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

by S. A. Chapman

  Pious sat on the ground coughing and recovering his breath. The large beastman paced back and forward in front of the four Elysians, stroking his whiskers.

  “Voivode… there is one more thing,” said the beastman holding Tyr, uneasily.

  The Voivode briefly looked at the beastman. “What is it R’Argh?” The voivode’s attention was diverted to another beastman, approaching from a distance and carrying something over his shoulder.

  “What is this?” said the Voivode, uncertainly. The beastman carrying his own deceased father, walked towards the Voivode and stood in front of him quietly for a moment, before placing his father gently on the ground.

  “K’Sarat…” the Voivode said, with sadness and concern. “What… What happened?”

  The Voivode knelt by the side of the disfigured, blood and dirt covered beastman, inspecting his wounds, brushing the fur on the creature's face with his hand, tidying it by laying it flat. He looked up at the beastman alongside him. “What happened, K’Reorh?” he said quietly.

  Another beastman, who appeared somewhat like K’Reorh, yet a little smaller, pushed through the gathered crowd. “Father!” shouted the smaller beastman. Some of the others held him back as he continued trying to struggle forward.

  K’Reorh looked at him. “Easy, K’Jurga,” he said to the sobbing beastman, and diverted his attention back to the Voivode.

  “The Anghenfil attacked. Father extinguished one of their Burning Fires too far from the safety of our lights,” K’Reorh explained.

  The Voivode moved some of K’Sarat’s arm hair apart, inspecting the deep gouges in his arm, and then looked up at K’Reorh. “The Ůrsa?” asked the Voivode, without expression.

  “Yes, Voivode,” said K’Reorh sheepishly, in expectation of the Voivode’s response. He glanced at the heavily sobbing K’Jurga who knelt on the edge of the gathered folk, before looking back towards the Voivode.

  The Voivode stood up and bellowed a powerful and deafening roar, directing his fury towards the four captives. “Why is it you smoothskins bring nothing but death and destruction to my people!” he screamed at the men as he began walking towards them.

  “Voivode!” shouted K’Reorh to the furious–looking Voivode, who stopped and turned to face him.

  “May I speak for my Father?” K’Reorh requested. The Voivode appeared to relax a little. “Of course,” he replied, making an agreeing gesture with his hand.

  K’Reorh placed his hand into a crimson cloth satchel at his side and withdrew his hand as he walked to the Voivode. As he stood next to the Voivode, he stretched out his furry hand, clenched in a fist, to the Voivode. The Voivode raised his hand, ready to accept the offering of K’Reorh. “As proof,” said K’Reorh, as he dropped a large fang and claw into the paw of the Voivode.

  “His wishes?” asked the Voivode, staring at the relics in his hand.

  “His fang, to my mother,” replied K’Reorh, as a majority of the gathered crowd mumbled in agreement, nodding their heads – although some showed signs of disapproval.

  “And… his claw, to the smoothskin,” said K’Reorh, pointing to Pious. The crowd began grumbling to each other, as the detainees shared glances of confusion.

  Y’Gar stepped forward and began shouting at the Voivode in the unintelligible tongue of the beastmen.

  “Stop!” shouted K’Reorh, trying to distract the disgruntled crowd, as their attention redirected to him.

  “The smoothskin killed the Ůrsa and saved my Father’s honour. My father’s last wish was for the smoothskin to bear my Father’s self–removed claw. I will honour this, and that is final. I do not care what any of you have to say regarding this,” said K’Reorh, as he turned once again to face the Voivode.

  The Voivode crossed his arms and stood tall. “You know what this means, K’Reorh?” questioned the Voivode.

  “I do, Voivode,” replied K’Reorh with pride, yet showing signs of uncertainty. The Voivode walked alongside K’Reorh and embraced him, hugging him tightly and patting him on the back. “Then I shall say no more,” he said comfortingly.

  The Voivode released his embrace and walked towards the four detainees who were kneeling on the ground, all bound tightly and all still gagged except for Pious. The muscular creature paced back and forward menacingly in front of the men.

