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

by S. A. Chapman

  The mighty Ardenian stretched his chest, cracked his neck and flexed his massive biceps. “Tell me, Pious - how do I get to the boy?” Nochuros asked, politely.

  “What do you want with him?” snapped Pious, instantly infuriated and frustrated.

  “There is no reason to be rude, Pious; I only asked you a question,” replied Nochuros. “I am going to make a sacrifice of him, an example – as you did with my boy. I cannot help but fantasise of how I shall do it? Maybe I’ll stab out his eyes? It was good enough for you to inflict on my boy, so it’ll be good enough for him. Eyes for eyes. Or maybe I’ll make you watch him die so I can delight in your pain,”

  Pious felt another wave of confusion course through him. As the Ardenian mentioned ‘eyes’, a sudden sequence of images flashed into his mind – of stabbing the monster from his deliria in the eyes repeatedly, as Pious hung from a tree.

  “You truly don’t remember me, do you, Ursarion?”

  Pious stood dumbfounded. Every word the Ardenian uttered sent pulses of confusion through his mind.

  “It is a pity,” said Nochuros, as he raised a mighty red fist into the air, pointing at Pious with the outstretched finger of the other hand. “You might be more inclined to willingly spill your innards before me if you did – like the rest of your pathetic kin.”

  “What are you talking about?” shouted Pious, with the utmost of annoyance.

  “Maybe this will help?” said Nochuros. He reached to the back of his head and removed his mask, holding it in his hand by his side.

  Pious stared at the face of Nochuros, illuminated by firelight. Horrendous feelings of familiarity welled within Pious like a spring – as if this was the monster from his nightmares, the monster that hunted and taunted him regularly on his sleeping sojourns. On the other hand, was this all some sick nightmare from which he was yet to wake – brought about by not taking his prescribed treatment? He couldn't help but feel as though the lines between reality and insanity were being redrawn around him, and madness was abounding.

  His heart began pumping harder than it had ever before; it felt like it was going to burst through his chest – but instead of the Surge pulsating through his being, a heavy fear was overwhelming him. Doubt entered Pious's mind – this wasn’t the creature from the dream; his eyes were different – they were much older, wiser and so wrathfully vengeful.

  Nochuros took a deep breath through his nose, letting out an ‘ah’ of pleasure. “There it is. The sweet perfume of fear is pouring from you, Ursarion. I like it.” Nochuros stared at Pious with a sickening smile of pleasure.

  “You should calm down, Pious – too much fear and your meat will spoil,” he said in a soothing voice and shook his head in disappointment. “They really have broken you, Frystian. You were our greatest quarry, the mighty River–Breakers – yet you do not even know who you are anymore, do you? You must remember your last run-in with my pet? It must have scarred well,” said Nochuros, pointing at Pious’s midriff.

  “Again, it’s a pity,” said Nochuros. He pulled a skull from his belt and casually tossed it to the ground in front of Pious. It broke on the ground between the corpses of Lothar and Draetor, spraying forth a liquid before bursting into flames.

  Pious jumped backwards, trying to avoid the small firestorm.

  Nochuros smiled. “Your stupid, fleeting Sanctuary is falling, and the boy will be in my hands soon enough,” he said, waving his hand in contempt.

  “You will never take Sanctuary… or the boy,” said Pious, the heat of the burning fire in front of him stinging his face.

  Nochuros let out a laugh of derision. “I care not for Sanctuary. But those who do care for it, already have it, thanks to the traitors lying at your feet. A betrayal now avenged by yours truly,” said Nochuros, as he gestured with an open hand at the corpses of Draetor and Lothar. Nochuros started walking towards Pious.

  “We have hunted you and your kind ever since we watched you emerge from that dismal Cave of Birthing. You cannot even fathom our age. We have roamed the eternal shadowlands of Shayde since the beginning of time – and our time has drawn to end, because of you. I will have my vengeance – before this darkness has ended,”

  “Don’t move!” demanded Pious in a booming voice.

