by Ty Arthur
The evidence of his passenger's involvement in the tenor of the city seemed to be mounting. The knights and collectors at the sanctum had been all-too-happy to spill the blood of their companion when he'd invoked the cursed artifact lodged in his soul. He was still reeling from what he'd felt there, his mind having gone back to the night he'd been possessed yet again, whether he wanted to remember it or not. The black thing that looked like a gloved fist had been waiting for him specifically, he was sure of it now, and it had spoken to him somehow. The memory went blank there, snuffed out by the trauma of his possession.
Despite its current elusiveness, he was coming to understand it more and more. He hadn't been releasing it like a hound as he'd arrogantly first believed, but rather he was opening a door or pushing aside an ethereal wall so it could go forth and consume. When opened only a crack, it could consume the light to hide him, but if allowed to breach through all at once, it would consume body and soul to utterly annihilate all life unfortunate enough to be standing in the way.
Losing himself to the dark thoughts while his companions spoke amongst themselves, Myrr wondered if it was even more than that though, more than an opening and a closing. When he felt the name of the darkness growing inside, all he had to do was let it rise and channel it through himself. He could control the heights to which it grew, pushing it out as a whisper rather than a scream, seductively drawing in the darkness. The thought brought a stirring within, and he felt if he just continued his remembrances, he could pull it back up to the forefront, even with the warding priest still in the room.
Having drifted off again, he snapped his focus back onto the mansion's study around him when he noticed Casterly speaking. “It may look dark now, Myrr, but the dawn is coming. Whether Father Erret is right or not, you are seeing us to freedom. My mother, my siblings, they are going to survive this war, and after we murder every last one of those southern bastards, we will be back to normal one day soon, all because of you.”
Tala had remained silent ever since Casterly and Erret arrived, which worried him, but her reassuring hand was always there, even if it was burdened by a metallic gauntlet. He tried to think of something equally comforting to say in return, but could think of nothing that wouldn't ring false and hollow. Myrr was saved from having to lie when Erret spoke up from across the room, spewing more of his insufferable fanaticism.
“Your attachment to these worldly connections will be your undoing. I wish all could be saved, but those who falter in the face of the light, those who are tested and found wanting, are unfit to serve the Farwalker. They must be culled. There is no guarantee your family will not be among them.”
There were harsh truths and then there were words spoken only to bring misery, and the priest had crossed the line. A dangerous edge was in Casterly's voice when he shot back, “My family will live to see freedom, if I have to kill everyone else in the city personally to assure it.”
Myrr leaned back to survey the street below again, desperately hoping for a break in the crashing waves of battle, and contemplating if his dark parasite would have the power to see them through the mob by force. He tried to tune out the missionary's latest sermon, spoken with open condescension.
“You should rejoice at those who fall while resisting, throwing off the shackles of darkness. Their physical path may end here, but they will receive their reward one day when the light returns to make this world perfect again.”
Myrr was quickly tiring of the priest's insistence, as well as the focus on some unseen world after this one while real people lost their current lives all across the city. Apparently pushed past the breaking point as well, Tala stood up and walked into the adjoining room on the other side of the house. Without hesitation Myrr followed behind, leaving the priest to rant at his acolyte.
He was determined not to make the same mistake as before, hoping he could anticipate the direction of her thoughts this time as he followed Tala into an extravagant bedroom that put some of the city's former inns to shame.
While she paced the length of the room, Myrr put his thoughts to words, finally having some small measure of hope to offer that might not be cruel falsehood. “He's insane, but the priest knew about what's happening inside me. If he really has the knowledge necessary to rid me of it, is it possible he could banish your voices?”
She stood facing away from him, stepping forward to push out the double sided wood shutters and stare down at the opposite side of the house into the high ward below. With her viewpoint changed from their location in the study came an equal change in tone of voice, now filled with dread certainty. “We are who we are, Myrr. There are masters and there are slaves. There's no escaping fate. The most we can hope for is meeting that fate somewhere else.”
Whether he was the master or the slave, housing the prized artifact so desperately sought out by the blackguards calling themselves knights had provided unexpected benefits. Although putting him on the run, it was the sole reason Myrr was still alive while so many others had been thrown into the mass graves on the outskirts of the city. Repugnant as it might seem, he was coming to accept the reality that using it would be necessary to ensure the safety of this ragtag crew until they could reach the obelisk.
Although still tentatively exploring its mysteries, the elusive artifact seemed to bend to his desire when needed. It might be bringing the city to a state of genocidal extinction, but it could also see a few people to asylum somewhere far, far away from all the madness. Although the words stayed in his head this time, he pledged to no one but himself and his internal darkness that Tala would see more of the world than a prison monastery and a dead city. He would find the means to rid her of her internal affliction, even if it meant utilizing his own.