  “What brings a band of Sanctuary kin deep into the Engulfing Forest? You are not traders, as there are no roads or trade routes in these parts. You are clearly no meagre peasants or skin–hunters, as your martial prowess, dictates otherwise, but you are not armed and bear no armour nor standard – so you cannot be those of the sword. Furthermore, it is very rare to find anyone from Sanctuary outside of its grounds without a full delegation, especially during the Darkness. So, you are not a delegation,” wondered the beastman aloud, before stopping and letting out a purring sigh. He walked over to Pious and turned to the captives.

  “You are banished, correct?” he stated in a questioning tone, as he picked up Pious’ hand and removed the wrapping, inspecting the mark of banishment.

  The captives all bore faces of disbelief, Valerus letting a noise of shock through his gag. Pious lifted his head and started to raise himself to his feet, but his captor pushed him back down.

  The Voivode gestured at Pious’s captor to stand aside. “Release them; they shall cause us no more trouble,” he ordered. The captors released their holds on the captives and started removing the gags. As soon as the gag left Sincerus’s mouth, he began spitting on the ground.

  The captives all started stretching their shoulders and arms, trying to get some feeling and movement back to their bodies, which had been restricted for so long.

  “How could you possibly know the ways of Sanctuary?” Pious asked the large beastman, as he stood to his feet. The Voivode looked at Pious and smiled.

  “You may find it hard to believe, but we have had much to do with your kind, and we are well aware of the laws of Sanctuary and the affairs of the smoothskins.”

  The Voivode looked into the crowd that had gathered. “K’Reorh, take your father and prepare the Mourning Mound. I will bear witness for you. R’Argh, find suitable dwellings for these men and give them free access to the village unhindered. It is clear these men will be of assistance if the Anghenfil attack. Oh… and get them something proper to wear. The poor sods do not even have any shoes,” shouted the Voivode, as he stared at their bare and dirty feet.

  Both addressed beastmen nodded their heads in approval. R’Argh stepped forward in front of Tyr and gestured at the now–released captives to follow him as he made his way out of the courtyard and back into the village. K’Reorh and another similar looking beastman started to lift his father off the ground, with a few other beastmen trying to console him.

  Pious, Tyr, Sincerus and Valerus followed R’Argh, sharing glances of amusement and confusion at the actions that had just taken place.

  “No such thing as the Forest King, huh?” said Tyr to Valerus, pushing him in the back, with a large smile on his face.

  “Not you…,” said the Voivode. Upon hearing these words, the party stopped in their tracks, Pious looking at the beastman, and the others looking at Pious.

  “May I speak with you in private?” questioned the beastman, looking at Pious. Pious looked at the others and gave a nod of approval.

  A beastman ran towards the Voivode and stopped alongside him. “Voivode… the Heart–Seed,” said the sandy–grey coloured beastman.

  “Thank you, Y’Gar. I will ensure that it is returned to the Root–Stock,” said the Voivode, as he collected the glossy and smooth, fist-sized object from the beastman. The Voivode walked towards the entrance to his mound, as the other beastman ran off into the centre of the village.

  Pious turned to his colleagues. “It shall be fine. I will see you later,” he said quietly, before proceeding towards where the Voivode stood in his doorway, holding the curtain drawn back to allow Piousfree access.

  Pious entered the mound, cutting thro
ugh a thick wall of cold and into the warmth of the interior, and the beastman let the large drape close again.

  “You have a name?” asked the Voivode as he made his way into an adjoining room, gesturing for Pious to follow. Pious followed along, taking in the surroundings. Many different aromas filled the air. Pious could smell the damp but pleasant smell of the earth and the woody scent of the roots that were visible in the walls. However, it was the amazing smell of an unknown meal in the air that made Pious’ stomach turn with painful hunger.

  “Pious. Prime Prefect Pious Argentum, of Sanctuary” he said.

  The Voivode hummed to himself. “Old Leon was right; you are audacious.”

  Pious turned to the Voivode. “What did you say?”

  The Voivode stopped still, examining the burning bricks in the fireplace, assessing where to stoke them. He placed the Heart–Seed in front of the fire, close enough to warm it, yet not close enough to burn it.

