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

by S. A. Chapman

  “Music! Sanctuary is under attack!” yelled Pious, pointing towards the direction of the sound and the assumed location of Sanctuary. “We must summon my friends immediately!”

  Pious, confused and somewhat inebriated, hurried towards the centre of the village, beginning a frantic search for his colleagues.

  B’Sayan turned to the other Scythians, who had gathered alongside them in curiosity. “Go and collect his kin,” commanded B’Sayan, as he ran after Pious.

  “Do you have any weapons, armour; anything I can use?” asked Pious of B’Sayan, frantically searching for his colleagues, clutching at the air, as if trying to pick up a weapon.

  “We have some weapons that may be of use, but no armour that would be of any use to you, my friend,” replied B’Sayan, his face showing signs of calculated concern for his newfound guest.

  Tyr, Sincerus and Valerus came running from the centre of the village, along with R’Argh, K’Reorh and K’Jurga.

  “What’s the matter, Pious?” asked Valerus, as a small band of Scythians, started to gather around the front of B’Sayan’s mound.

  “Two Watchers horns have sounded,” replied Pious, as he scratched his head in confusion. “Or one horn twice.”

  “Shit,” said Tyr. Pieces of food still clung to his beard as he looked to Valerus. Valerus for his part stood dumbfounded, trying to comprehend the gravity of a Watchers horn being blown.

  “It cannot be. How could Sanctuary be under attack?” asked Sincerus, looking at Pious.

  “We need to get to Sanctuary, now,” said Pious to his friends.

  “I would normally say something sarcastic,” said Sincerus, raising his hand, “but what do you expect us to do? The horns are only meant to be blown when there is an invasion. What are four of us going to do?”

  Pious turned and pointed at Sincerus. “Watch your tone, boy. Our duty is to fight for Sanctuary, and defend it – to the death.”

  A look of frustration covered Sincerus’s face. “I was only trying…,” he said, before being interrupted by Pious.

  “Serana is in there. Jacq is in there – and the almost half a million people you swore an oath to protect; they all are in there. This is no time to consider what-ifs,” Pious said. He turned to face the direction of Sanctuary once more, rubbing his stubble–covered face.

  “Okay, I get your point,” replied Sincerus, turning his head and staring at the ground. B’Sayan approached Pious, patting Sincerus on the back as he passed him.

  K’Reorh and K’Jurga smiled to each other, nodded and quickly ran off into the village. “Pious, what do you aim to achieve? You were banished and left for dead,” said B’Sayan, placing his hand on Pious's shoulder.

  Pious turned and faced B'Sayan. “The protection of my betrothed and of Sanctuary is my duty – to the death.”

  B’Sayan took a step closer to Pious and looked at him with concern. “Pious, you keep saying ‘to the death’. Are you so determined to die?”

  “If it’s required. I’m going,” said Pious, as put his hand out to shake B’Sayan’s hand. B’Sayan didn’t reciprocate and shook his head.

  Pious shrugged. “Thank you, B’Sayan. For sharing your wisdom and hospitality,” he said and turned to face his friends.

  “I understand if you all want to stay here – I truly do, but I have to go. I have to find Serena and Jacq,” he said, pointing towards Sanctuary.

  Tyr stepped forward. “You know what, Pious? You didn’t even ask us what we wanted. We’re banished, Pious – out here we are all nothing but equal and lowly Savages – no rank, no fortune.”

  “What are you trying to say, Tyr?” replied Pious, staring back at him.

  “That it isn’t always about you anymore, Pious,” said Tyr, pointing his finger at Pious. “We have people we care about in there as well, not just you,” continued Tyr. He turned to the Scythians.

  “Thank you, lads – you folks know how to party!” he said, hitting R’Argh on the back, before moving to stand alongside Pious.

  “Honour, Valour and Pride,” recited Valerus, standing tall with pride as he said the words, looking at Sincerus. “We’re going together, or not at all.” Sincerus nodded, somewhat begrudgingly – and together they went over to join Pious.

  “Pious!” shouted B’Sayan.

  The four men looked up from their huddle and turned to face B’Sayan, who was standing amidst a small force of formidable looking Scythians.

