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

  “Help him up, you piece of shit!” yelled a familiar voice from the left of Pious.

  Pious turned his head to the left and saw Sincerus, Tyr and Valerus with their hands also tied behind their backs – each under guard of a Vindicator. In the next instant, Sincerus was struck over the back with a baton by his guard, causing him to drop to the floor.

  “Enough of this violence!” yelled a voice from above Pious.

  Pious looked upwards. An almost full Tribunal was present and seated – without the Prime Prefect. Lothar was standing at his Magister’s position, behind Draetor.

  The Conclave, the facility where the Tribunal convened to discuss matters of importance, was a large, circular room, with four rows of wooden benches on the ground floor, which hugged the walls. Each row was higher than the one before it, the lowest starting from the floor, with the highest against the wall.

  On the second level was a large suspended ring with thirteen chairs, with a bridge providing access from the mezzanine level of the Conclave to the suspended ring. The three leaders of the Focal Powers sat in their regular positions above, with their sub-delegates seated behind them. The seat reserved for the Prime Prefect was vacant, for obvious reasons.

  During a normal Tribunal meeting, the Conclave would be full of onlookers, leaving only standing room for those who were not seated early enough. However, on this occasion, it was quite empty by comparison, due to the session being called as an emergency.

  The Curator, Kazieress Progresso – an elderly grey-haired woman and long-serving Kazieress, dressed in Magistratum Blue – slammed her gavel against the cold stone of her foreboding pulpit and raised her eye-glasses to the bridge of her nose.

  “Imperator Principio – you must allow the accused to speak!” demanded the Curator, pointing her gavel at the Imperator, garbed in his Ecclesiastic Purple robes

  “Agreed. What have you to say for yourself, Pious?” questioned Draetor in a probing, accusative tone.

  “The only thing I have to say for myself is this – why am I bound and beaten before the Tribunal?” replied Pious, after attempting to clear some of the blood from his face by rubbing it against his shoulder.

  “Prime Prefect Pious Argentum – you have been brought before the Tribunal on several grievous charges, raised by Imperator Principio: the murder of Praetorian Vigilant and Excelator Aurelius Vim, the assault on High Prelate and Imperator Draetor Principio, Dereliction of Duty and–” The Curator paused and rubbed her head uneasily, as she cleared her throat.

  “—and for consorting with the Veiled Unrepentant,” she said, and gave a single knock of her gavel on the table.

  Pious looked to the ground and shook his head as the Conclave erupted in a furore of heated discussion.

  “Oh, don’t act like the innocent, Pious. You are a murderer and a heretic, and your Tribunes abandoned their most important posts – enabling you to complete these foul deeds,” said Draetor. The Imperator turned to the Curator and pointed at Pious.

  “Tribunal – I caught Prefect Argentum whispering dark, heretical murmurings to the Unbreakables in the Crypt. When I disturbed him and asked why he was lurking in the Crypt unaccompanied, he lashed out at me with his dagger. He murdered his fellow Vigilant and Excelator, Aurelius Vim, in cold blood – slitting his throat, after he confronted and questioned Pious regarding his attendance at a Shroud of Unrepentant. I managed to escape with my life, thanks to the valiant sacrifice of Aurelius.”

  Lost for words, Pious had his head held low – gently shaking his head in disbelief.

  “These are serious accusations that you have brought before the Tribunal, Imperator. What proof do you have of this? Do you have any witnesses?” questioned the Curator.

  “I have the dagger of the accused!” shouted Draetor, whilst pointing at Pious and gesturing with an open hand to the crowd below.

  “How can you have my dagger? It is in its scabbard – on my belt,” replied Pious with surety, gesturing with his head behind him.

  “Villicus - search the accused,” said the Curator to the Villicus– the head bailiff of the Conclave. The Villicus walked to Pious and lifted the rear of Pious’s tunic, in search of the dagger.

  “The scabbard is empty,” stated the Villicus.

  “Of course, it is. Because I have his dagger!” yelled Draetor, lifting a Praetorian dagger into the air – with Pious’s name inscribed into its blade. It was covered with darkened, dried blood. The crowd was in shock, murmuring to each other quietly.