  “I said, you were a Prefect,” stated the beastman, stoking the fireplace which was providing warmth to the mound and then looking over at Pious, gesturing for him to come closer to the fire.

  Pious turned to the Voivode and walked towards him, crouching in front of the warmth of the radiant hearth.

  “The banishment of my fellow Praetorians and I on the pretext of treachery does not end my duties and obligations as a Praetorian Vigilant. My duty is to the protection of Sanctuary, the Sanctum, its people and its laws,” Pious said, before staring into the radiant embers. “…and my wife.”

  The beastman nodded in approbation and smiled to himself as he shook his head. “You smoothskins are all so alike,” he, before turning his head to Pious. “I am B’Sayan, the Voivode and Patriarch of this village and Scythian tribe,” he said, before pointing into an adjoining room, from which a moderate amount of steam flowed out of the doorway and rolled along the ceiling; this room appeared to be the source of the delicious smell.

  “My wife, B’Ast, is in the kitchen,” said B’Sayan in a quiet tone, before turning his head and facing the kitchen. “B’Ast!” he shouted. “We have a guest!”

  “And?” a voice replied from the kitchen in an indifferent tone.

  B’Sayan began to quietly grumble into his beard. “Well, come and meet him!” he replied loudly with frustration.

  “I’m sure he has legs, dear. I’m busy, and my hands are full,” replied the voice.

  B’Sayan began yet again to grumble even deeper and more frequently into his beard. Pious interrupted B’Sayan’s grumbling.

  “It is fine, B’Sayan, I’ll go in there,” he said, and made his way into the kitchen.

  Standing over what appeared to be a stove was a creature who had the same attributes as B’Sayan. However, this creature was feminine. She was of a slenderer physique, and her coat was a glossy jet black, wearing an apron, protecting her pristine fur from her cooking endeavours.

  “Pious, I assume?” she asked.

  “That’s correct,” replied Pious, with a slight bow of the head. “I would assume likewise that you are B’Ast?”

  The creature turned and inspected Pious with a look of subtle confusion.

  “You…,” she said to herself, and paused briefly, before gathering her thoughts and wiping her hands on her apron. Pious’s face revealed slight signs of confusion, as this was not the first time one of these creatures had greeted him in that manner.

  “Yes, I am B’Ast,” she said, as she turned back and faced the stove, continuing to stir a pot atop a fired clay kiln filled with hot embers. “What gives us the pleasure of your company, Pious?”

  “It was at the behest of your hunting party,” replied Pious jovially, as he watched her stir the pot.

  “I heard that one of your party killed a Floran, is that so?” questioned B’Ast.

  “In all honesty, B’Ast, we had no idea what we killed. One of my party retaliated against an attack, with fatal consequences to the assailant,” replied Pious.

  “This is a very unfortunate series of events, Pious. The creature that was killed was one of the Florae, a very beautiful life form,” B’Ast informed him, as she tore some greenery off the wall, and dropped it into the pot.

  “It was a Seed Mother, B’Ast. The four men were carrying Burning Fire through the forest, and stumbled upon her Sproutlings,” stated B’Sayan, as he stepped into the kitchen. “Idiots…who carries Burning Fire through the Forest?”

  “This is a very sad occasion, Pious. The Seed Mother was instinctively protecting her Sproutlings from the destructive fire that was in your hands, the carrying of which into the forest is forbidden in our community,” said B’Ast.

  “Her Heart Seed is with us, warming by the fire. We will need to venture to the Root–Stock later, to return it,” said B’Sayan, as he scratched his back on the doorway into the kitchen.

  “I am very sorry for what has happened,” replied Pious.

  “What is done is done. Fortunately, a Floran never truly dies, unless its Heart Seed is completely incinerated or allowed to rot. Besides, I am certain that you will redeem yourself. Are you hungry, Pious?” asked B’Ast, as she stirred a pot of something that smelt deliciously intoxicating

  “Indeed, I am, B’Ast, but I would prefer to see my friends eating as well before I do,” replied Pious. He looked downward at the tightly–tamped soil floor of the kitchen. “They are all in this mess because of me.”