  “Listen to me, Pious. You’ve been drinking,” he said, as he pointed at Pious. Then he pointed at Tyr. “He is drunk.” Then he pointed at Sincerus. “And he is drunk too.” Finally, he pointed to himself. “Hey, even I’m nearly drunk, and I think he is the only guy not drunk!” He pointed to Valerus and crossed his arms.

  “So?” said Tyr with a cocky smile.

  “So – how do you even know where you are going? The fight will be over before you even leave the Great Forest, and that’s if the Tchakani don’t make a meal of you first.”

  Pious looked at B’Sayan with frustration.

  K’Reorh stepped forward from the gathered crowd, holding a large spear in his hand. “I am going with them. I shall guide them through the forest to the Edge and shall fight by the Hunt Master’s side, wherever he shall lead me.”

  “Do you also think four smoothskins are going to save their people and their walls, K’Reorh?” goaded B’Sayan, staring at K’Reorh, who had walked towards Pious and now stood behind him.

  K’Reorh placed his hand on Pious’s shoulder. “Did you believe that one smoothskin could kill an Ůrsa and save a Clan from total dishonour, Voivode?”

  “I too am going,” said K’Jurga, crossing to stand alongside his brother.

  “You are not ready, K’Jurga,” said B’Sayan, in sincere tones of authority.

  K’Jurga raised his spear in the air. “I passed the Hunter’s Trial, Voivode,” he said. K’Reorh smiled at his brother’s courage.

  “I know, but you are not yet a Night Hunter, K’Jurga,” said B’Sayan.

  “I’m going. He is my Hunt Master too, Voivode,” stated K’Jurga, placing the base of his spear on the ground.

  B’Sayan, visibly frustrated, looked to the canopy above, and then turned to his kin.

  “Gather weapons of use for these men, and bring other supplies of use for a scouting party,” he commanded, gesturing towards the Hunting Mound, and several Scythians rushed to obey.

  “Pious. You and your men – you can stay here; you can live in peace. You’re banished, remember? You, us – we are safe here,” said B’Sayan.

  Valerus shook his head. “You’re wrong. You are not safe here. You must flee – flee to the farthest reaches. If Sanctuary is under attack, so is all of Elysia, you included.”

  “We have survived here through the wars and skirmishes of smoothskins – and we will continue to survive. You and your kind don’t care for the Forest – and that makes us safe,”

  “You said so yourself that Attarans have been scouting this area,” said Pious. “I myself have seen them in the depths of the forest. Now Sanctuary is under attack. Coincidence? I think not, and who knows if we are on the verge of another ‘Cycles of Bloodshed’?”

  Scythians arrived, one by one, carrying an assortment of hand axes, spears, rucksacks, ropes and Light Roots, which they gave to the four men.

  “At least wait until the light of Lux returns,” said B’Sayan, as he looked to the sky above, where Nox was now obscuring a large portion of Lux. “The ultimate darkness of Lux’s Black Crown is yet to occur – and the Anghenfil have yet to reach their greatest numbers.”

  “I don’t care,” said Pious. He picked up his rucksack and loaded it onto his back.

  The four men started loading their supplies onto their backs, inspecting their new weapons and assessing each other’s gear, seemingly ignoring B’Sayan.

  B’Sayan pointed at Pious. “You stubborn arse – you’re all the same. So damned stubborn!” he snapped, the hairs on his ears standing on end.<
br />
  “Ready?” Pious asked of his men, who were standing prepped and looking ready. Tyr was admiring a hatchet in his hand, rubbing his thumb sideways across its razor-sharp edge, admiring his beard in the reflection of the axe blade. The three men nodded.

  “We are ready – Hunt Master,” replied K’Reorh, with his arm around his brother's shoulder.

  “B’Sayan!” shouted B’Ast. She was standing outside the entrance to her mound, clutching a small bag and watching the whole scene from afar. B’Sayan turned and faced B’Ast.

  “I held my tongue earlier, but we are far too entwined now for it to be ignored,” she said directly to him, as she leaned on the edge of her mounds doorway. “The omens foretold by Isis are coming to pass.”

  “Whatever do you mean? You know I have a hard time understanding your Hearings,” replied B’Sayan, with an upward nodding gesture.

  “I knew it was him – the moment I saw him,” she replied, as she started toward Pious.

