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

  Almost instantaneously, the head of the beast appeared to split in half, as two sickle-shaped spikes protruded from its face and drove downwards into the writhing man, pinning him to the ground. He began screaming, more from fear than pain, fear of what the future moments might hold for his increasingly–real nightmare.

  A grotesque tube full of hundreds of small barbed teeth appeared from the centre of the Tabanidon's face. The tube’s teeth started to gnaw through the man’s outer clothing. The man watched in terror as he tried to push away the tube, which was relentlessly palpating his fattened belly.

  “Go on – cry to her! Pray to Tostura for her Mercy! Call to her!” shouted the Vizier with maddened fury.

  “Save me! Save me, Tostura! Mercy!” screamed the Prelate to the heavens above.

  “She won’t listen to you. You have ignored her for far too long!” laughed the Vizier.

  The Prelate let out a horrendous cry as the Tabanidon started gnawing through his stomach wall, coring its way into his abdomen to ingest his innards from the inside out. A mixture of blood and visceral matter was visible through the translucent mouth tube as the Tabanidon sucked them up with ease.

  The man slowly stopped writhing as the creature drank the corpse’s vital fluids and organs. Then it withdrew its mouthpiece and hooks, and its head snapped shut.

  “Damn…” said the Gunman uneasily, somewhat disturbed by the horror he had just witnessed.

  The Vizier spat on the desiccated corpse with contempt. “Let’s move,” he demanded, turning towards the carriage. He pointed to the corpse. “And throw that in the back. We can't leave a trace.”

  The other Vizier turned. “Why bother, Ulgrik? It won’t matter – by the end of Tenebrae these lands will be ours again.”

  One of the guards picked up the husk with two hands and threw it into a chest on the back of the carriage.

  “Because, Brezik, unlike others, I won’t leave a mess,” replied Ulgrik as he boarded the carriage. “This area will be crawling with the zealots soon enough. If they find the corpse and believe it was we who did this, they will know of our interference, and our plan will fail. They cannot know of our involvement.”

  The Three Vizieri Dragoon bodyguards mounted their Vespaxes and placed their lances into their holsters. “We should move before the Seagles begin to scout the area again,” stated one of the Dragoon’s from atop his mount.

  “Wait…,” said the Gunman, who stood at the entrance to the carriage, staring in the direction where Pious hid. “There is something here… I can hear it.”

  He began to walk towards Pious. Slowly, he withdrew his hand–musket from its holster inside his jacket and pointed it in Pious's direction. Pious lay as if he were dead, trying not to move a muscle, staring at the Gunman in suspense.

  The Gunman stopped and stood still. Then he pointed his hand–musket into the air and pulled the trigger.

  A large flash of light and a loud bang filled the air and echoed through the forest, causing a large commotion of frightened birds to take flight. A Forest Faun which had been foraging between Pious and the Gunman scurried off in fright, heading deeper into the forest.

  “You’re lucky, little one,” said the Gunman. He smiled and turned back towards the carriage as he snapped open the breach of his pistol. He pulled a cartridge from his bandolier and inserted it into the breach of his pistol and locking it shut - before holstering the weapon.

  “Are you trying to get us caught, you fool?” shouted Brezik from one of the carriage windows.

  “Relax. What will be getting caught matter soon, anyway? You’re all so neurotic – you know, they say that living in the dark too long makes you depressed,” said the Gunman with a smile, before climbing on board the carriage.

  The last guard shut the door and climbed up the side of the carriage to an enclosed area for the pilot. He took hold of the reins, which were attached to the Tabanidon's head by rings driven through the sides of its chitinous exoskeleton.

  A deafening drone bellowed forth from the Tabanidon’s wings as they began to vibrate and lift the creature off the ground. As it took off, so did the three Dragoons atop their Vespax, forming a delta formation around the Tabanidon.

  In shock, Pious watched the monster take off to the sky above. This encounter troubled him greatly. When the War of the 2nd Schism ended with the surrender and retreat of the Shaydean Alliance, the victorious Concordat had demanded that the conditions of peace be absolute banishment and the creation of a Line of Treaty demarcating the Elysian State from the Harshlands.

