“We thought you had bled out; you’ve lost a lot of blood,” said Sincerus, as Pious noticed a coagulated pool of blood on the ground, illuminated by a dull light.
“How long have I been out?” asked Pious. He attempted to remove the dirt from his face with his hand, only to smear more filth upon it.
“You were out when the Vindicators dragged you into the cell. I would guess that Sterny and I have been here over a Toll,” said Sincerus, as he pointed to Valerus in the cell adjacent to Pious.
“Looks like they really roughed you up,” replied Valerus.
Valerus Dominici, known as ‘Sterny’ to his comrades, was the dignified Knownborn son of Kazieress Delgana and Kazier Oriens, of high birth and noble stock. His amber-blonde hair and brown eyes contrasted against his pale, yet weathered skin. He was destined by blood to take his seat at the Atrium of Kaiziers – but much to the dismay of his parents, the child Valerus would have none of that, and wielded wooden sword and shield, in the stead of pen and paper.
Valerus was a renowned strategist and formidable warrior, serving in many engagements in his youth until his promotion to the rank of Tribune and the eventual supervision of his mother Cohort. Valerus was well respected by his comrades and his peers for being incredibly stern in expression and behaviour, yet fair in his governance and undertakings.
“Bastard Vindicators attacked me as I was heading to the Conclave. Hit me over the back of the head with a baton. Several times…” continued Pious, physically inspecting the back of his head with his hand.
Valerus ripped a strip of material from the hem of his tunic. “Pious – take this,” he said, and held out the strip through the bars of his cell, gesturing with it to Pious’s head.
Pious stood upright slowly and stumbled over to Valerus, reaching out to take the strip. As he reached out, he noticed a blistered burn wound on the back of his hand, shaped in the form of the Seal of the Whisperers.
“They must have branded me while I was out,” said Pious, inspecting the burnt flesh on his hand before reaching out again to take the material from Valerus.
“Thanks, V,” said Pious, and tied the strip of material around his head, covering the wound on his scalp.
“No worries. They branded Sincerus and me before taking us to our delightful accommodation,” said Valerus, holding his arms out and slowly spinning in a circle, as if presenting the room to someone.
“Where is Tyr?” asked Pious, looking at Sincerus and Valerus.
“Sincerus and I had our hoods removed after we arrived here, not long after being branded. Shortly after, you were dragged in by your feet. Tyr has not shown up yet. He was taken ahead of us, after kicking an Inquisitor in the nether realms,” replied Sincerus, laughing as he re-enacted the scene of Tyr’s resistance.
Then Sincerus turned to Pious and grabbed hold of the bars, leaning against them gently. “Did you kill Aurelius?” he asked.
“No. I fought him, yes. I didn’t slit his throat, that’s for certain. I don’t really want to talk about it yet, Sincerus,” said Pious, as he held the back of his head and walked towards the cell door.
“Right… Right,” said Sincerus, nodding in agreement.
“Where are we?” asked Valerus, whilst testing the simple yet effective lock on his door.
Pious looked around the dimly lit, foul-smelling pit. “This place seems familiar – the stone, the wood, the soil… the smell.”
“Reminds me a bit of a Gunnish outpost,” replied Valerus, as Sincerus and Pious chuckled slightly in recollection of the abysmal conditions of the Gunnish rebel outposts.
The area was dark and barely lit by a few scattered oil lamps fixed to walls of crudely cut stone. Its floor was bare, revealing the damp, brown Elysian soil.
Two rows of cages ran along the edges of the walls, separated by a well-worn patch of bare soil. One row of eight cells ran along the full length of one wall. The other row ran along the length of the opposite wall, split into two rows of three cells by an access corridor which led to the exit. Valerus, Pious and Sincerus were occupying the three cells to the right of the access corridor.
“You’re in the accursed dungeons of the Inquisition, below the Ecclesiasticum,” replied a voice from the row of cages opposite the cells of the Praetorians.
“You may as well make yourself at home,” the voice continued. “You won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. They will want to perform their hideous tests on you before you are to die.”
