Retribution (Drakenfeld 2)

by Newton, Mark Charan

  Soldiers headed out almost simultaneously from the three ships. Their orders were to stay together. Leana, Sulma Tan and myself then waded ashore together, raising our belongings above our heads as we moved though the still-warm waters. On the beach we attempted to dry ourselves.

  The surf gently licked along the shoreline and a sharp, vegetative tang filled the air. There were no lights, no shapes against the starlight other than the grasses.

  A gibbous moon was directly overhead, making our progress visible to others. But it also illuminated the way as we moved behind the spearhead of soldiers advancing along the beach. Only then did I notice two archers cautiously scanning the shoreline, covering our path.

  We ascended the dunes, towards long grasses, and after consulting briefly with the captain the scouting group went on ahead, investigating a passage through a small gorge. I worried that they could be prime targets for snipers up above, but again the place looked to be undefended.

  We waited in the shadow of the gorge for an hour, until eventually the call came for us to move onwards. Though we were quite safe surrounded by so many soldiers I was nervous with anticipation.

  So far it had all been too easy.

  One of the scouts dashed up to me in the gloom. ‘Officer Drakenfeld, we’ve located a primary structure to the east. A quick walk across rocky terrain.’

  ‘Guarded?’ I asked, unable to read his expression.

  A shake of the head. ‘It’s unguarded, so far as we can tell.’

  ‘What do you think the place is?’

  ‘It’s industrial, possibly a place to process the mineral we think.’

  ‘How many people do you think are there?’

  ‘Hard to say. On a site that size, perhaps in daytime there would be a good thirty or forty workers.’

  ‘If we raided this structure, do you believe there will be little in the way of defence?’

  ‘Fairly confident, sir.’

  ‘Fairly?’

  ‘Fairly.’

  That was as good as one could expect from such a situation. ‘We’ll move on at your command.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  The scout moved away and gave some orders in Kotonese. Within a heartbeat the rest of the soldiers began to ready their arms and line up in formation. Sulma Tan, Leana and myself were urged to take our places among the soldiers. We all marched through the gorge, the churn of the sea in the distance.

  Bones

  Our pace slowed up as the building came into sight. A large, rectangular stone construct, with three wide chimneys and surrounded by workshop detritus, it had been built into a small gully, with a river running along the bottom.

  But while the soldiers fanned out, with a section moving around the other side of the building, something didn’t quite feel right.

  The stench.

  It was the odour that put me off. ‘Leana,’ I called, and she froze too. ‘Do you smell that?’

  She nodded, her eyes widening, and moved to say something, but another of the scouts came to find me again. ‘Sir, we’ve found something,’ she announced, her face grim. ‘You’d better come this way.’

  We trotted behind her, following a narrow path through discarded crates, waste and long grasses, until we arrived at a field at the back of the building.

  Because of the bright moon, the tiny, jutting bones could still be perceived.

  There must have been two dozen corpses in this field, half-heartedly dug into the ground.

  ‘Bring torches,’ I called, and when no one replied I shouted the order again, almost losing my voice.

  Light came. Things glistened, but there was no longer any pink flesh here. Charred skin and small, blackened skulls, hollow eyes amidst the stems of rye grass. We were walking among the foetid bones of dead children.

  ‘Spirits save them,’ Leana breathed. ‘They are all so young.’

  ‘Why have they killed them?’

  ‘That is why,’ Leana replied, pointing to the corner of the field. There, glinting dully in the moonlight, was a large brass statue of a bull – one similar to statues I had seen at Lydia Marinus’ house. Once it had been heated by a huge pyre, which was now a smouldering pile of ash. The statue must have been fifteen feet tall, and at least thirty feet long.

  ‘The old ways,’ I remarked.

  We moved over quickly, whereupon I instructed a dozen men to look inside the structure. They obliged, first cautiously touching the statue to see if it was still hot.

  ‘It’s safe to touch, but hasn’t long gone out,’ someone said. ‘Seems a hasty business.’

  Rope was tossed up and, when it had hooked securely, three soldiers climbed to the top of the statue. One by one they peered inside. One of them collapsed off the side, falling into the long grass. Another retched the contents of his stomach down the side of the statue. The reaction was enough to confirm the worst.

  More torches were brought to the scene.

  ‘Describe what you can see inside,’ I called up.

  The man peered over the edge once again but said nothing.

  ‘What can you see?’ I called again.

  ‘B-bodies, sir,’ he replied. Then, more firmly, ‘Two of them. Remains. Children’s remains.’

  ‘By Polla . . .’ I breathed, rubbing my eyes. ‘What have we stumbled onto?’

  ‘It’s hideous,’ Sulma Tan replied. There were tears in her eyes. There were probably some in my own, too.

  ‘Child sacrifice,’ Leana muttered. ‘Such desperation to please the old gods.’

  I grabbed one of the torches from a soldier, who stood agape, and wandered off into the field of broken young bodies.

  Some of these could have been no older than two or three summers. Others were perhaps in their teenage years, but it did not detract from the crime. Even if these were adults, I would have been horrified, but to kill them at such a young age and on such a scale.