  All of those who had formed a part of the Shaydean Alliance were never again allowed to set foot in the Elysian Provinces beyond the Lines of Treaty. If they were seen in the lands of the Concordat, they could be executed immediately, and their presence could be deemed a break of the treaty terms – and potential reason for a declaration of war.

  War was something that neither side wanted again – as it almost had the last time, war would most likely spell the extinction of either side, whether through famine or through bloodshed.

  To Pious, seeing Attaran Viziers near the Northern Line of Treaty was a matter of great concern. Of even greater concern was that a Prelate was meeting them in the forest during the early tolls of Tenebrae. He couldn’t fathom how the Prelate had made it out of Sanctuary, or who had let him out. Had the Prelate already been outside Sanctuary's walls? Moreover, what was in the bag? With the Prelate dead, these questions would continue to bother Pious – for the answers were far beyond his reach.

  Pious watched the lights in the main cabin of the carriage disappear above him as the curtains inside were drawn shut. The loud hum of the flying beast grew quieter as it darted north towards Shayde, most likely heading for the capital of Attamerus.

  Pious whistled for the Qulin, which ran up alongside him. Pious mounted the Qulin and tucked himself tight to the back of the beast. The roars and howls from the forest were becoming louder and more frequent.

  “Return!” commanded Pious, holding tight onto the Qulin's antlers and hugging the sides of the saddle with his thighs.

  The Qulin once again rushed forward, running alongside the phosphorescent waters of the southern stream. Pious’s concerns flooded his mind repeatedly. Whom should he speak to, whom should he tell? Whom should he not tell? He hated politics, but he knew well that this incident would spell trouble if the information came into the hands of wrong person.

  He was so heavily distracted that his perception of time accelerated, and it was not long before Pious, and the Qulin burst out from the tracks of the Great Forest onto the Northern–Way.

  Pious looked towards Sanctuary in the distance and the haze of light that smothered it. The mists of Tenebrae had begun to gather as the temperature dropped significantly, causing a great and ominous fog to descend upon the lands of Elysia.

  The Qulin stamped its hooves a few times, kicking the remaining humus and mud from the forest floor off its feet. Then, with a jump, the Qulin rushed forward. A stream of disturbed fog trailed behind Pious and the Qulin as they charged headlong towards the distant Sanctuary.

  Curtain of the 1st District – District Side

  “Only fear prevents us from striving for what is right.”

  “The Scabbard’s Cry”,

  Daggers of Merusul.

  22nd Cycle of Purity.

  The lights of the Northern Stately Gate appeared brighter and bigger as they crossed the Border Bridge, with the sound of the Qulin’s hooves clanging on the metal formwork. Once they had crossed the drawbridge spanning the mighty Partitio River, Pious pulled the Qulin alongside the gatehouse porthole.

  “Watchmaster!” shouted Pious. He stared at the closed porthole, growing impatient, annoyed at the delay in the Watchmaster's response.

  The porthole eventually opened, revealing the Watchmaster cautiously looking out the porthole. “Who goes there?” demanded the Watchmaster, trying to distinguish Pious's figure through the fog.

  “Prime Prefe
ct, Pious Argentum,” stated Pious, loudly and clearly.

  “What are you doing out there, Prefect? Tenebrae is no time to be wandering the wilderness.”

  “You question an Excelator and your Prime Prefect? I was and still am on urgent duties, and time is of the essence.” Pious pulled back on the Qulin’s antlers, trying to steady the increasingly bored and excitable Qulin.

  The Watchmaster withdrew his head inside the walls. “Open the gate!” the Watchmaster yelled from inside, before putting his head outside the porthole once again to ensure no others were trying to sneak past.

  The pedestrian gate opened to let Pious into the mantrap. The two spear–wielding Authoritor flanking the entrance stared at him with awe and concern.

  The Qulin leapt through the opening, circling on the spot in anticipation. The Watchmaster made his way hurriedly into the mantrap.

  “Is everything all right, Prefect?” asked the Watchmaster as he emerged from the stairs leading to the porthole. He detected signs of anxiety in Pious, who was clearly not in full control of the Qulin. The Watchmaster noticed that Pious was covered in soil, but decided it was safer not to inquire of him any further.

