Trail of the Gods ms-4

by Brian S. Pratt

  “I know,” he replies. “Any information would be hundreds of years old. We need to locate buildings that have been around for centuries and somehow find a way to search them.”

  “That could include over half the town!” Jiron exclaims. “It might take us weeks to be able to search all the buildings that would entail. And that’s only if they’re not currently occupied by the Empire’s forces.”

  “We should probably work at night,” James says as he breaks out in a yawn. “Less chance of being spotted.”

  “I agree,” replies Jiron. “We could use some rest. I’ll take the first watch. Don’t think I could fall asleep right now anyway.”

  A tired James nods, not wishing to argue the point. He turns a couch back upright before lying down. Jiron standing before the window looking out is the last thing he sees before closing his eyes.

  It’s almost night before James wakes up. “You didn’t wake me!” he says accusingly to Jiron where he still stands by the window.

  “Wasn’t tired,” he says. “You looked like you needed it.”

  Getting up, James walks over to look out the window. “Anything happening?” he asks.

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. “The slaves continued all day clearing the rubble. A short time ago the wagons left and they were taken away.”

  The street outside looks deserted in the deepening shadows. The light is beginning to fade as the sun hits the horizon. Jiron points down the street off to the west and says, “The only really old looking buildings I could see from here are down that way. One has the look of a temple, though in its present condition it’s hard to be sure.”

  “Then let’s check it out once the light has completely faded,” James tells him.

  “Maybe I should go alone?” he suggests.

  “No,” replies James, rejecting the idea. “I need to go. There could be something there you’ll not recognize but that I will.”

  “As you wish,” he replies. He then nods when he remembers the bronze plaque they found in the complex back in the swamp and how James had recognized its significance.

  For the next hour they wait by the window as the light continues to fade until darkness completely envelopes the city. Jiron then opens the door, peering out to make sure the street is deserted. When he finds no one about, he moves into the dark street with James right behind him.

  Keeping to the shadows, they move slowly down the street in the direction of the church Jiron had indicated earlier. If there was indeed an old church there, there may also be others in the immediate vicinity.

  No patrols walk the streets of Saragon. They’ve been in control of it for so long they no longer need worry anymore about hold out survivors from the time of the city’s fall. This makes it easy for them to move quickly without being seen.

  A noise in the night freezes them in their tracks. Keeping still against a wall bordering the street, they wait for a moment, listening. When the sound doesn’t repeat itself, they continue on.

  Coming to an intersection of streets, Jiron pauses a moment to make sure the cross street is empty of soldiers. Looking down both ways, he then motions for James to follow as he darts across to the other side.

  “We’re almost there,” he whispers as they work their way further down the street.

  A great shadow looms in the darkness before them. Its spire, once tall and majestic now lies broken on the street. The smell of charred wood permeates everything, a fire had raged through here not very long ago, a week or two maybe. James glances in through a broken doorway of the building they’re moving along. The light from the stars above reveals a burnt out husk. What function the building held before the fire, can no longer be determined.

  Jiron points to the building across the street and says, “That’s the temple I saw.”

  “Let’s go then,” James tells him eagerly.

  A quick look down the side streets and then they race across to the temple’s double entry doors. The one on the left is askew and slightly ajar. Squeezing through, they make their way inside. Jiron jumps when a small light appears in James’ hand.

  “Sorry,” James says, orb glowing softly in his hand.

  “No one’s going to detect that are they?” he asks.

  “I don’t think so,” he assures him. “I haven’t felt anyone do magic since coming here.”

  The interior is definitely that of a temple. Though it has been stripped and looted, it still has the unmistakable look of a place of worship. In the minimal light the orb is putting out, it’s hard to tell just who had been worshiped here. “Where do you propose we look?” Jiron asks.

  “I’d think in the basement below,” suggests James. “It’s unlikely that had this been a Morcyth temple at one time, anything would have remained where the average person would be. The new occupants would’ve stripped off any old insignias and replaced them with their own.”

  The temple is filled with rubble, portions of the ceiling as well as half a wall have fallen in. The debris covering the floor makes their footing unstable. They split up as they search for access to the lower levels, if there are any.

  “Over here!” shouts James from where he’s searching near the back. Behind a fallen column lies a stairway going down.

  Without waiting for Jiron to join him he moves down the stairs, taking care not to trip over the debris that has fallen upon them. As he makes his way down, the glow from the orb reveals where the stairs end at a corridor moving to the left and right. Glancing back to make sure Jiron is following him, he turns to the right and proceeds cautiously down the corridor.

  Not very far down the corridor, he finds a body in the middle of the corridor. Hacked to pieces, it lays in a pool of dried blood. From the vestments the dead man is wearing, he looks to have been a priest of some sort.

  Jiron comes close and after a brief examination says, “Asran. This temple must’ve been to the god Asran.”

  “Asran?” asks James questioningly.