  And for what reason? Were these not the workers?

  Some of the corpses were very fresh – and had not been burned, though their naked bodies displayed ritualistic torture – icons had been burned into their skin, and there were cuts across their wrists and throats. The nearest one that had not been charred, whose throat had been cut, still had its eyes open to the world.

  I moved the torch over his face and looked into that lifeless gaze – two blue eyes regarded me, very much dead, but still with the power to move me.

  Dawn broke across the field, gradually illuminating the full extent of the horrors. I counted forty-three in all, but guessed there were many more underground elsewhere. This was a graveyard for burned and broken lives. Many had clearly been sacrificed, according to the old ways. But in all my years I had never known victims to be so young. Everyone had heard tales from thousands of years ago, when cultures would conduct such barbaric practices to appease deities. Parents would even offer up their own children for favours. It had not so much been immoral then, as amoral. These beliefs were outside of our way of thinking. To see such an atrocity in our age, however, was chilling.

  The command had been given for the soldiers to move on to see if there was anyone still alive, workers or children.

  The rest of us simply stood in an adjacent field, trying to piece together what might have gone on, wondering how it was possible that so many young people could be eliminated. How many future craftsmen, artists, bakers, dancers, chariot racers – just how many of these children had been turned completely or partly to ash?

  Later, much later, as the sun reached its zenith, there was a sign from a small pocket of soldiers. A signal came down from a grassy hillside that they had caught several men.

  About an hour later, these prisoners were being marched down the slope where they were forced to kneel in front of the large stone building, their hands on their heads, facing the wall.

  Satisfied these prisoners were under control, two of the soldiers dressed in blue and black approached me.

  ‘Found them in a small shack on the other side
of the island, sir,’ said a tall officer. ‘There’s a bigger operation down there – just the mineral, though. Rock processing. There’s a small jetty where the mineral is shipped from.’

  ‘Are there any documents? Is there any evidence?’

  ‘Burned.’

  ‘They must have seen our ship coming,’ I replied, ‘and tried to conceal what was here.’

  ‘Aye. They smell of fires, the lot of them. Most likely they burned these kids too so we couldn’t find them.’

  ‘Do you have any idea how long it takes to burn a body?’ I said. ‘Those children were burned before we turned up. It takes a lot more people to do it, too. No doubt there are more hiding on the island somewhere. Find them. Leave these ones here.’

  ‘Sir.’

  The soldiers followed my orders. I nodded to Leana and we both walked around the front, facing the eight men, who were a range of ages. The youngest no more than twenty summers, the oldest in his fifties, and each looked well fed. Their faces had been blackened by soot, and their clothing was stained beyond recognition. They held their heads low.

  Barely able to hide my anger at the lack of humanity, I eventually composed myself and addressed them all.

  ‘My name,’ I began, shouting loudly above the wind, ‘is Lucan Drakenfeld. I am an Officer of the Sun Chamber, the highest legal authority in the Vispasian Royal Union.’

  I repeated the statement in Kotonese.

  ‘You are all to be arrested and taken back to the mainland. Your crimes, if you are found responsible, will lead to your execution. I cannot guarantee it will be a quick death. You are likely to be subjected to a painful and humiliating end.’

  Again, I repeated myself in the other language.

  ‘I will take you one by one to the adjacent field where so many bodies lie in various states of decomposition. You will have the opportunity to prove your innocence. By explaining what has gone on here, and who is responsible, there is a slender opportunity for mercy. I am not an unreasonable man.’ I gave a brief pause. ‘However, my assistant here is not so kind.’ Leana drew her sword, the blade glimmering in the morning sun. ‘Should you be . . . unhelpful in any way, I cannot guarantee any of the laws of this continent will be adhered to, nor that your pain will be minimal. Having seen what’s happened here, I can’t say I care all that much. The choice, gentlemen, is yours.’

  I pointed at the oldest man in the group. The soldiers dragged him into the field indelicately before they kicked him in the ribs.

  Another soldier brought forward my travel case, containing paper and ink, and followed me into the field. There I set up my operation and began the afternoon-long process to find out the truth of what had happened here on Evum.

  Answers

  The raw emotional state of these men meant that the answers came swiftly. Confessions were muttered through tear-soaked lips, the relief of their being caught all too clear.

  I tried not to speculate on the morality of these men. I had seen people do strange things when enough coin could line their pockets. Standards could vanish in the blink of an eye when a group was left to establish its own rules, far removed from the guiding lines of common society. I was not here to judge, not yet, just looking for answers.

  And they came soon enough.

  Every month for decades, ever since the island had been in operation, children had been killed to please the ancient god Hymound, the ‘King of the Multitudes’. The cult out here was extreme, a faction based on a much older and debased form of the religion, one which thrived with less violent elements on the mainland. Those involved took their faith every bit as seriously as I did with Polla.

