Pious grabbed him by the cheeks in both hands with an expression of madness, as Sincerus winced in pain from the pressure on his wounds. “Where is your sister?” demanded Pious, looking around the area, seeing if he could spot her.
Sincerus stared back at him with sadness in his eyes. “I… I tried…,” said Sincerus, the sound of failure in his tone.
Pious let go of his face and took two uneasy steps backwards. “Where is Serana?” said Pious, slowly, breathing heavily through his nose, as he stared back at Sincerus with a look of brewing rage.
“Quistin has her…,” said Sincerus. He stared at the ground in disappointment, shaking his head. Pious shouted in frustration, clenched his fist and stepped forward, throwing it at Sincerus with force. Sincerus did not move a muscle.
Tana jumped forward and grabbed Pious by the arm, at the same time as B’Sayan stepped between Pious and Sincerus. B’Sayan had clumps of blood in his fur and looked exhausted.
“What’s wrong with you?” cried Tana, as she slapped Pious in the face. Pious turned and glared at her with hate-filled fury. “Don’t look at me like that,” said Tana, pointing at his face, as she dropped her hold on his hand, throwing his arm downwards in frustration.
“You may be my sister, Sylfaen – but I will not hesitate to strike you down if you touch me again,” said Pious, pointing at Tana – as he clenched his other fist in restraint. Pious looked at the ground, his expression turning from one of anger to one of sadness and loss. Tana looked curiously at the large bruise on Pious’s neck. “What happened, Pious?” she asked, inspecting Pious closer.
Sincerus took a step towards Pious, pushing passed B’Sayan. “I tried, Pious… There were too many of them,” said Sincerus, rubbing his slung arm uneasily.
B’Sayan rubbed Sincerus’s shoulder gently and looked at Pious. “We managed to hold our own long enough against the Smoothskins of the North, and the traitors from Sanctuary,” said B’Sayan. “I have never seen someone fight to their last breath like Sincerus did. He fought well, and threw everything at the traitors he could muster.”
“It was lucky they got here when they did, Hunt Master,” said K’Reorh, as he pointed to some Karajaners, collecting the bodies of their dead. The Karajaners were busy removing the plaid sashes from the deceased and wrapping their hands to their foreheads with their sashes, in customary Karajan fashion. Behind them in the distance, a large camp of Karajaners had prepared and lit bonfires, providing warmth to the refugees from Sanctuary.
“I’m – I’m sorry. I don’t know what is wrong with me,” said Pious, as he rubbed his head, staring at the ground in shame.
Pious walked towards Sincerus and held him in an embrace. Pious stood still, and expressionless. “I’m sorry, Sincerus,” said Pious sincerely, as he patted him on the back. Sincerus sighed, embraced him with his good arm, and slightly smiled. “No. I’m sorry,” replied Sincerus. Sincerus noticed the three Naga over the shoulder of Pious, and his smile disappeared.
“Pious…,” said Tana, as she turned Pious on the spot, trying to divert his attention to Takshakhan. Pious turned his head slightly.
“No…,” said Pious, as he noticed Takshakhan curled awkwardly on the ground, his mighty antlers reaching upwards, flanked by two Nagas. “No, no, no…,” muttered Pious, as he ran to Takshakhan and crouched to the ground in front of him. The two Nagas by Takshakhan’s side watched Pious sombrely.
Takshakhan had many open wounds, revealing golden flesh underneath his blue scales, with shimmering golden blood dripping towards the ground.
“Come on…” said Pious, as he rubbed Takshakhan’s soft face and examined it intently. “I – I know you. I wish I could remember,” said Pious through constricted vocal chords, trying to choke back exhausted tears of self-pity. He ran his finger along the deep scar on Takshakhan’s face, jumping his finger over the eye socket to the cheek below.
Takshakhan’s eye opened slowly, its golden iris staring into the distance, the usually dilated iris closed to a pinpoint. The eye turned slowly to Pious, as its great eyelid blinked. Pious smiled at Takshakhan. “Eternal Sky says Takshakhan must make you safe… are you safe?”
“I am – thanks to you,” said Pious quietly, as he continued rubbing the Naga’s suede-like cheek scales. A small crowd stood a few paces back from Pious, watching on with sadness – as Pious spoke quietly to the weakened Naga, whose lifeblood had almost completely drained itself upon the ground.