  “Do not worry, Pious; your camaraderie is not unnoticed. However, I assure you that the needs of your men are currently being catered for – our custom demands we feed and clothe wanderers. I insist you eat,” said B’Sayan, as he reclined on some luxurious cushions that surrounded a low, circular table in the corner of the kitchen. He gestured for Pious to join him.

  Pious walked over to the table and sat down on the comfortable cushions where B’Sayan had indicated.

  B’Ast came over with a large bowl in one hand and several small bowls in the other and placed them on the table. She ladled a large spoonful of the substance into the small bowls and handed one to Pious before reclining nearby.

  “I am sure you are wondering what it is we are offering you,” said B’Sayan, as he picked up his bowl.

  “If you are going to tell me, then I am,” replied Pious politely, breathing deep of the intoxicatingly delicious steam rising from the soup.

  “This is a soup made of mushrooms and herbs from the forest that are gathered and left for us as gifts by the Florans, as a sign of thanks for leaving them in peace and protecting their nurseries,” said B’Ast.

  “It has no meat in it – in case you were wondering,” said B’Sayan, with a smile.

  Pious raised the spoon and placed it into his mouth, and his face became overcome with an exuberant look of shock.

  “This is amazing, B’Ast. I have never tasted anything like it before,” exclaimed Pious with much joy.

  “You and your people don’t eat meat either?” Asked Pious, examine the delicious broth.

  B’Sayan laughed a deep and purring note. “We do, oh yes we do. It also happens that I love mushrooms!”

  “I am glad you like it, Pious” replied B’Ast, as she reclined next to B’Sayan.

  “The Florans consider mushrooms to be a pest, and the herbs they consider invasive. Instead of destroying them, they leave them for us after removing them from their nurseries,” B’Ast further informed Pious.

  Pious drained the bowl of soup of all its delicious contents. “The Floran sound very thoughtful,” he said, as he wiped some excess soup from his mouth with the wrapping on the back of his hand and placed the bowl on the table.

  “Indeed, they are, as well as empathetic. However, they are very reactive and instinctive, as you are already aware,” continued B’Ast. The kitchen fell into an awkward silence as B’Ast placed another ladle full of soup into Pious’s bowl.

  B’Sayan lifted his head, away from his soup. “K’Sarat is dead,” said B’Sayan, his breathy voice blowing the steam rising from the hot sou
p.

  “How? Why?” said B’Ast with sadness and shock, placing her soup on the table.

  “The Ůrsa – it attacked the scouts in the forest. A pack of Tchakani as well,” said B’Sayan, before he took another mouthful of soup.

  “Again – when will its attacks end?” asked B’Ast, in quiet dismay.

  B’Sayan nodded in response to B’Ast’s question, before looking at Pious. “Actually. I have a question for you, Pious,” said B’Sayan.

  “Okay…,” said Pious, after swallowing a mouthful of soup.

  B’Sayan leant back into the cushions. “Why did you fight the Ůrsa?” he asked. B’Ast’s eyes lit up with attention, and tufts of hair stood on the back of her neck.

  “Ůrsa? I assume you are referring to what we call a Bara? Well, that’s easy. Your hunter was still alive – I couldn’t leave him like that,” replied Pious, as he looked down at his bowl of soup, still steaming gently, vapours swirling atop its surface.

  “And it was a Bara… if it fed on his remains, it would be relentless in its pursuit for more of your kind and would never leave the area,” Pious continued. He picked up the bowl of soup, embracing it with both hands.

  “It has already claimed three of our scouts and a number of your smoothskins,” said B’Sayan. He placed his bowl on the table and covered it with his hand, gesturing to B’Ast that he wanted no more.

  Pious’s face turned to one of surprise and confusion. “What do you mean – smoothskins? Have you seen more of my kind?”

  “Yes, on occasion, a smoothskin of some sort ventures into the Engulfing Forest. Recently, it has been mainly your brethren of the North that scour the trees,” replied B’Sayan.

  “Brethren of the North – you mean Attarans? When?”

  “Last Pass. We found their scouts in the forest. They did not last long against the Bara,” replied B’Sayan abruptly.

  “Hmmm… This is not good. Those bold bastards are regularly venturing too far south,” Pious said to himself. “And always during Tenebrae.”