  Nochuros laughed. “You all stand no chance. Ever since you banished your own kin to Shayde, they have prospered and flourished in their towering and mechanised fortresses. Vengeance and hatred of everything Sanctuary stands for have fuelled a raging fire of revenge. They now cross the ocean – more than ready for exacting revenge. Any who resist will satiate blades with their blood. All of those who have not fled will be fortunate if they are allowed to die.”

  Pious pointed at Nochuros. “I am going to kill you,” he growled.

  “If you want to kill me, you had better do it soon. You must remember that I once took my pleasure and rest in the fiery forges of the Carbonian Lava Plains. You will roast and die from this heat. And then I will wait and watch the scavenging creatures pick the meat from your meddlesome bones,” said Nochuros. He laughed and replaced his mask. Then he stretched out his arms, signalling to Pious a gesture of approachability with his hands.

  “I’ll even let you have the first strikeout of jest – for old times’ sake,” he said.

  Without hesitation, Pious charged at Nochuros, shouting a war cry as he stooped low and attempted to tackle his opponent to the ground – a futile effort that barely moved the hulk before him. Pious tried to stab at the monster with his short–sword.

  Nochuros caught hold of the blade in Pious’s hand; it’s almost razor–sharp edge didn't even penetrate his thick red skin. Nochuros raised his other arm, and drove his elbow between Pious's shoulder blades, causing Pious to let out a shout and fall to the ground.

  Pious rolled to the side and barely missed a strike from a powerful kick to his ribs.

  Nochuros took a step back. “Get up,” he demanded, as he threw Pious's blade across the room. “This is just like the old times, is it not, Ursarion? A petulant Frystian struggling on the ground, as an Ardenian towers above them in victory, ready to carve up their kill,” he added, with a laugh.

  “You know, I thought you must have died. Our raids on your villages went almost unchecked. What a pleasant surprise it is to find you here! You cannot believe how pleased I am. At least now, I know I will have the pleasure of finally watching you die - the meddler, the Slayer of Ůrsa.”

  Pious lifted himself slightly off the ground and surveyed the room. He spotted Lothar’s staff not too far out of reach. Without hesitation, he lunged to the side and grabbed the staff, then deftly found his way back to his feet and spun the staff to his side at the ready.

  “Come on, Ursarion... do not insult me with the crutch of a feeble laggard,” laughed Nochuros, pointing to the walking stick in Pious’s hand.

  Pious held the staff to his front, holding it with both hands at the centre of the staff. Twisting it, he drew it apart to reveal a pair of blades, each attached to one-half of the staff.

  “Impressive,” stated Nochuros, with a look of surprise. “But my spawn used sharper toys than that to pick their teeth.”

  Pious ran at Nochuros, holding one blade defensively and striking out with the other.

  Nochuros raised his arm, letting the blade strike against his wrist plate with a shower of sparks and sidestepping to avoid the thrusting strike of the second blade.

  He attempted to strike Pious's head with a sideward blow of his spiked wrist plate but missed Pious due to the latter's swift dodge.

  Pious sidestepped and drove the end of one blade into the flank of Nochuros, then pushed with all his might to drive the tip of the blade into his enemy's toughened and elasticised skin.

  Seemingly unaffected, Nochuros snatched the second blade from Pious’s hand. He swiftly stabbed it into Pious’s abdomen, as Pious screamed in pain. Pious pushed away and rolled backwards out of reach, the staff-blade still lodged in his side.

  Nochuros withdre
w the blade from his own flank, held it in both hands and snapped the steel blade in half before throwing it across the Library. Pious stared at the Ardenian in amazement. His enemy's thick and elasticised flesh was almost impenetrable. He knew that there was no way he could defeat this behemoth alone – he would need help, or to trap the fiend. Leading Nochuros out of the Library and into the Ecclesiasticum was his only option.

  Pious knew what to do – he turned and sprinted towards the exit, as hard and as fast as he could. He knew not to look back, but to keep running and not stop. The mighty legs of the Ardenian would easily outrun his own, and looking back would only distract him from his dash for support.

  As Pious entered the hallway, he drew one deep and final breath of somewhat clean air. His vision became obscured, and his eyes burned; the hallway was full of smoke, its air filled with minuscule remnants of knowledge, consumed by flame.