Pious opened his mouth to reply to the other captive but was interrupted by a door opening at the end of the left wing. The three Praetorians sprang to the corridor sidebars, looking for the disturbance. Pious took a brief glimpse through the doorway, with the insides of the room housing what appeared to be racks of the surgical sort – with arm, leg and neck restraints.
Pious’s view became blocked, as two Vindicators dragged a hooded and bound captive through the doorway, who was resisting wildly. Following behind them was an Inquisitor, holding up his white robes by the toggles affixed to its sides to avoid getting the hems covered by the soil below his feet.
“Why must this place be so filthy?” muttered the Inquisitor to himself.
The Vindicators dragged the struggling detainee into the furthest cell on the right, opposite Sincerus. One of the Vindicators stood by the door while the other removed the hood of the detainee. It was Tyr, looking rather worse for wear, with his face showing the obvious signs of a thorough beating.
The Vindicator in the cell with Tyr made his way out of the cell hastily. The other Vindicator slammed the cell shut and slid the bolt in place before locking the heavy padlock.
Tyr stepped forward and spat at the Inquisitor. A large globule of mucus and blood landed on the man's pristine white robes.
“Scum,” said Tyr to the Inquisitor with hateful contempt.
The Inquisitor looked down at his robes, disgusted by the spit of a heretic oozing down his vestments. The Inquisitor let go of the robes with his left hand, dropping them into the soil, as a Vindicator quickly ran to his side, and lifted the robes out of the dirt.
The Inquisitor raised his left hand, which was covered by a silver gauntlet. The gauntlet was elegantly articulated, each joint ending in a pointed and curved spike, like a metallic set of claws.
A vibratory hum filled the air as the Inquisitor started drawing the air out of Tyr’s lungs with his Aetheric Inductor gauntlet, causing Tyr to drop to the ground, grasping at his chest with his face turning blue.
“You will learn, wretch,” stated the Inquisitor, with a smile on his face. The Inquisitor watched with sadistic pleasure, waiting for the moment when Tyr would collapse.
The Inquisitor dropped his hand, releasing his Aetheric draw on Tyr, who drew in a deep breath of air.
The Inquisitor turned, took a few steps towards the cell of Pious and grabbed hold of the bars, the sound of his gauntlets scraping on the metal.
“It’s nice to see you back here, filth. I look forward to watching the flesh melt from your bones,” said the Inquisitor to Pious with a horrendous smile, whilst Tyr was still trying to recover.
“You filthy, son of a Rapax,” said Tyr, as he slowly recovered on his hands and knees. The Inquisitor smiled and turned to Tyr.
“I will be back soon to check on each one of your Seals. Once they have scarred you will be removed from Sanctuary – or condemned,” said the Inquisitor, before taking the left side of his robes from the Vindicator who was holding them in his stead, and making his way towards the exit, with the Vindicators following behind.
“If you can survive until then, that is,” said the Inquisitor loudly as he left the dungeon.
As the dungeon door slammed shut behind the Inquisitor, Pious moved closer to Tyr’s cell.
“Tyr, are you okay?” questioned Pious.
Tyr let out a loud and long groan of pain. “What a filthy worm!” he exclaimed, propping himself onto his backside, bending his head to the side, stretching his neck.
/> “I’ve had the pleasure of that worm’s acquaintance for at least a Pass,” confirmed the prisoner in the cell next to Tyr.
“Can you believe it? He actually cut my eye out, in the name of protecting the Way of Lumerus. And they dare call me a heretic!” continued the man.
Pious moved closer to the bars opposite the man’s cell, trying to inspect him further.
“Cleric Yurik?” questioned Pious, in the belief he may have recognised the dishevelled and disfigured man.
“Yes, Pious, I’m glad that I am still somewhat recognisable,” replied Yurik. He wore nothing but a pair of makeshift underwear, in a feeble attempt to retain some dignity.
“We sent many a search party after you, believing harm might have come to you on your pilgrimage to the Evergreen,” said Pious, feeling pity for the disfigured Arboreal Cleric, who was missing several fingers and an eye and had no patch of skin left unharmed from the branding of the Seal of the Whisperers.