“Kinbound. Memory not important… stories not important. Wife… baby… important,” said Takshakhan. “Make them safe, and we meet again – like every time. I meet you again…”
He smiled at Pious, as he let out a burst of air from his nose and closed his eyes, with all expression retiring from his face. An arc of static discharged along Takshakhan, from his tail to his nose, and Takshakhan’s gentle glow disappeared in its wake.
Pious knelt quietly on the ground, staring at Takshakhan. He couldn't comprehend the deep feelings of loss that he felt as the creature’s life expired. Pious shut his eyes and placed his hands to his neck, then pulled the flute over his head and held it in his hand. He stared at the hand-carved piece of Naga antler, holding it up against a missing section of Takshakhan’s antler – as alien feelings brimmed forth.
Pious felt as if he were riding through the sky, above the clouds – finding it hard to breathe deep the thin air. Takshakhan dived rapidly through the clouds towards the waters below – crashing into the angry waves of a vast ocean. Pious felt nauseated, as he was suddenly standing at the Storm Mounds, alongside a hazy figure, staring deep into the angry waters far below. A tremendous storm raged overhead, with mighty winds throwing the oceans waters about violently. Thunder pounded continuously, and lightning relentlessly attacked the ocean’s surface, sending forth blasts of water.
The figure turned to face Pious and placed his arm on Pious’s shoulder. It was Jarus, as a late teen, smiling back at Pious. Behind them, three men were chanting in powerful and mesmerising tones, as a small ensemble of musicians played their string and percussive instruments.
“Wrůdin guide you, little brother,” Jarus said with a daring smile. He took a few steps backwards from a line of young men, before running as fast as he could and leaping off the edge of the cliff face to dive into the raging waters below – and the vision faded to the face of Takshakhan.
Pious stared at the flute one last time and placed the cord over a branch of Takshakhan’s antlers, before dropping his hands onto his knees. The two Nagas alongside Takshakhan lowered their heads in a brief nodding gesture, as each of them took hold of Takshakhan by one arm and one leg and took to the skies.
Pious watched them silently as they snaked their way upwards towards the clouds, disappearing as two dull blue glows into the thin clouds high above.
Pious stood to his feet slowly; brushing the soil from his knees, and took a few steps backwards, his expression morphing from sadness to determination. “Do you know where he is going? Where is he taking her?” asked Pious, as he turned and looked at Sincerus.
“Someplace called Karnak,” replied Sincerus, unsure whether he got the name right or not.
“I have never heard of such a place,” said Tana, as she looked from Sincerus to Pious.
“I have,” said Pious as he stood dumbfounded, before looking at B’Sayan.
“Everything the Hearess foretells comes to pass,” said B’Sayan, nodding at Pious, as they both looked over to B’Ast, who was busy helping some younger Scythians board the Astrawhale in the distance.
Pious pointed at the massive Astrawhale which B’Ast had just gone into, along with many other Scythians boarding the barge. “B’Sayan, I take it that this one is going to Africus,” Pious shouted to B’Sayan.
B’Sayan turned and walked towards Pious. “Yes. The Astrawhales have not returned to Africus for many cycles and their return now is no mere coincidence,” said B’Sayan as he stopped next to Pious and Sincerus.
“To home, we must st
eal, Pious,” replied B’Sayan, pointing to the Astrawhale, with a sense of adventure on his face. Pious rubbed the Triangular Talisman through his tunic collar and smirked to himself.
A soldier ran towards Tyr and spoke to him, then ran off again. Tyr took a few steps towards Pious, waving his hand to get Pious’s attention. Pious let go of the Triangle and looked at Tyr.
“Pious, we have the last of the Redemption’s Glory Auxiliary cornered in the Granary. Some Magisters and Valerus are there trying to convince them to surrender,” said Tyr.
“Let us question them,” said Pious with a tired smile, as Tyr and Pious walked in pursuit of the soldier, who was now running towards the Granary house.
“Wait,” said Pious, as he stopped for a moment. “We need to send a party to recover the children from the Attaran Aetheric train,” said Pious. “Tyr, can you organise someone to recover them?”