  “Steward, take the evidence. Have the Medici undertake a blood–make analysis for a match to the victims,” said the Curator, pointing at the dagger.

  “However, you have yet to answer my second question, Imperator. Do you have any witnesses?” demanded the Curator.

  “No, Curator. My only witness is dead. However – I believe my infallibility stands on its own…”

  The Curator looked towards Pious with a serious expression over her lowered eye-glasses. “Pious, what have you to say in your defence?” questioned the Curator. The Steward attempted to take the dagger from Draetor, who refused to hand it over, instead holding it tight to his chest.

  “On which of the false accusations shall I first provide a defence? I have nothing to say, for it is quite clear that this trial has been well articulated and preconceived to place me in a position of assumed guilt!” Pious replied sternly to those in the ring above.

  The Curator turned and looked at the Tribunes not far to Pious’s left, all standing behind the wooden balustrade of the accused.

  “We shall return to this matter. Why were you not at your post, Tribunes?” questioned the Curator.

  Valerus looked to Tyr and Sincerus, nodded and raised his head to the Curator. “We were informed that there was a dire emergency and that the Prime Prefect had requested our presence,” replied Valerus, looking towards the Curator above.

  “From whom did you receive this information?” questioned the Curator.

  “From the Imperator!” snapped Tyr with impatience, looking at Draetor suspiciously and with disgust.

  Almost simultaneously, every head in the room turned to face Draetor. Draetor smiled as he rolled his eyes.

  “Do you care to enlighten us, Imperator?” questioned the Curator, staring at him with curiosity.

  “Of course. Authoritor Prefect Quistin Odeon informed me that there was an emergency in the Operarium, and asked if I could request the presence of the more experienced Tribunes to provide him with assistance in the absence of the Prime Prefect,” replied the Imperator.

  “And where is Prefect Odeon? I have already noted his absence from the Praetorium Quarter of the Conclave.”

  “Pah – ask the Prime Prefect! I am not their keeper!”

  Magister Frederich Leonis, a retired Authoritor Prefect and Praetorian Magister to the Tribunal, stood from his chair – situated behind a vacant chair which would normally be occupied by the Prime Prefect. “May I speak, Curator?” requested Leonis politely.

  “Agreed, Magister,” replied the Curator.

  “Imperator – why would you accuse these men of duty dereliction, if you knew right well that they were not there because it was you who sent them elsewhere?” questioned Leonis. He resumed his seat and stared at Draetor coldly, awaiting his response.

  Pious could hear a gentle murmuring from the crowd and saw several members of the Tribunal nodding their heads in approval of the Magister’s comment.

  Imperator Draetor looked visibly distressed, with clear signs of agitation on his face. He burst from his luxurious chair and grabbed the stone balustrade, glaring at Leonis. “I am not the one on trial here!” snarled the Imperator.

  Leonis smiled smugly, with his arms crossed in front of his body as he leant back in his chair. He looked at Praetorian Magister Steelflex at his right with a smirk of confidence as the two elderly men laughed.

  The Curator knocked her gavel on the stonework three times. “Imperator, you summoned this Tribunal – which
is rapidly turning into an absurdity. I believe this is a matter for the Advocates – not the Tribunal – to investigate further,” she said in an exhausted tone.

  “I demand that justice be dispensed upon Pious and these Tribunes – they must be stood down and punished!” demanded the Imperator, slamming his hand against the rail.

  “Imperator – your deluded behaviour is marring your credibility. The only fact we have now – is that Aurelius Vim is dead. The information and evidence put forth before the Tribunal is inherently lacking and flawed, and is too inconclusive for the determination of unanimous guilt – yet. I move that Pious should be placed under remand, pending further cooperation and investigation into the murder of Aurelius Vim and the assault on Draetor Principio. In relation to the accusation of Conspiracy, I will mobilise the Advocates to collect and ascertain the facts. As for the Tribuni, I believe this is an issue to be dealt with internally as a matter of disciplinary action by the Cohort’s Forge. Further discussions must be had as to who shall fulfil the role of Prime Prefect in the absence of Pious Argentum,” stated the Curator, holding her gavel at the ready. “All in favour to close the Tribunal, pending further investigation and to pass my motion?”