  “When the Lost One shall appear, his large horns will reveal, that the liberation is near and to home you must steal,” recited B’Ast, hypnotically and rhythmically. Her eyes reflected the light of the smokeless fire as she stood in front of Pious, looking into his eyes. Her silky jet–black fur reflected a dull glow. Her presence generated an immense calm in Pious’s mind.

  She turned to face B’Sayan. “You must go with him, protect him – and – as hard as it is for you to hear and follow – do as he says,” she said, as B’Sayan groaned slightly. “You must meet the rest of us at Landsbeach; the time has come for us to leave. To go home.”

  B’Sayan walked over to B’Ast and held her in an embrace. “Fine. As you foretell, my dear. We will see you there. Keep our kin safe,” said B’Sayan, and B’Ast nodded in approval.

  B’Sayan shook his head and smiled, turned and began talking amongst his kin in the tongue of the B’Astians. There was much pointing, nodding and a final head shake of agreement.

  B’Ast went to the group and gave each of them a dark–green seed, roughly shaped like a cube, which she withdrew from a small pouch. “Open the seed with your hands. Pull the soft white seed from the yellow flesh, chew the seed once, and then swallow it,” she instructed, as she handed one each to B’Sayan, K’Reorh, K’Jurga and the Elysians. R’Argh appeared from behind B’Ast with a large spear in his hand and put his hand out. B’Ast laughed and put a seed in his hand as well.

  “There is no way I am missing out on this,” said R’Argh. He walked over to Tyr and punched him in the shoulder while Tyr was opening the seed.

  “Damn, that is bitter!” cried Sincerus, his face scrunching in distaste as he swallowed the crushed seed.

  “It is Adrenaseed. It will wake you up, focus your mind – and make you sober,” said K’Reorh, as he swallowed the seed.

  Pious cracked open the cuboid seed shell and looked at the bright yellow flesh inside. The flesh looked moist, but felt rather dry when he touched it to withdraw the soft, white, waxy seed. He put the seed in his mouth and broke it between his teeth. An incredibly bitter taste flooded his mouth as he forced himself to swallow the seed.

  “Scythians!” shouted B’Sayan, as he pumped a fist into the air.

  In unison, the large gathering of Scythians let out a tremendous series of deafening roars.

  “I shall join the smoothskins. The ferocity of true battle, I have not felt for far too long!” shouted B’Sayan, with a clenched fist and eyes brimming with mania. He pointed at an almost completely red–furred Scythian, of roughly the same age and build as himself.

  “R’Dardan. You oversee the evacuation; make sure the women, cubs and the Stone are safe. Take the path to the coast and then travel south to Landsbeach. You take the first transport that you can and do not wait for us,” said B’Sayan, as he removed the Fist and Voice of his ancestors from around his neck. He threw them to R’Dardan, who caught them mid-air. “I’ll get them back from you later.”

  “Yes – Voivode. Look after my son!” said R’Dardan with a grin of pride, as he nodded to R’Argh. R’Argh reciprocated, nodding back in thanks to his father.

  Smiles grew upon the faces of the four Elysians, very pleased with the idea that they had the Scythians by their sides.

  B’Sayan turned to Pious. “It was your kin who aided us many cycles ago. The way I look at this, we owe your kind a small debt, and it looks like it is your time to collect.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” shouted B’Ast, before she went back into the mound.

  B’Sayan turned to face the mound, just as B’Ast re–emerged, struggling to drag a large hammer.

  B’Sayan let out a roar of laughter. “My dear! What would I do without you?” He ran back to B’Ast and took his large hammer, the ‘Encourager’, from her hands, lifting it with ease.

  B’Ast laughed. “Go – you old fool! Stay true to your path, and I will see you again!”

  B’Sayan gestured for the gathered party of Scythian hunters to move forward to Sanctuary, with the four Elysians joining the gathering. K’Reorh led the group into the forest, whilst carrying a Light Root and a spear, lighting the way forward. As they left the outskirts of the village, Pious’s vision began to vibrate rapidly, as the trees seemed to move past him at an incredible speed. It was a strange feeling, yet not unpleasant, as if he were standing completely still while everything else moved around him, until all seemed to disappear in a flash of white light.

