Order saw its Aurum artisans banished to the Harshlands.

  The Aurum walls were covered in various glyphs, as well as Arkonian script and scenes of heretical historical events.

  Pious focused his attention as the murmuring became more audible, yet remained unintelligible. He peeked around the corner and saw a figure in the robes of a Perfecti, bearing a staff in one outstretched hand. The Perfecti stood by the main wall that Pious knew as ‘the Sigil’, muttering in an incomprehensible and unsettling tongue.

  At the head of the staff was a Scarlet Lode. Pious nodded in self-approval; his assumptions about the source of the ambient red light had proved correct. The light from the staff dimly lit an Aurum wall containing many figures and much writing. Pious steadied his breath, straining to hear the murmurings of the cloaked figure.

  Pious noticed the Perfecti with the staff beginning to turn. He adjusted his leaning posture back behind the wall and took a deep breath.

  “…so it shall be, Master. The wait shall not be withstood any longer,” hissed the whisperer, as he made his way in Pious’s direction. Pious could hear the shuffling footsteps moving closer to his location, each step pounding with his own heartbeat. He waited for the right time and stepped out in front of the approaching Perfecti.

  “Not long till what, whisperer?” Pious demanded.

  The Perfecti, who stood directly in front of Pious, staff in hand and hood still drawn over his face, did not even as much raise his head.

  “Pious, I am so glad you finally decided to join us,” said the figure in a quiet yet austere manner, interrupting Pious’s thoughts. “I was beginning to think that I would have to subvert the Advocates even further, but – here you are.”

  The Perfecti drew back his hood. Pious recognised the individual at once. He was Imperator Draetor Principio, Chief Hierophant, High Prelate and the Imperator of the Ecclesiasticum.

  “Draetor –” started Pious, in a questioning tone. Pious had never liked Draetor, taking him for a cunning and meddlesome politician – qualities for which he had neither care nor time. “What are you doing in the Crypt, unaccompanied?”

  “Who said I’m unaccompanied?” Draetor replied with a cunning smile and raised his brow. “We merely came into the Crypt to see if there was anyone in here who was not meant to be in here – individuals rather like you, actually.”

  Pious took a step closer to Imperator Draetor and lowered his head, to stare into his eyes.

  “Don’t play me for the fool, Draetor. You may have a way with words, but you shall find your manipulations will not work with me. Now tell me, what are you doing down here?”

  Draetor began gently blowing cool air onto the Lodestone, causing its light to flicker and dim. The darker it became, the more obvious were Draetor’s eyes.

  In the darkness, Draetor’s eyes developed a strange glow. This glow was one of the genetic traits of those belonging to the bloodline of Principio, a trait which gave them the ability to see the electromagnetic forces of the Aetheric, as well as the material world. The line of Principio went back deep into the history of the Sanctum.

  In the bloodline of Principio, exposure to the electromagnetic spectrum’s energy would cause a reaction on the surface of their retina, akin to tiny sparks. However, this partially hindered their ability to see the light of the material world. In the complete darkness, all Pious could see were the Imperator’s eyes, revealing what looked like a small lightning storm in each eye.

  “Stand aside, Pious. You would dare not impede by force a Prelate – you would forfeit your life if you dared,” the Imperator snarled in the complete darkness of the crypt.

  There was a moment of complete silence before Draetor began laughing to himself. Pious felt a trickle of blood run from his nostril, as the stress of the situation aroused a painful migraine deep in his skull.

  Pious felt the Imperator try to push past him and felt the hands of the Imperator grab at his clothing. Pious responded by pushing the Imperator away from him. The sound of a forceful blow of the Scarlet Lode against the wall rang true, followed by a bright shower of sparks and the radiant glow of the gem's red light, illuminating the two figures in the depths of the blackened Crypt.

  Looking towards the stairs leading out of the Crypt, the Imperator brushed past Pious with contempt and shuffled on towards the exit, laughing to himself as he did.