“Sure, I can.”
“There are two carriages, one closer to the north than the other. The one closest to us has many children – and the daughters of Kazier Aurelian on board. Tell the children that ‘Pious’ sent you. The carriage closer to the north has Brasson Broadroad on board – that’s if he hasn’t taken to the fields.”
“I’ll ask the Karajaners if there is something they can do.”
“Great. Thanks, Tyr.”
“No problem,” Tyr said and pointed to the granary, whilst walking towards the Karajaners. “The granary is over there.”
The Granary
“Claim your honour in death – or rot in the dungeons to be eaten by the maggots, spawned by the same flies that have feasted on the flesh of your fellow cowards. There is glory in your redemption – and redemption awaits blood.”
Taunt and summons to the prisoners of the Attameran Dungeons,
The Glory Broker.
Unknown date of record.
As Pious entered the Granary, he was greeted by a small semi-circle of Kazieri and Militia, forming a ring around an internal corner of the Granary house administration office.
“You are cornered, yield,” said Valerus, in an austere yet calm voice. Pious stepped forward alongside Valerus. Valerus turned his head, distracted by the new presence beside him. As he noticed Pious, he smiled and nodded, then looked back to a figure in the outfit of a Redemption's Glory Auxiliary. The Auxiliary was crouched over slightly, the tip of his sword in hand touching the wooden floor, with a single trail of blood moving from his hand, along the blade and onto the floor.
His long, curly black hair hung low, damp with sweat, partially obscuring his face. Atop his thick black kaftan, he wore blackened Rapax–hide lamellar armour, bound by small red Ferron rings.
The Auxiliary laughed weakly, then smiled, a trail of blood oozing from his mouth. “It is not a corner; it’s a shield, for my back,” he replied, with a snicker. Propped against the wall beside him were some recently deceased Auxiliary troops, weapons still in hand.
“You are outnumbered. Surrender, and we will spare your life,” pleaded one of the Kaiziers.
The Auxiliary laughed harder and coughed, spitting blood on the floor. “Outnumbered…that is in my favour, more of you to cut down before my death,” he said, clutching at his side, blood oozing forth through his fingers.
“I am sure you can help us with information,” the Kazier continued, almost pleading with him. A wry smile covered half of the Auxiliary's face, as he raised an eyebrow at the Kazier in defiance.
“Again, sir. I ask you to yield!” commanded Valerus, pointing at him with his free hand.
“My brothers did not yield; why should I?” said the Auxiliary, pointing to the recently deceased corpses behind him with his sword. The corpses appeared as though they sustained their wounds elsewhere and had retreated into the granary to take their last moments of rest against the wall.
“Who is the greatest of you? Who shall take my stead?” questioned the warrior, pointing the tip of his sword at the group in front of him.
“There is no greatness dividing us; we are equal,” replied a Cleric of Labour, with an air of superiority about his manner and tone.
The figure spat another globule of blood onto the ground. “There are no equals… only the great… and the weak,” he said, smiling menacingly. He lifted his sword from the ground, holding the hilt with both hands and wielding it low and to his front.
Valerus held his sword to the front, ready for action. “Do not try it, sir, for it will surely be your death.”
The Auxiliary stared at the ground emotionlessly. “We are all born to die. But death – death is nothing but a disease, of which you are infected by at the moment of your conception, and of which is victorious in your natural death,” he said, before looking up at Valerus ominously from under his dark eyebrows.
“I fear not death, for I am its master. Only I, and I alone, will choose when I die!” shouted the Auxiliary, as he mustered all his strength to stand upright, an air of power and resolve bursting forth from him.
“If you shall not tell me who among you is the greatest, then I shall find out for myself!” shouted the frenzied warrior, as he lashed out with speed, striking down the Kazier with his blade and hitting the Cleric in the face, sending streams of blood through the interior of the office. The warrior threw his blade about with vehemence, its edge clashing with armour, blade and flesh.