  The Edge

  “It was a crucial moment when the Khyramic Order was divided into two factions. The statutes of the Order decreed that no object capable of destruction was to be designed by their mind, nor forged by their hand. When a few of the Order first created the cannon to better defend themselves against the enemy, a tremendous rift split the Order. Those who continued to create tools of destruction became the Machinists, or the Machine Cult according to the Inquisition. Those who continued refusing to make destructive tools became the Toolsmiths. When both factions were branded as heretical agencies by the Inquisition and banished from Sanctuary and the Concordat realms, a terrible wrongdoing befell that great city,”

  A report from a proposal to overturn the ban on the Toolsmiths,

  Hopeton Deputy Town Planner.

  Recorded in the 149th Cycle of Purity.

  Pious’s vision slowly returned to normal as the effects of the Adrenaseed subsided. The newly formed raiding party ran through the trees with conviction and silent contemplation, led by K’Reorh and K’Jurga, two brothers with excellent dark–sight and knowledge of the tracks leading to the edge of the Great Forest. R’Argh and B’Sayan ran at the back of the group, with the Elysians in between.

  Time had passed seamlessly, due to the effects of the Adrenaseed. The sound of heavy artillery thudded through the forest more frequently, with each shot becoming louder as they drew closer to the forest's edge. Dull yet intimidating music could be heard far in the distance.

  For the Aurania–bound Scythians, the hunter’s rite of passage was to be taken to the edge of the Great Forest – known to the Scythians as ‘the Edge’. They were led there to bear witness to the massive walls of Sanctuary and be told that they must forever stay hidden from the smoothskins who dwelt within its walls – for cruelty and ignorance were the smoothskins' masters.

  Eventually, the party reached the Edge, with K’Reorh sitting low to the ground amidst small bushes, gesturing for the rest of the party to drop their Light Roots. His brother ran alongside him, looking out over the open expanse, which was illuminated by the haunting colourless light from above. K’Reorh slapped K’Jurga on the back, smiling at his brother with pride.

  The group dropped their waning Light Roots onto the ground and gathered next to the scouts, who were surveying the scene ahead. All the party sat quietly panting, breathing out streams of steam as they recovered their breath.

  “What were those seeds?” Sincerus asked K'Jurga.

  “Adrenaseed. Good, huh?” replied K’Jurga with a smile, to
which Sincerus laughed in response.

  Sincerus looked at his hands, and then looked at Pious – spotting that they both had splashes of acrid blood on themselves. Sincerus also noticed that he had a few scratches on his arms.

  “What happened?” asked Sincerus, taking in the similar state of the entire group.

  “Oh, the blood? – we fought off a Tchakani pack and a Hyerack I think – it’s all so blurry,” replied R’Argh, laughing to himself as he shrugged off the concept.

  “What in the Nine is a Hyerack?” asked Sincerus, staring at his bloodstained hand axe.

  B’Sayan laughed in amusement. “A Shrieker,”

  “We fought a fucking Shrieker?” Replied Sincerus with shock and awe.

  “I do not remember that!” said Tyr, as he wiped the blood from his hands onto the rough bark of a Green Maple.

  “You won’t. But you're alive – so good job, you fought well!” said B’Sayan, as he stretched his shoulders.

  “It hasn’t been long since K’Jurga was last here, isn’t that right?” said K’Reorh.

  “Yeah,” said K’Jurga with a smile, huffing with exhaustion.

  Pious and B’Sayan moved alongside the brothers, with Valerus, Tyr and Sincerus huddling behind Pious. R’Argh kept watch from behind, holding a Light–Root and maintaining a waning barrier of blue light around the party. Pious stretched out his arm and pointed to their right.

  Far in the distance, the Northern Perimeter of Sanctuary’s Shield was illuminated by the torches and burning campfires of an invading army. The Border Bridge, spanning the Partitio River, was covered in a blanket of torch-wielding infantry, crossing the Border Bridge towards the walls of Sanctuary.

  K’Sarat’s ears stood up high, their openings directing towards the Border Bridge. “What is that music?” he asked.

  “It is a music, that I would have wished for no one to ever hear again,” said Valerus.

  Pious rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them. “It’s a Attaran War Ensemble.”

  “Fury Drums, War–Sitars, Hero Horns, Glory Choir – the War Ensemble,” said Valerus in elaboration.