He joined her side at the other end of the room, thinking to place his arm around her, but stopped when he saw the spectacle below that she'd been watching without any display of emotion. The mob had grown to enormous size, filling the entire ward, but they were held back by the largest grouping of knights he'd ever witnessed, standing side by side in a giant ring around the tree-filled market area. Only somehow the trees squirmed and writhed, forcing Myrr to blink to understand what he was seeing.
While most of the knights fought viciously to keep the mob back, a number of them went about a baffling task, heedless of their own safety. They were dragging any civilian they caught – man, woman, or child – to the line of trees. Once there, they shoved their victim up against the bark and impaled them in place with any sharp implement available. While some went about the grisly task properly with hammer and nails, other viciously thrust in anything at hand, from spear to dagger.
The trees were covered in a sea of screaming flesh, all struggling to escape their impalement. Carrion birds circled overhead, raucous caws drowned out by the crowd. Seeing the insane behavior of the soldiers below, which was only certain to provoke the mob against them further, Myrr had a sinking feeling in his stomach when his dark companion rose back up to the surface, bringing mirth and merriment in its wake.
19 (High Ward, Market Outskirts, Early Light Dawning)
The ward had descended into complete chaos around them, and the maelstrom of voices in Tala's head now matched the intensity of the mob below. She remained stoic on the outside, having always realized they would inevitably return, but the force of their hurricane shrieks threatened to rip free from her mind and come screaming out of every part of her.
The repercussions would be severe if she allowed such an act, feeling things growing within that wished to join the ranks of her perished offspring. Things that desperately wanted to enter the world and see the sliver of light now finally peeking across the horizon.
They had returned, making up for lost time with renewed vigor, the moment the priest had entered the room and begun his tirade against Myrr. Having apparently overcome their fear of him, or perhaps being energized by the shrieks about light and truth from the missionary, they raged and swirled despite Myrr's imminent proximity.
Somehow her screaming whispers had lost their terror of Myrr's darkness, apparently spurred on by the missionary who thought nothing of condemning a city to starvation in the name of revolution. The caretakers had warned her about the Farwalker's brood, long ago, and now she knew why. Her heart lurched for the man beside her, filled with naive hope of being rid of his possessor, but that all seemed to pale in comparison to this latest brush stroke on the tapestry of inhumanity being painted in the former market square. Only a few streets over, men and women were going to die in scores, many still struggling to escape their impromptu crucifixions.
The ring of trees marking the market's entrance was now adorned with screaming mothers and fathers, daughters and sons, all being punished for sins they likely hadn't even committed, caught up in a storm not of their own making.
An agonizing ocean of pierced flesh spread across the trees, struggling feebly against the nails in their hands and feet, and for the truly unlucky ones, even in their throats. At first she was unsure if she was actually witnessing the spectacle below, wondering if the whispers were playing tricks on her mind. It was absolute madness for the knights to be engaged in this astonishing level of barbarity. Even her caretakers had never taken such extreme measures against their possessed charges.
While they were outnumbered, the soldiers battling against the surrounding mob was vastly better equipped and trained, and could have killed every last person in the city if they'd had the desire to do so. Instead they went out of their way to brew the hatred even further, attempting to spread as much cruelty and cause as much harm as possible before being consumed by the mob.
She knew the scene was no false vision from her unwelcome whispers when hearing Myrr's sudden intake of breath, staring down at the final fall of the high ward. For so long this section of the city had escaped true harm while the brunt of the soldiers' fury fell on the other districts, but now it came screaming into line with the reality of life across Cestia. Not even the occupying knights would be safe after this. Total annihilation was all that remained for anyone without the foresight to flee for their lives while they had the chance. Only there was nowhere to flee, nowhere but Myrr's insistent destination, which would likely be nothing more than their tomb if they managed to reach it.
Every inch of the massive oaks were quickly being covered as citizens pulled at random from homes or grabbed from the edges of the mob were nailed in place and left to bleed out while being pecked at by the circling carrion birds. They cried their innocence, they shouted for mercy, they called down curses and sobbed without words, but none of it moved the city's captors or saved them from what would assuredly be a lingering and painful death.
Any who knew of her affliction would think her a lunatic, yet what she watched below was madness on a scale she couldn't conceive. Watching the spreading hysteria, she reached up and pulled her helmet off, letting it fall heavily to the ground, slowly working on the thick metal gauntlets next. There was no point in disguises anymore. The knights were being openly assaulted in the streets since the granary burned and the atrocity of crucifixion had started below, and Tala did not intend to be among their number.