  “What about the wounds I received at the hands of this man? What about Aurelius, whose blood stains the floor of the Crypt?” shouted the Imperator, pointing to the wound on his face before throwing Pious’s dagger to the ground. It landed several spans in front of Pious, bouncing a few times with the twang of steel against stone. The Curator ignored Draetor’s theatrics, placed the gavel down and picked up a pen, from a small ink–pot.

  “As far as the evidence dictates, you yourself – or anyone else – could have struck you with a potentially stolen dagger, or murdered the Tribune Aurelius Vim. Investigation and due proceedings must occur, Imperator,” said the Curator. She wrote some notes in her journal before putting down her pen and picking up the gavel once more.

  “Again – I move that the Tribunes Valerus Dominici, Tyr Parabellum and Sincerus Parabellum be released without Tribunal issued charges, with the recommendation of follow-up proceedings by the Cohort’s Forge. As for the Prime Prefect, Pious Argentum – without witness or conclusive evidence for the charges of striking, murder, and conspiracy, the Tribunal shall be adjourned pending further investigation and evidence to be presented by the Advocates, with the Prime Prefect to be placed under remand in the Magistratum Watch–house until further notice,” said the Curator. She stood from her chair and struck her gavel on the stone pulpit three times. “All in favour?”

  Pious looked to the ring above. Apart from the Curator, all present raised their hands in approval – except for two. Draetor and Lothar. Pious stared at Lothar with confusion and disappointment. Lothar would not even look at him.

  The Imperator shook his head furiously and stood from his position with a large scroll in his hand.

  “You’re forgetting one thing, Curator! I declare the Prime Prefect, Pious Argentum, and his collaborators guilty of Heresy!” shouted the Imperator, gesturing for the steward to collect the scroll and take it to the Curator.

  “This trial is preposterous, Draetor!” shouted Magister Leonis in disbelief, as he stood from his chair and pointed his finger at Draetor. Likewise, many other people in the room stood up in shock, talking amongst themselves in confusion about the Imperator's decision.

  “Pious Argentum, I find you guilty by Inquisitorial Edict of Idolatry – by entering the Crypt and conversing with the Unbreakables, enacted by the ill performance of your reports' sworn duty. I find you guilty by Inquisitorial Edict of Heresy – for consorting with the wicked Veiled Unrepentant. All of those close to you shall be tested by the Inquisition to determine how far your filth has spread,” snarled the Imperator.

  The burly and heavy–set Supreme Overseer of the Operarium, Manley Cromwell, slammed his heavy fist against the balustrade before pointing at Draetor. “You cannot use your antiquated Inquisitorial Edicts to undermine the democratic authority of the Tribunal!” shouted the Supreme Overseer, his white-knuckled grip obscured by the sleeves of his Operarium Green tunic sleeves.

  “Our laws, Supreme Overseer. Not my laws!” replied Draetor with condescension.

  Pious looked across at his men, who were looking back in disbelief at this farce of a trial.

  “If you swear innocence and are proven guilty by Inquisitional interrogation, you and your direct reports are to be stripped of your titles and sentenced to the Example and your ashes cast to the winds from the walls of Sanctuary!” the Imperator told Pious, with a smile on his face.

  “However, if you declare your guilt now and bypass the unnecessary investigations and proceedings, only you will be sentenced to the flames. Your direct reports will be stripped of their titles and banished from Sanctuary, never to return.”

  Lothar stood from his Magister’s seat behind Draetor, “Is not banishment enough for their sins, Imperator?”

  “The punishment for Heresy and Idolatry is death, Magister Lothar! I have shown mercy by allowing Pious to spare their lives in return for the admission of his guilt!” shouted Draetor, not even bothering to turn his head.

  “You should banish them, Imperator. Show clemency; you have no evidence of Heresy,” rebutted Lothar.

  “No evidence? No evidence? Is not the blood that stains the floor of the Crypt enough evidence for you? Do I need evidence to seek, make known and destroy heresy and idolaters? Must I remind you of my duty and office? A duty you once enacted and fulfilled,” snapped Draetor, looking at Lothar over his shoulder.