  Pious sprinted hard through the thick haze, leaving a trail of disturbed vortices of smoke. He could hear the thundering footsteps of Nochuros in the smoke behind him.

  “I can see through the smoke, Ursarion. I am the smoke!” shouted Nochuros, in a taunting singsong.

  With each footstep that Pious took, the more he realised he was lost. He wanted to breathe; his lungs burned as much as his eyes. He placed his hand on the wall of the corridor, trying to summon the last remnant of strength to push on. Jacq needed help – and Serana with his unborn child was waiting for him – and he was determined to see them all again.

  As soon as Pious had pushed off from the wall, his escape was ended abruptly by a winding tackle from the side that lifted him off his feet and slammed him into the wall. At the same time, he was crushed in a vice-like hug.

  “Breath deep, Ursarion – embrace the nothingness,” said the voice in a frighteningly soothing tone.

  Pious could feel the air being drawn out of his lungs and knew not to gasp for more. He managed to slip his hands under the vice-like arms of Nochuros, and began pushing at them with as much strength as he could muster, groaning loudly as he struggled – whilst Nochuros chuckled in amusement.

  “No,” groaned Pious, pushing through Nochuros’s arms with all the might he could muster and dropped to the ground.

  Without a moment to think, he ran blindly into the obscurity. After what seemed like ages of disorientated sprinting, Pious began to recover his vision at the sight of the Grand Vestibule. He followed on by a gasp for air, drawing in many more after it, his eyes red and burning. A deathly scream rang out behind him. The hulking Nochuros burst through the smoke plumes into the Vestibule and scanned the room before finding his prey, who stared back at him in shock.

  “Run,” Pious said to himself, as he began to sprint towards the exit from the Ecclesiasticum.

  “You cannot escape me, Ursarion!” Nochuros screamed. A guttural scream echoed forth from behind Pious, followed by the sound of running in his direction. “I will be avenged!” shouted Nochuros.

  Pious focused on the large doors of the Grand Vestibule as he approached them and ran to the right door. He burst through the doors of the Vestibule’s inner threshold and into the Corridor of the Ecclesiasticum. He frantically started closing the main door of the Ecclesiasticum, pulling with all his strength to move the heavy door.

  Pious managed to close one door all the way, and then ran over to shut the other door. Through the crack in the door, he watched Nochuros charging at him, getting closer step by step.

  As soon as the door slammed into place with a satisfying clunk, Pious withdrew the staff-blade from his gut with a war-cry and pushed it through the door handles – just as Nochuros slammed into the other side of the door. Pious watched the blade quiver under the impact. He then looked at the floor and picked up two swords from the sides of dead Militiamen and inserted them through the door handles.

  “You think you can cage me, fool? I will find my way to the Sky–Ring – just like the old wretch said,” said Nochuros, his voice muffled through the door, as Pious took a few steps backwards.

  Pious coughed a few times and dropped to the ground on all fours. Pious screamed in agony, as he clutched at his side.

  “Pious!” shouted the familiar voice of a woman, from deeper with the westbound corridor. Her light footsteps approached his side, as she crouched next to him, dropping below the collection of light smoke that had gathered.

  He looked to the woman, who was wearing the white battle raiment of an Eiralan, with the sash of an Excelator on her shoulder. She lifted the faceplate of her helmet, revealing a pale complexion with a scattering of freckles on her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose. Her Sky–eyes darted around the area, searching for any threats. She looked towards the three blades barring the doors shut – in particular to the fresh blood covered staff-blade lodge in the handles.

  “Tana… what are you doing here?” asked Pious, through agonised clenched teeth, before coughing profusely.

  “I ran into Clement. He said you were heading to the Western Dome. When I was in the Dome, an Ayldar mentioned you had just helped them and were heading to the Library… and when I saw smoke coming from the corridor, I thought you might need help. So here I am,” replied Tana.

  “We must keep moving, Pious,” stated Tana as she stood upright. Pious felt her hands grab him by the shoulders and pull him to his feet, leading him away from the doors. She put his arm over her shoulder and helped him walk towards the Western Dome.