“Oh, harm had come to me, all right,” said the Cleric. “I stumbled across a meeting between some Prelates, several being damned Inquisitors, and some Viziers from Attamerus. At which point, they detained me, tortured me and now here I am.”
“I take it you found them in a clearing not far north of the Prevention?” asked Pious, already believing he knew the answer.
“Exactly the place,” replied Yurik.
“I saw the same thing, except I didn’t get caught, and they killed the Prelate – Prelate Vicario,” confirmed Pious.
“Vicario? What are you talking about, Pious? Does that have something to do with all of this?” replied Valerus, gesturing with his hand to the dungeon.
“I think it does – I was warned by the Advocates that something like this might happen,” said Pious, as he leant against the bars. He lowered his head in disappointment. “I should have listened to them.”
“Something very wrong is happening, Prefect,” said the Cleric, shaking his head in despair. “Something very, very wrong. It is as if this place is infected with a corruption, bending and warping the minds and judgement of the people within these walls!”
“Agreed,” replied Pious, as he started to pace in his cell. “The Daggers have grown far too strong.”
“No… not the Daggers. It's something more – something sinister, more Malignant… more ancient,” said Yurik, huddling into the corner of his cell.
He looked to Pious. “The meeting in the forest – you know it was the prophecy they were concerned about – the prophecy of the Twins?”
“The Twins? As in the Twins of Destiny prophecy?” asked Valerus, who was inspecting the hinges on the sturdy metal cell door.
“Exactly the one. It is what is bothering the Harshlander and the Savage alike – a fear that the world as we know it may end… and soon. Every nine hundred and ninety-nine Cycles – a Grand Cycle – the Twins of Destiny are born into Existentia, their births marked by a great conflict and darkness. As you may know, the moment we reach Umbra Orbis – it marks a Grand Cycle. Many consider the last great conflict in the March as the signal that the Twins were born, who were meant to be born after a great ‘Darkness of Destruction’,” explained Yurik.
Tyr laughed in derision as he palpated his slightly bruised eye. “But even if that were more than complete and utter nonsense, what interest does anyone have in these Twins? What interest would anyone have in this prophecy?”
“Well – it is a very dark and disturbing heresy young man, with many twists and rules, many of which some believe grant favour and power. For the prophecy to be fulfilled, the Twins must enter into mortal combat, and one must be victorious. If the right twin is victorious, then good people are happy for the next Grand Cycle under the reign of the Beneficent Nine. If the wrong twin is victorious, then the Malignant Nine shall reign for the ensuing Grand Cycle, with chaos and misery following in their wake.”
“What if one of the Twins dies before they meet?” asked Sincerus, who had been listening in on the conversation with his back to Yurik.
“If either of the twins die before they meet, the prophecy is nullified for another Grand Cycle, and life continues on its merry way. But the one rule many ruthless people are interested in is the one where if someone takes in the combined blood of both Twins, the ultimate powers of unstoppable strength and immortality await them,” said Yurik, rubbing his filthy and sore-covered feet.
Pious seemed to be ignoring the conversation in favour of contemplating the wooden plank ceiling. “A messenger delivered a scroll to me after I disregarded a warning from an undercover Advocate agent. It was penned and signed by Leon Regulario, warning me that there were heretics lurking in the open and that we were all in danger. That I was in grave danger. I disregarded it as if it was some joke.”
He shook his head in self-loathing at his own stupidity. “Joke’s on me – on us – now.”
“Someone must have known something,” said Valerus, who was sitting down in the dirt and leaning against the bars.
Sincerus sniffed the air in disgust. “This place smells like piss.”
“Sorry about that. It's about the only relief you will get in this place,” said Yurik. “After drinking your own urine, repeatedly – it starts to smell quite foul once you cannot stomach the taste anymore.”
“Is that a foot?” said Tyr, staring into the corner of his cell.
Pious, distracted by a guttural groan, turned his head to the cage adjacent to Yurik’s. There he saw a naked, malnourished prisoner with long, filthy head and facial hair – whose bone structure told a tale that he might have once been a very solid man. At the man’s feet were two decomposing corpses, with hands chained to the bars.