She knew that if her caretakers back home were aware of this, they would be glad for the outcome, and think it just. They'd hope for her to end up on those trees with all the rest. If she ever got back there, Tala intended to repay them for their lessons of pain. The whispers screamed their assent, but she ignored them. Her rage was for herself, and not those who inhabited her body without her consent. There was no way to be rid of them, not permanently, but she could master them.
Myrr was speaking in that way of his again, trying to appear strong and calm while on the verge of losing himself to a hysteria all his own, but the words immediately faded away when the tip of the first obsidian multi-jointed limb poked over the windowsill.
Even the whispers quieted for a moment while that slick, barbed appendage wrapped around and was followed by another limb, pulling up a muddy bulk that she knew would be marked by two different colored eyes. She had abandoned her son in the Briar, hoping the grave would keep him safe, but death had rejected the monstrosity she'd birthed. Thoughts of vengeance were gone then. She'd said it herself only moments ago to Myrr. Fate can't be escaped.
Tala knelt down and stroked her hand against his horribly-deformed skin, crying openly at her child's unexpected return, noting his hide felt like rough stone despite being appearing sopping wet. “Terrible things used to happen around me before I learned to control my whispers, Myrr.” Looking down at her beloved son, she added, “perhaps they still do. You may not want to see the repercussions if I ever did make it over the walls.”
Glancing up, she expected to see revulsion, or a burst of motion as he went in for the attack as the child's father had. Instead there was only a stunned silence, followed by look of sorrow and an unexpected trailing tear as he saw the truth of the matter. She didn't have to say anything, and for that Tala found reason to be grateful. There was no sane explanation to give.
Myrr looked back out the window when he promised her, “We are getting out of this city. All of us. You won't be digging any more graves.”
Both were diverted from the unexpected reunion at an abrupt reverberation of sound below, as something shattered apart and several unknown assailants stormed into the ground floor level. Shouting and the clanging of steel followed next, as the fighting spilled into their sanctuary and death was freely dealt just below their feet.
Myrr's terribly-maimed companion burst into the room, no doubt to warn them of the scuffle below, but he skidded to a stop when his eyes settled on her unnatural offspring. “What in the name of the light is that?” he shrieked, overcome by that expected abhorrence somehow absent in Myrr.
The spiked mace was free from the loop on her belt in an instant as she stepped forward, both pushing the whispers down and projecting her voice out. “That is my son, and you will not touch him.”
The priest followed in then, crazed eyes quickly darting from Tala's exposed face to her progeny below. Expecting to have to strike them both down, she was surprised when Erret placed his arm across Casterly and warned, “Stay your hand, apprentice. Do not be fooled by the grotesque form. The physical realm will lie to you, just as your face lies to those who don't see your worth.”
Clear confusion hung in the air, when his exultant voice rang out, “You bear witness to nothing less than a seraph of almighty god above, given form and flesh. This most wondrous of beings is only at the beginning of its path here in this physical realm. In time, it will be greater than any of us. Praise be unto the Farwalker!”
Any relief at his apparent religious adoration of her son was short-lived as pounding boots crashed up the stairway and the battle reached the second floor of the once-abandoned mansion. Ever ready with a plan for a quick escape, it was Myrr who shouted, “Out the window, now!”
20 (High Ward, Early Light Dawning)
When the unidentified invaders breached the upper floor and could be heard in the study outside, Myrr quickly considered opening the portal to let the darkness through, but in such close quarters he couldn't be certain he'd kill only foe and not friend. The contented sigh from within told him the artifact would be perfectly happy with such an outcome, but he wasn't willing to take the risk.
Simply smothering out the light would do no good in such a tiny room, not when it was clear the rapidly-approaching threats were already aware of them. It was fight or flee, and Myrr had no desire to kill the frenzied residents of the wards, especially if he was truly the cause of their blood thirst.
The thick, weathered boards making up the outer edge of the house would be a difficult climb, but it wasn't too far to the ground. “Out the window, now!” he shouted, ushering Tala over and pointing out where to grab hold along the edges to make her way safely to the street two floors below. Just as her legs were over the sill and she began the drop, the battle for the high ward spilled inside.
Dressed i
n finery that had been worn down to rags and apparently dragged through the mud more than once, two of the ward's crazed residents burst in and shouted when they saw Myrr, still bearing the robes of a collector. One held a large meat cleaver in his filthy hand, and the other wielded a clearly pilfered sword, both only held temporarily at bay by Erret's length of spear, which would have no maneuverability in such a cramped space.
As soon as the rioters were past its deadly tip, they'd be in a struggle for their lives. Myrr knew they weren't alone either, as the sounds of a scuffle continued out in the study, along with the occasional shout of pain. Before either the priest or the noble could strike, a blur of motion sped across the room. A spindly, four-legged mass slammed into the two rioters, slicing its wickedly barbed appendages back and forth at rapid speed.