  A moment later, she asked, “Why did you seal the door?”

  “An Ardenian,” said Pious, grasping at his side, applying as best a pressure as he could.

  “What – like from the nightmares?” She said between deep and efficient breaths.

  “I didn’t even know they were real, I thought they existed only in our dreams, and in wild imaginations” replied Pious, rubbing the tears of smoke-induced irritation from his eyes. “Lothar is dead,” he added, in a tone of exhausted sadness and remorse.

  “I’m sorry, Pious. I know how much he meant to you,” Tana replied, looking ahead into corridor, with the smoke gradually clearing. Pious stopped walking for a moment and placed his hands on his knees, and coughed a few times.

  “Damned smoke,” said Pious, as he tried to take a few breaths. Looking at Tana, he added, “Draetor is dead too, killed by the Ardenian.”

  “Now that is no loss – meddling worm,” replied Tana, a small smile showing itself on her stern expression.

  “Lothar told me he left something for me in my quarters. I need to get there now – our quickest way is through the Praetorium and past my quarters,” said Pious, as he walked towards the Northern Dome. “It will take some time for the Ardenian to figure a way out of the Ecclesiasticum – that place is a maze.”

  “Pious… with Lothar dead, where will we get our Treatment?” asked Tana, with uncertainty in her voice. It was a reasonable question and something that hadn’t recently entered his mind – until she mentioned it.

  “I don’t know – he must have had it made by someone. I guess we need to find out who that person is – or at least its composition. Zosim should have worked that out by now.”

  “I really, really, don’t want to end up like Jarus.”

  “You won’t – we will be fine,” replied Pious, tapping her on the back in consideration. He didn’t want to end up like Jarus either. After all the hallucinations he'd had recently, he knew that getting his hands on the Treatment soon would be critical – for the benefit of them both.

  Pious turned his head, looking at Tana’s concern–stricken face. “What happened at the Tollspire? What’s the report?” he asked with curiosity.

  “It is dead,” she replied. “Nothing is moving. Even those invincible metallic fiends are immobile. In the centre of the Tollspire was a tremendous geared system, with innumerable cogwheels and sprockets – and a central pedestal with what I can only assume as a missing device. My assumption… is that what used to be on the pedestal or the absence of it – has something to do with
it no longer working.”

  “How could someone have gotten inside?” Pious wondered. “Could someone have sneaked passed the automatons? No one has ever managed to enter the Tollspire in our recorded history.”

  “I don’t know. I wonder if the Tollspire not working has anything to do with this attack?”

  “Tana,” Pious said, “it feels like everything has to do with this attack.”

  “There is one very bizarre thing that I found,” said Tana. Before she could continue, the twang of clashing steel, the roar of war cries and the screaming of victims suddenly filled the air.

  Pious and Tana looked at each other. Tana nodded in appreciation of what was required – Tana sprinted onwards, and Pious struggled to jog behind her.

  The Western Cardinal Dome

  “Each of the Cardinal Domes is decorated and adorned according to the relevant Epitome, beautifully carved into the stonework. A mezzanine floor, which forms a partial roof inside the Dome, is connected to the ground floor by two sets of curved stairs that wind their way around the walls of the Dome. The mezzanine floor has an entrance to a terraced balcony, which overlooks the Arboretum outside.”

  A facsimile of various notes from the recovered journals of Lan’Tsa Nichon regarding the structure of Sanctuary,

  Qan’Fu Ensan, Imperial Archivist.

  1114th Revolution of the Grand Míngxīng.

  Pious spotted three fur-clad warriors standing in the Western Dome. They were soaked in water from the aqueducts and had just slain a Militiaman. A group of female Elders, screaming in fear, ran in the opposite direction from the savage–looking warriors.

  Tana sprinted towards the Western Dome, vaulting over the wooden barricade in their path, as Pious eventually caught up and clambered over the barricade.

  As Tana landed, she spun on the spot, and her white vestments spun with her as she entered the Whip of Lighting Dance. Her first Grace met the face of the warrior, popping it open. She followed through with a spinning high kick and a second Grace to the neck.