  The cult was deeply connected to the land, and concerned itself with blood and renewal. Omens were to be found in the passage of birds. The weather was scrutinized for signs and animal entrails were studied assiduously. Entrails offered guidance – and out here human intestines were more reliable. The youngest member of our current cohort of prisoners was a former child labourer, and attributed his position of authority to his dedication to Hymound.

  Throughout the painstaking interviews the men spoke with passion. There were outbursts amid the mumbled, often contradictory, pieces of evidence. When pressed on what Hymound offered them, the response was always the same. Immortality. The opportunity to endure.

  A special child was burned ceremonially every month in the brass bull. Or, more specifically, they forced children to burn their kin. The chosen one’s ashes rose into the sky to be welcomed by Hymound – it was an honour, the captives claimed, and many children were glad to be relieved of their lives in the mines. As these offerings lived on in the heavens, it was assumed their sacrifice would hasten the discovery of more evum on the island.

  Children were taken, over the years, out of the orphanages and brought on ships in the dead of night. Many of the men did not know who was responsible for acquiring or transporting the children – they just arrived – but I could guess who might be involved. It was even said that one of the wealthy donors offered up their own son in an effort to satisfy the gods so that they could be rewarded with their evum much sooner – such was their desperation, such was the difficulty in finding pockets of evum on this island.

  The lengths people would go to in order to extend their lives.

  I pushed for names. In the heat of the moment, I felt I had no reservations about inflicting any torture upon them – there was no civilization out here, and all my standard rules were irrelevant. However, the threat of Leana’s blade was enough with these dejected men.

  The names came forth.

  Lydia Marinus. Grendor of the Cape. Bishop Tahn Valin. The Kahn brothers. They had all been part of the scheme. They were all abusing children and using them for material and metaphysical gain. But there were far more names. Presumably the killers could not have known them all and had murdered those they could get to. Other individuals involved in this island’s despicable operation might have tried hard to keep their influence to a minimum. Either way these names would be issued to Sulma Tan and the queen. Their investigation would have to continue into the furthest reaches of their culture.

  The operation existed to harvest the mineral known by several names. Evumite. Redstone. Bloodstone. Life-giver. There were local names, too. This, combined with some of the strange word-hybrids in their syntax, indicated that people had been isolated here for so long that their language had evolved. I had no doubt that those in charge of the operation would have gone to any lengths to keep the workers here for ever. It would have been too much of a risk to take them back to the mainland.

  Evumite, they claimed, was able to extend life and grant special powers at times; when pressed on what these powers were, they could not say. As they spoke I wondered if such powers had been the reason why the bodies of those murdered on the mainland had stirred in some way – that there was still some strange form of life within them.

  The precious mineral was available in incredibly rare quantities, located in isolated pockets buried deep underground. Very little ever made it to the mainland. Everyone who worked here, who was no longer a child, and who had proved themselves during five years of service, was permitted a small lump of evumite as payment for their trouble. A charitable gesture, the captives claimed. The longer those people served, the more evumite they might be given. The man I thought was in his fifties said he was eighty-four years old and had worked here since he was eleven.

  Children had been shipped to the island simply to work the mines. They were small enough to fit through the tiny tunnels that formed a vast system underground. Those who made it to adulthood were either disappeared or employed to inflict torture on others. Evumite was so difficult to find that the operation perhaps produced a fistful a year at first, but the more sacrifices that were made, the more successful the mines had become. These offerings to the gods, no matter how shocking, were working according to the needs of the island. The captives before me could not even contemplate that the success might have been
purely coincidental.

  What happened on Evum was not just the workings of the ancient cult of Hymound, as I had first thought. It was also a self-sustaining business operation organized by some of the wealthiest people in Koton – largely traditionalists and people who secretly worshipped the old gods. Money and donations came to fund it in exchange for evumite, and the chance to live forever. Lydia Marinus had been the backbone of the operation, donating a great deal of mining equipment.

  Sulma Tan was shocked as she read the names I had taken down, and confirmed their position high up in Kotonese society. She had no doubt the queen would want them purged. We could only speculate on how many of these stones had made their way throughout Vispasia over the years.

  Later I sat slumped against a wall as grasses stirred in the breeze and the evening sun began to fade from the skies. In the distance was the sound of the sea, calming and rhythmic. Leana remained quietly beside me, neither of us wanting to engage in much conversation. For the first time in weeks I felt at peace, though I suspected I was in some state of disbelief, or simply too numb to process what I had seen.

  ‘We like to think we’re not primitive people, we Kotonese,’ one soldier remarked to me as he passed by, ‘but look at us. We still use human blood for pleasing the gods. We’re still barbarians.’ His crestfallen expression, which was shared by others here, suggested that they felt the burden of the discovery. It had been a betrayal of their own nation, of everything they had stood for. He reached under the neckline of his tunic and produced a Nastran symbol upon a chain. ‘Don’t think bad of us, sir. Not everyone worships Hymound.’

  A simple nod, thin-lipped, was all I could muster as he walked away. Contemplating the legality of the matter, I began to pen an urgent missive to the Sun Chamber in Free State, which I would deliver as soon as we were back on the mainland.