Amidst the fury, the warrior looked directly at Valerus and smiled. Valerus lunged forward, grabbed the warrior by the back of the neck and pushed his short sword into the warrior’s chest, puncturing organs and severing arteries. The warrior coughed and spluttered, blood falling from his mouth and onto the back of Valerus, as his sword dropped to the floor. A smile crossed the warrior’s face, revealing blood-soaked teeth before he slumped on Valerus’s shoulder. Then, with his last strength, the warrior removed a ring from his finger, and pushed himself backwards, sliding along the blade of Valerus. Valerus stared at him with confusion and awe, as he placed the ring in Valerus’s hand.
“Now, you are her will,” whispered the warrior into Valerus’s ear as he fell backwards. Valerus watched him fall with a lifeless thud onto the wooden raised floor. He looked at the ring in his hand, stylised to look like seven interwoven swords. The insides of the ring had the word ‘Balas-Ur’, inscribed into the band.
Pious stepped alongside Valerus and examined the ring in his hand. “He was a Ravthanian Will-Bearer?”
“I guess so. Unless he stole it,” quipped Valerus with a smile. Both men chuckled to themselves, as Valerus placed the ring in his pocket.
The gathered crowd exited the Granary soberly, as the entertainment ceased. The sound of their feet thudding on the floor as they exited filled the inside of the wooden structure.
“Of all the places to see you,” said Valerus, as he sheathed his sword, and put his forearm out to Pious. Pious grabbed it and shook it in Praetorian fashion. “Come, let us leave this place,” said Valerus, as they made their way out of the building.
The Boarding Yards
“They come – they go. We figure out their schedule, and then it changes. Nevertheless, we make do. I suppose it's better than nothing!”
Explanation of the somewhat random schedule of the Astrawhale,
Boarding Yard Master.
Unknown date of record.
As Pious exited the Granary, he couldn't help but notice the vast number of corpses that littered the Boarding Yards. “What happened, Valerus?” asked Pious, as the two men walked amongst the dead.
“Sincerus and the others arrived on the scene to find the Overwatch Authoritor Cohort attacking the Landsbeach Defence Force and the Scythians who had reached there,” said Valerus, as he stopped and pointed to a clearing on the edge of Landsbeach.
“The first wave of militia you sent with Sincerus, attacked the flank of the Overwatch, trying to soften their attack. Sincerus mentioned that he had never seen them so pumped up on Strength Serum, that their attack was relentless and savage,” continued Valerus, as he pointed
towards the Partitio River in the distance.
“It was lucky we arrived when we did, as not long before our arrival, Redemptions Glory launched an assault on Landsbeach. Those forces we saw earlier when crossing the Partitio, were an Engineering Division, who constructed a boat-and-rope bridge across the Partitio. A larger force of Redemptions Glory arrived - apparently aiding the Overwatch and attacked the rear of Sincerus, pinning them in a vice. The Winged Sentinels charged ahead of us, routing to the flank, while we pushed through into the fray,” said Valerus, as he glanced and gestured towards the encampment of Karajaners. “If it wasn't for them, we would not be standing here right now. The Free Army are excellent fighters and well trained.”
Pious stared at a dead Overwatch Centurion, with his sword buried deep in the torso of Maxir Vincis. Maxir had managed to plunge a dagger into the neck of the Centurion in what appeared as one final act of valour. Pious raised his head in sudden recollection. “Wait – where is Magister Leonis?”
Valerus let out a sigh and surveyed the scene. “We lost many, many good men and women – we are still trying to make account for the losses. Commander Leonis, Colonel Aulus, Prefecta Maris are confirmed among the dead.”
Pious knelt next to Maxir, and brushed his hands over Maxir’s eyes, closing them. He pulled a section of Maxir’s mantle over his face, hiding it from view. “How do we dispose of the dead? What do we do?”
“I don’t know. The Ecclesiasts are discussing those matters as we speak. Only the disgraced have ever had their remains rested beyond the Sanctum,”
Pious shook his head in disgust. “Quistin is going to pay for this. He must be held accountable,” said Pious, before being distracted by a commotion approaching and standing to his feet.
Captain Trakus and R’Argh approached from the distance towards the group, as Sincerus and K’Reorh joined them. R’Argh was sporting a Karajaner plaid sash and a baldric devoid of any tools. Pious pointed at the sash, which was of the same tartan as that of Trakus, and looked at R’Argh curiously.
Exhumation: An Epic of Existentia (Acts of the Sojourner Book 1) Page 38