  “Matters I am not at liberty to speak of,” replied Pious sternly, staring impatiently at the Inner Gate. “Watchmaster… has anyone passed through these gates recently, besides me?”

  The Watchmaster scanned the faces of the Authoritor Centurions and Militia alike. They all gave him signals that no one had passed through. “No, Prefect, not on my watch,” replied the Watchmaster as he dodged the impatiently circling Qulin.

  As the guards closed the external door, more guards rushed to open the inner door. As soon as the inner gate was opened, the Qulin sprang forward, leaping over the entryway and charging hastily through the almost empty circuit and heading once again towards the 1st District Curtain gate.

  Many of the District’s Lode–poles had already been illuminated, emanating the dull yellow glow of Amberlode, with the District’s duty–folk lighting the remainder.

  Pious and Qulin raced through the District towards the Curtain, running rapidly along the District’s main road. Many men and women were returning from the final tasks of the Step; heading to their homes, to socialise at the dwellings of others, or to one of many community halls that regularly featured some form of entertainment, especially during Tenebrae.

  The Districts always somewhat disturbed Pious. The absence of any children between the age of two and sixteen made the Districts feel cold and detatched from reality. The sound of children playing and shouting was a regular ambience in the Sanctum, and the quiet of the Districts was unnerving.

  Many tents and stalls had been erected close to the Residential Sector in preparation for the oncoming Tenebraen festivities – the serving of warm beverages, the bonfires and merrymaking. Pious looked on at them in pity, well knowing that this Tenebrae would feature significantly less merrymaking – as the supplies of both timber and provisions were terribly low.

  Those of the District stopped and stared at the Praetorian as he rode around and through them in haste – and with an unintentional disregard.

  “You won’t be able to treat us with such contempt for much longer!” shouted a woman from the crowd behind him.

  As Pious reached the Curtain, he stopped suddenly next to the portcullis. “Get the gates open!” he called out towards the guards stationed inside the Curtain and looked uneasily at the large crowd that had amassed. Pious knew well the discontent in the Districts. He was particularly aware that the 1st District was one of the more discontent – and troublesome of the Districts. The 1st District had the highest counts of arrests, rehabilitation and Examples, with the Advocates and Inquisitors actively suppressing Daggers of Merusul activities within its walls.

  Amongst the crowds that had gathered alongside the roadway stalls – Pious spotted three men watching him, and suspiciously moving in the opposite direction of the crowd’s current. Pious looked to the other side of the road and immediately noticed a group pushing through the crowd.

  “Tribune…” said Pious, trying to gain the attention of the Authoritor Tribune close by, who was moving towards the portcullis.

  “Now!” shouted a voice from behind Pious, as a surge of cowled figures burst forth from within the crowd – ambushing the guards in a pincer attack.

  “Daggers!” shouted several guards as they withdrew their weapons and moved into defensive positions – drawing their attention rapidly to the left and right.

  Twenty cloaked figures sprinted hard and fast, pairing up and incapacitating guards, pulling them to the ground.

  As Pious attempted to dismount and join in the fray, hands grabbed at Pious and pulled him from the Qulin, as another tried to subdue the defensive Qulin.

  One of the attackers grabbed at Pious and pinned his arms down by dropping onto them with his knees. Another climbed on top and straddled Pious, grabbing him by chest plate. The cowled figure drew a dagger overhead and held it mid-air. It then stabbed it into the ground by Pious’s head. He threw back his hood, revealing his familiar face to Pious. It was Tumas Zakkerian, a Wielder of the Dagger – a well-known sergeant of the Daggers of Merusul and at the top of the Inquisition’s Wanted list.

  “Draetor and his conspirators plot your demise - don't fall into their trap. Follow your head – and don't let them know you have this, it will buy us all time – you must give it to Leon Regulario,” he said as he slipped an object into Pious’s shirt, as he nodded to the figure kneeling on Pious. The figure let go of Pious, took the weight off Pious’s arms and stood upright. He then took a step back and withdrew a vial from his pocket.

  Despite the Surge pulsing through is veins, he chose not to fight back – this man in front of him could have easily ended him. Instead, this Dagger demonstrated clearly that it was never his intention and so, Pious stared at him with curiosity.