  Pious raised his head, staring at the wall in the distance. “Enough!” he shouted, as the Conclave fell silent.

  “I am guilty!” he shouted, without diverting his gaze from its fixed position locked on the back wall.

  “I’m sorry, Pious; I don’t believe we heard you. Can you repeat that?” requested the Imperator, snidely and with much pleasure, and turned his ear towards Pious.

  “I said… I am guilty. Of all crimes levied against me,” replied Pious, loudly and clearly.

  “Have you gone mad, Pious? Don’t fall for this bastard's trickery!” shouted Valerus, leaning forward from the pews.

  “Silence him!” demanded Draetor, pointing his finger at Valerus with rage.

  A Vindicator stepped forward and struck Valerus in the ribs, dropping him to his knees.

  The Curator stood from her chair and slammed the gavel down several times in an attempt to bring order back to the disorderly Conclave. “This is my Conclave, Draetor!” shouted the Curator. The Imperator laughed and brushed his hand in the air towards the Curator in contempt.

  The Curator looked at the Villicus standing at her side and then pointed towards Draetor. “Remove that man from the Conclave,” she demanded.

  “Vindicators! Take the accused into Inquisitorial custody,” instructed Draetor, as he turned from his position, making his way towards the exit of the suspended ring. “Come, Lothar,” he demanded as he walked towards the exit of the Conclave.

  Pious looked over to his men once again and met the eyes of Valerus.

  “We will be out in no time, Prefect! These ragged Ecclesiasts will regret this!” shouted Valerus to Pious, before three Vindicators approached Valerus, Tyr and Sincerus from behind and threw the black hoods reserved for heretics over their heads, obscuring their vision before physically leading them out of the Conclave.

  “Pious!” shouted a familiar voice from the ring above. Pious looked up to see Lothar, who was looking down at him over the edge of the railing of the suspended ring.

  “You’re a hard man to find, Lothar,” shouted Pious, with a look of betrayal and disappointment.

  “I’m sorry, Pious – it wasn’t meant to be like this! I begged you to leave!” Lothar shouted to Pious, before turning to walk off in pursuit of Draetor.

  Pious heard footsteps behind him. When he turned to see who was approaching, a black hood was drawn over his head, and a rope pulled tight around
his neck.

  The Darkness

  “We have become aware that there is a dark place below the Ecclesiasticum, a place where many enter, but fewer leave. It is there that the Ecclesiasticum and their puppets, the Inquisition, silence their opposition. If you are ever caught by them, you must consider taking your life, either by ingesting this poison or by opening your veins. It is a mercy that Tostura has prepared for you, a mercy that will not be extended to you by those fiends, who will bend you, crush you, pierce you, cut you, burn you and commit many unimaginable atrocities upon you, until you will beg and cry for your death during their newfound Example. The Inquisition truly are the agents of Grulon the Cruel.”

  “Wielder’s Speech”,

  Daggers of Merusul.

  27th Cycle of Purity.

  Pious opened his eyes, to find Serana staring at him intently. Her beautiful smile, her moist lips–they were enthralling and inviting.

  She gently raised his head with her fingertips and rubbed her hand on his cheek. Her soft and delicate hand sent a surge of confusion and sentiment through him, disorientating every nerve and cell in his body.

  There was always a certain energy from the touch of an Eir, but this was different. Her touch felt dirty, cold and pervasive. That moment, her hand on his cheek, reached beyond the confines of touch; it was almost disgusting – smelly and filthy. It was a moment from which he felt there was no escape.

  “He just moved,” said Serana. Her face appeared distorted and confused; her lips moved in an obscure and disorienting manner. It made Pious feel ill – nauseated.

  “Are you sure?” repeated another voice, somewhat faded, as Serana slipped into a cloud of darkness.

  Pious groaned, and slowly pushed himself off the ground. His face was covered in an admixture of blood, grime and soil.

  “Pious, over here…,” continued the second voice.

  Pious slowly opened his eyes, looking in the direction of the voice. Sincerus was crouched on the ground, peering at him through the steel bars of a prison cell.