  Nodding, he indicates a symbol of a plant encircled by a ring of interwoven leaves embroidered on the dead man’s clothes. “Asran is the god of nature, of growing things.” Glancing to James he adds, “A very important god to farmers and the like, can’t believe they would kill even priests, especially these.”

  “From what I’ve seen of the Empire’s soldiers, nothing surprises me anymore,” he says.

  Throughout the hallways and rooms they find more of Asran’s slain priests. In one room, they find coffers smashed open where the soldiers had looted the temple’s treasure. A dozen slain priests lie just within the treasure room where they had died defending it. Shaking his head, James just continues on.

  Room after room they search for anything which may indicate Morcyth or the Star of Morcyth, but fail to find any. “I don’t think we’ll find anything here,” Jiron says as they reach the furthest room from where they entered the temple.

  “I’m sure there are others close by we can check before it gets light,” states James.

  “Most likely,” replies Jiron.

  As they make their way back toward the stairs, they hear from up ahead of them the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. James immediately extinguishes his light as they duck into a side room. Holding still, they listen as the footsteps reach the bottom and begin to come their way.

  It sounds as if there are two people coming, the light from their torch beginning to illuminate the hallway outside the room where they wait. The ones approaching are talking amongst themselves and Jiron glances to James when they realize it’s the speech of the Empire they’re using.

  In Jiron’s hand, James sees the light from the approaching torch reflecting off the blade of a knife. He pulls a slug from his belt and then gives Jiron a nod as they ready themselves.

  The footsteps continue to come closer but then suddenly turn into the room just prior to theirs. The torchlight greatly diminishes as the bearer passes into the room. Jiron motions for James to wait while he goes and sees what they’re doin
g in the other room.

  He moves to the edge of the doorway and looks inside to find them going through the shattered remains of some priest’s living quarters. They’re tossing things out of drawers as well as the chest by the foot of the bed in their search for anything that may have been overlooked by previous looters.

  Jiron comes back to James and whispers, “They’re busy looting. We might be able to slip by without them noticing.”

  Nodding, James motions for him to lead the way.

  Coming into the hallway, Jiron pauses a moment to check within the room where the Empire’s soldiers are looting and then motions for James to follow him.

  Moving quickly, they pass by the room and hurry down the hallway without being seen. Upon reaching the stairs, they glance back and see that the guards are still busy looting. They ascend the stairs and move on to the next building.

  Coming back from their third night of seeking signs of Morcyth, they enter the home they’ve been using as a base of operations since the first night. Except for the slave work crew clearing the streets, this part of town has been relatively quiet. The majority of the soldiers and civilians from the Empire are congregated in what used to be the Government Quarter of the city.

  Sitting down against the wall, Jiron looks to James and says, “I don’t think we are going to find anything.”

  “We can’t give up,” he insists. Taking out a portion of his remaining rations, he takes a bite before continuing. “Somewhere in this town, there has to be something which will tell us where the priests went.”

  “Why?” Jiron asks. He’s asked this same question daily since the first night turned up nothing. “Just because the last high priest was born here doesn’t mean he came back here.”

  James just gives him a look of frustration, “There just does.”

  “We’re running out of food,” he tells him. “And I just hope no one discovers the bodies of those guards we left in that cellar, the hunt will be on for sure.” Yesterday, while they were searching through an old building, three soldiers had stumbled upon them and were disposed of quickly. They stashed their bodies in the building’s cellar and then stacked old boxes and crates around them to better hide them.

  The morning light continues growing as the sun peeks over the horizon. Shortly the sound of the slave gang can be heard approaching as they come to continue working to clear the streets.

  Today, the work gang comes to just in front of the building where James and Jiron are hiding. Jiron glances out the window and sees them beginning to clear the rubble away from where the wall from the building next to them has fallen out into the street. It had been one of the ones gutted when the fire had raged in this area.

  They decide to move upstairs to avoid accidental detection should anyone wander into their building. Directly above them they find a room with a window which overlooks the area where the slaves are clearing away the debris.

  Taking turns at watch, they settle in to await the coming of darkness when they can once more resume their search. As Jiron had taken the first watch yesterday, James takes it today.

  There are times when it’s hard to keep yourself awake when you have nothing to do, especially when you are unable to do anything for fear of being discovered. James sits near the window taking advantage of the slight breeze coming through. His mind wanders to a life which now seems so long ago.

  He thinks of his grandfather and grandmother, both had always tried to do their best, but he was at that age when nothing anyone told him meant anything. Homesickness strikes him and he wonders if he’ll ever go home.

  Dave. Just what is Dave doing? He must be worried sick about him, as he supposes everyone who knew him is right now. If he ever does make it back, will role playing games ever mean the same to him again? After having lived it? He wishes that some day he’ll get the chance to find out.

  The sound of the men outside working continues to give him some added distraction, albeit not very much. There’s only so much rock clearing you can watch at a time. Every once in awhile he can catch a snippet of what they’re saying, for the slaves are the former citizens of Saragon and thus, he can understand them.