  “You must halt the Reclamation Army – you mustn’t let them pass the Shield,” said Tumas, as he stood upright. An Authoritor Centurion approached Tumas from behind, with bloodied sword in hand. The Centurion grabbed Tumas by his withdrawn cowl and kicked him in the back of the leg, dropping him to his knees.

  “Don't let our sacrifice be in vain – only you can stop this,” Tumas said with conviction and calm, succumbing to his fate - as the centurion rammed his short sword through his neck in a gush of blood, severing his spine and throwing him to the ground.

  “Tumas!” screamed one of the incapacitated attackers, her voice trembling in agony and visibly distressed by the hasty slaughter of her commander.

  “Shut up!” said her captor, striking her hard with the back of his metal gauntlet as she fell to the ground.

  Another Centurion approached Pious from behind, helping him stand to his feet. “Prime Prefect – are you hurt?” asked the Centurion, as he watched the other Centurions attempt to detain their captives, who appeared to be stalling the fight – by neither fighting nor actively defending. Pious turned his head as he noticed the figure who once knelt upon him, fall to the ground with a thud.

  “I’m fine,” said Pious, pulling his arm from the grip of the Centurion. “Don’t bother detaining them – they are already dead,” said Pious, as he picked up the empty vial dropped by his now convulsing captor. Pious stared at the wretched sight of the blue-faced figure, with his backed arched off the ground and frothing mouth.

  Pious pointed to the detained young woman, blood pouring from her nose. “You should stop her from doing that,” he said, drawing attention to the vial she was putting to her lips.

  “Stop her!” shouted the Centurion, as he sprinted towards the woman. The woman used her last strength and conviction to drink the contents of the vial, as the Centurion kicked her hand away from her face and the vial with it. “Fuck it!” shouted the Centurion, as the woman laughed to herself with a chuckle of success.

  Pious put his fingers to his lips, and let out a loud whistle. “What a tragic waste,” Pious said in disappoin
tment, as he searched for his Qulin. As he looked for the Qulin, he couldn’t help but feel saddened by the sight of the ambushers struck down either by blade or in their last throes of fatal convulsion. It was the worst example of an ambush he had ever seen. They were unarmed – and it made no sense. Despite the size of the crowd that had gathered around the scene – it was eerily silent, intermittently broken by the cries of the dying Daggers and sobbing on-lookers.

  Pious was awoken from his sombre daze by the Qulin pushing against him from behind and standing at his side. Pious looked to the back of the Qulin – spotting the satchel with its important contents. Pious grabbed hold of an antler, placed a foot into a stirrup, kicked his leg over the saddle and dropped into a rest.

  The Vigilant Praetorians on Sanctum side, recognising the Prime Prefect through the portcullis and noticing that the conflict has ceased hasted to open the gate. A line of Authoritor Centurions formed in front of the gate – ensuring that no one of the District attempted to pass through. As it began to open, Pious continued onward, ducking low as the Qulin darted under the gate.

  The Tribunes and Centurions gave a rapid salute and watched on with curiosity as Pious flew past them into the path through the Arboretum, with the Qulin's tail flowing gently behind it in its wake. The Qulin tried to divert to the stable by habit, but Pious gave it an overriding signal to continue straight on.

  The Arboretum had succumbed to the thick fog of Tenebrae. Had it not been for the illuminated Lode–poles scattered along the pathways, it would have been quite simple to get lost.

  As Pious rode through the Arboretum, he heard a slight clanging approaching from his flank, and turned his head to the side.

  He spotted a Winged Sentinel approaching on the back of a Qulin, with a patrol lantern affixed to its back that illuminated the ground around them. The Sentinel's Wings arched over its head – two large metallic arcs rising over the Sentinel's head and affixed to the back of their breastplate. Lode light reflected off a multitude of lightweight pieces of metal, fashioned into feathers and mounted into the raised arcs. The feathers were likewise the source of the jingling noise Pious had heard. Pious admired the strangely beautiful sight of a Sentinel's wings, which somewhat distracted him whilst the Sentinel pulled up alongside him.