  “Forged Authoritor Order documents, Imperator? You cannot fool me. I will find out what you are plotting,” said Pious to Draetor as the latter continued to walk away without a response. “Do not think for a moment that this is over, Imperator! I heard your dark murmurings. This will be brought before the Tribunal!” said Pious, now staring at the mural wall where the Imperator had been offering up his shadowed words. He wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his sleeve.

  “I look forward to it, Pious. The Master’s libation of justice shall soon be truly poured before the Tribunal Conclave, thanks to your little visit here,” Draetor replied whilst making his way down the long corridor.

  Then the Imperator stopped and stared at Pious. Pious turned to see Draetor, who stood with a dagger in his hand. Through squinted eyes and hazy vision, he watched Draetor put the dagger to his face, and bury the tip into his cheek, drawing it downwards so that blood ran down his cheek from the open wound. Pious stared at Draetor with confusion, while Draetor showed not a single sign of pain or emotion, only stared down the corridor to his right.

  “He is here, Tribune! He attacked me!” called out the Imperator, before continuing towards the stairs exiting the crypt.

  Pious could hear footsteps approaching in a sprint. A Vigilant Legion Tribune ran forwards from the shadows of the circular corridor surrounding the inner Heptakron. The golden lodestone suspended around his neck illuminated the walls with a golden light.

  “Aurelius… what are you doing here?” asked Pious, staring at the Tribune and fellow Excelator with much confusion. Aurelius Vim, bearing the same armour and heraldry as Pious, had shoulder blade length brown hair, shaved at the sides and tied back in a tail. He and Pious had both been involved in the incident on Serica and had offered each other much support during the difficult days of their recovery period.

  “I should be asking you the same thing,” said Aurelius. He placed his hands on his hips and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Pious. You will have to come with me, old friend.” He gestured with his hand for Pious to come with him.

  Pious stood still, silent with frustration.

  “The Imperator has told me everything, Pious. Told me you would be here,” said Aurelius, shaking his head in disappointment.

  “Told you everything about what? What are you talking about?” snapped Pious.

  “Where were you during the first of the Dark Steps?”

  “I was in the Harshlands – on a task I cannot divulge,” replied Pious, with surety.

  Aurelius laughed. “I’m sure you were, Pious – but do you have a Writ to prove that?” he
replied. He reached into his pocket and withdrew an object. He threw it onto the ground, where it bounced a few times before landing in front of Pious.

  “No. I don’t have a Writ, Aurelius,” said Pious in frustration. He crouched down and picked up the small object.

  “The Inquisition had a report of a Shroud of Veiled meeting in the 19th District and issued a Writ for an Excelator’s assistance. It was issued to you, but you were nowhere to be found. Therefore – the task fell to me. We raided the dwelling just as they prepared to sacrifice a young child. We slew many, yet many fled. The Inquisitors found that at the scene – and described a man fleeing the scene who appears very similar to you,” said Aurelius, pointing at the object in Pious’s hand, as Pious inspected the object. It was familiar, very familiar to him. It was Pious’s Broach of Regard, a gift from the Serican Imperial Court of the Red Empress for his services rendered. Pious looked at the broach with confusion, then at Aurelius.

  Aurelius pointed at Pious. “You don’t have to say anything, just come with me… quietly.” He placed his hand on the hilt of his standard–issue Vigilant short–sword and raised his head in a gesture of preparedness.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you, Aurelius. Stand down,” said Pious, trying to look at Aurelius’ face, which was obscured by the dull glow from the lodestone – but he could surely make out the look of maddened determination in his eyes.

  Aurelius drew his sword. “I was hoping that it wouldn’t have to come to this, Pious,” he said, as he began walking towards Pious.

  Pious had just enough time to draw his sword and parry the oncoming strike of Aurelius, who swiped at the face of Pious with his blade. Sparks from the blades striking each other lit the walls and filled the crypt with the twang of steel on steel.