  From down below, he can hear one of the men sneeze. Such an occurrence has been common, what with all the dust being raised by the removal of the rubble.

  “Gesundheit,” he hears another of the slaves reply.

  He continues to reminisce about home when his mind turns to Meliana. Oh, Meliana. The way he felt when she had held his arm while he walked her home is still strong. How she swayed while they danced, her laugh when he said something whimsical. She’s been in his mind a lot lately, perhaps when he gets back to Cardri and all this Morcyth business is concluded, maybe he’ll find a way to return to Corillian and find her. See if there’s actually something between them.

  Suddenly, his mind snaps back to the here and now. Gesundheit? Did he hear that correctly? A chill runs through him at the realization that that is not a word native to here. That’s a word from home! Since coming to this world he’s not once heard that particular expression.

  Going to the window, he peers down and sees the same slave gang that he’s seen the last few days since they arrived. A dozen men of varying ages, from early teens to even one old grandfatherly looking individual, none of which immediately stand out as the one who spoke.

  He continues to watch them and after a half hour, the scene repeats itself. Someone sneezes and the grandfatherly individual says “Gesundheit.” Excited, he keeps a close eye on the old guy. The other slaves near him help him out. He does less than everyone else due to his age, but the slaver must allow it for no recriminations are forthcoming from him.

  Every once in awhile the old man sits down and takes a break while the others continue working. From what Miko had told him of his experiences with slavers, he was surprised the old guy is being allowed to rest. Guess different slavers work differently.

  Waking up Jiron, he tells him what’s been happening and the significance of that old man saying the word he said.

  “You think he’s from your world?” he asks incredulously.

  “Yes,” he says with conviction. “I can’t think of any other reason he would say that.” When Jiron looks at him skeptically, he adds, “If I can be here, others can too.”

  “True,” agrees Jiron. “But there’s still no reason why he has to be from your world. He could’ve picked that word up anywhere. Or it could even be a different word that just sounds similar.”

  Shaking his head, James says, “No. He said it at just the right moment under just the right circumstances. Not once, but twice.”

  Jiron gives him a silent look for a moment before saying, “Okay, then. What do you plan to do?”

  “Help him,” he replies.

  “How?” he asks. “If we take him with us, he’ll just slow us down and then we’ll all be either dead or on a slave gang.” Going to the window, he glances down to the old man below who’s still sitting on large piece of broken wall close to their building, wiping the sweat off his face with a rag. “Look! He can’t even keep up with clearing away small rocks and wood. There’s no way!”

  “I know,” concedes James. “But I have to at least talk to him. I’ve got to know for sure.”

  Jiron gives him another long look and then glances back down to the street. The old guy has once more joined his fellow slaves in removing the rubble. “Where he sat is near one of the windows on the bottom floor,” he says. “Maybe he’ll sit there again and you can whisper to him out the window.”

  “Good idea!” agrees James excitedly.

  “Just be very quiet,” he warns. “You don’t want to attract the notice of the slavers.”

  “I know,” James assures him.

  Moving back downstairs, they position themselves by the window near where the old man had rested. They occasionally glance outside to see if the old man will sit back down near them. A half hour later, he pulls out his rag and once more goes to sit on the larg
e piece of wall not three feet from the window where James waits.

  Once the old man has sat down, James whispers out to him, “Don’t make a sound. I’m in the building behind you.” He sees the old man’s shoulders stiffen a fraction as his words reach him. “Do you understand me?” he asks.

  The old man nods his head as he wipes his face.

  The slavers who’re overseeing this group are over by the main party of slaves and are pretty much ignoring the old guy. James asks, “Are you from around here?”

  He rubs his face with his rag and then turns his head toward the window where James is and replies just loud enough to be heard, “Born here.”

  That was definitely not the answer he was expecting. Glancing at Jiron, he sees him shrug. Turning back to the window, he whispers, “I heard you use the word ‘gesundheit’ when that other man sneezed.”

  Nodding, the old man asks, “Do you know what it means?” There seemed to be a slight tremor in his voice when he asked the question.

  “It means, health, or good health,” he replies, wondering why he would ask such a question.

  The old man freezes for a second then again wipes his face with the rag. He sits there quietly for several minutes until James begins to think he might’ve forgotten about him.

  “Why did you ask?” questions James.

  The old man shakes his head as one of the slavers looks over in their direction. Getting up, the old man returns to help the other slaves in removing the rubble.

  “What was that about?” asks Jiron when James moves away from the window.

  “I don’t know,” he replies. “But when I told him what it meant, he reacted to it.” Sitting down against the wall under the window, he adds, “Something’s going on here.”

  Jiron munches on some of his rations as he watches James mull over what happened. “I have to find out what.”

  He waits by the window the rest of the morning and afternoon. Though the old man takes several rest breaks in that time, he doesn’t do it near their window. James catches him casting looks over toward the window from time to time as he works. Finally, when the sun is getting low in the sky, he comes and sits back down by the window and asks, “You here tomorrow?”