He stretched his arms out towards Pious and continued to scream, with tears welling in his eyes. All four of the Vigilants looked at him in helpless curiosity.
“Strange,” said Yurik. “I’ve tried talking to him for Beneficence knows how long, and he hasn’t said a word. Well, his tongue has been cut out.” Yurik looked at the wraithlike figure, and then at Pious. “I have no idea how long he has been here – he was sleeping in the corner of his cell when I was thrown into mine. He seems to have taken a liking to you.”
The man stopped screaming and just stared at Pious, moaning, his exhausted face showing signs of desperate defeat.
Pious looked back at him. The bearded and dishevelled man, with tears in his eyes and quivering lips, stretched out his arms towards Pious through the bars. His eyes seemed strangely familiar to Pious as if he had met this man before – but Pious had no recollection of him.
The sound of the unoiled dungeon door creaking open filled the air, followed by the sound of several people entering. Inquisitor General Clement Pervigil, thrice Great Grandson of Cedric Pervigil, walked into the dungeon corridor, followed by four High Inquisitors and four Vindicator Adepts. The Inquisitor who had interrogated Tyr earlier, followed on behind, flailing his arms in protest.
All four Praetorians jumped to attention, feeling uneasy about what was taking place.
“Take the Praetorians and load them into the wagon,” said Clement, as he pointed to the corpses lying on the ground. “Make an Example of them. Make an Example of them on 1st District Curtain. Leave no witnesses in here,” instructed Clement coldly and decisively, before making his way to the exit.
“You can’t do that! I haven't finished with them yet,” shouted the protesting Inquisitor, pointing at the prisoners.
Clement turned and direct the attention of his Vindicator Adepts to the protesting Inquisitor. “And take care of this one. Your sadism tries me too much, Wilhem,”
Wilhem took a few steps backwards and raised his gauntlet. A Vindicator Adept grabbed him by the wrist with one hand and around the throat with the other. “Easy there,” said the Vindicator Adept, with a smile.
“Clement! What are you doing?” shouted Pious, trying in vain to get Clément’s attention.
Two Vindicators entered Yurik's cell and proceeded to repeatedly kick the o
ld Cleric, who was curled in the foetal position, trying with little success to protect himself. In the same fashion, the other two Vindicators began the same assault on the other prisoner.
“Come here and try that, you cowards!” yelled Tyr into the cage next to him, watching helplessly as the two Vindicators continued to kick furiously into the lifeless Cleric.
Pious grabbed the cell bars in a white-knuckled grip. “Clement!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, trying to attract the Inquisitor General's attention.
The four High Inquisitors approached each of the Praetorians and simultaneously began to choke them with their Aetheric Inductors, drawing the air from their lungs and causing them to drop to the floor.
Pious tried resisting, crawling on the floor towards the cell door, before collapsing entirely, his body slumping once again onto the cold soil as his vision grew dim.
The Unknown
“For your transgressions and unwillingness to adhere to our ways, you are banished from our midst and branded with the Seal – so that all may tell that not only are you no longer one of us, but were once one of us, and now considered lower than the Savage.”
“The First Speech of Banishment”,
Cedric Pervigil 9°, High Inquisitor Initio and Advocate of Lumerus.
2nd Cycle of Purity.
“Well, I cannot taste a single drop of fear. What a shame,” said the monster. It stood upright again and replaced the dagger in its bone scabbard.
“Maybe you’re not scared because you know that I would never disembowel my game without a roaring fire first,” said the creature, giving the hunter a pat on the head and turning around.
The monster picked up the torch and began collecting sticks and kindling from beneath the scattering of twisted trees, humming some unknown tune to itself.
The chilling air of the frozen desert continued to bite at the flesh of the hunter as snow from the slight blizzard struck at his skin.
“You will be warm soon, Ursarion. Hold on a little longer – don’t you die before I gut you,” taunted the creature.
Exhumation: An Epic of Existentia (Acts of the Sojourner Book 1) Page 15