Chapter 10 - Veturius
I
There was no chance for the land to heal. Little more than a week had passed since the fires were set to ravage it. Trees, burnt black and feathered with grey, reached into the sky like ravaged hands. Thin smoke columns rose in slow moving funnels as if escaping from some hidden depths within the earth. Despite the time that had passed, small embers still glowed on ash piles and were buried within fissures wrought into the ground.
The two riders blended in the bleak hellish landscape. Their black armour reflected no light, even though the sun managed to cut the through the smoke’s cover in tight rays. Ash billowed in a trail behind the hard pace the riders set for the horses. With a sudden jerk, the first rider twisted his reigns and his horse skidded to a halt; coals and loose, dry, earth scattered away from the hooves. The second rider stopped a few feet past the first and they dismounted in unison. Neither deemed the need to tie their mounts – the horses were expertly trained and would not stray.
The two riders blended in the bleak hellish landscape. Their black armour reflected no light, even though the sun managed to cut the through the smoke’s cover in tight rays. Ash billowed in a trail behind the hard pace the riders set for the horses. With a sudden jerk, the first rider twisted his reigns and his horse skidded to a halt; coals and loose, dry, earth scattered away from the hooves. The second rider stopped a few feet past the first and they dismounted in unison. Neither deemed the need to tie their mounts – the horses were expertly trained and would not stray.
Veturius took off his helm and looked at Attia as she moved to stand beside him. There was recognition in her eyes, and he knew she shared his thoughts. Tettius had always been a thorough soul. Whatever caused his betrayal, he enacted his vengeance with a tenacity that left a holocaust to both land and people. This land would bare scars for a long time and act as his legacy.
Attia marched forward and Veturius smiled; she had always lacked patience. The pace she set was far from careless, but it was direct. This destruction’s heart was the town’s remains. It stood ruined and obscured by the haze like some great extinction event caused to an animal herd – still standing burnt out building husks standing out like flesh clean skeletons.
Veturius replaced his helm and kept Attia in his periphery as he circled wide. He resisted the urge to draw his swords. The air felt wrong and not because it was laden with ash. It was as if an unseen presence watched from within the smoke haze, which hung over the land like a morning fog. He refused to be spooked by shadows. Talinnius had given him this duty. Their friendship had been forged during childhood as Order Aspirants. It was because Talinnius’s that he never gave up and that he was a Champion today. He knew full well, he would have never passed the trials if it were not for Talinnius’s strength.
He shook those thoughts and feelings from his mind; then began to breath in a control rhythmic manner. The Trance crawled across his mind, like water questing along a flat surface. Emotion fell away into a dull background noise and he could feel his body in its entirety. He imagined this was how an apex predator must have felt on the hunt: focused, controlled, and vigilant.
Attia fell from sight as the towns remains began to obscure his view. Within the Trance, he could hear her soft foot falls and measure where she was amongst the jutting burned out wood. It did not look like a town anymore, more like a burned-out forest. Only a few cross beams breached the gaps between the columns – showing what it once was.
A wide and open road cut through the wreckage, straight into the towns heart. It was there that Veturius found the first corpse. The burnt remains were scattered, but not from wind or any other postmortem source. Although the flesh was blackened and cracked from heat, the remains' limbs were torn and flayed. He knelt beside the body and, with a careful touch, he shifted it with is taloned fingertips. Sundered flesh crumbled at his touch, leaving cracked bones behind.
His eyes narrowed. The bone looked gnawed upon at its broken tip, as if a feral dog or some other wild beast chewed on the flesh before the flames consumed what was left. That did not seem to make any sense. His only theory was whatever animal did this would have been very desperate to brave the firestorm Tettius had caused in order to eat the remains.
There were more bodies – all were equally perplexing. Only a slight minority were whole. Veturius studied those who were intact, and it was easier to identify what caused their demise. A Legionnaires gladius left a telltale sign when it landed. The wounds were wide and devastating. What confused him the most was that not all the remains were common folk. There were just as many Legionnaires with the same horrific wounds and mutilations. He could not piece it together, not just because the fires had burned the evidence away. The whole seen played out as chaos. The carnage reminded him of an army being routed and slaughtered in its retreat.
Attia was outside his senses but he was not worried for his fellow Champion. She was an accomplished warrior and judging by the scene, he doubted there would be any troubles for them to find. Tettius had done his heresy in a manner Veturius would have not believed possible, if he were not here to witness the aftermath. He did not understand why there was a need to burn the bodies and the town after they were slaughtered. What also confused him was why the legionnaires in the town were also put to the sword. He found signs of Tettius’s Champion blade work on sliced armour and other remains just as often as he found the bite marks and Gladius wounds. He wondered if any other Champion within the order could enact such a free-for-all violence.
Veturius had insisted on interviewing a few Legionnaires from Tettius’s rebellion before they were crucified, but they had yielded little information. All they could say was that only Tettius exited the town after it was set ablaze – all others who had entered the town did not return. Veturius wished a few Legionnaires had been jailed; more information could have gleaned with further interrogation, but it could not be helped. He knew full well none could be left to question.
He pushed onwards and entered the town’s square. This area was the most intact, as the buildings were made from stone and cement in the town’s centre. Even still, the fire had made the structures soft and brittle. Cracks raced across the black soot-stained surfaces and many buildings had collapsed on themselves after losing their integrity to the flames.
As he rounded a pillar, he sucked a breath in through tight lips. A mound dominated the square. Blackened bodies piled high on one another filled his sightline. Their mouths were agape, screaming soundless cries like some grotesque monument. Somehow, the flames did not devour their structure; aside from being black and cracked, he could pick out their individual features. Legionnaires, farmers, and townsfolk all were intermixed without any order or thought.
How could Tettius manage such a feat? He asked himself but found no answer.
Horror took hold in his core at the wanton devastation surrounding him. Death was no stranger to him, but massacre was a different story, especially when the majority were townsfolk and more so when it was caused by someone who had worn the same armour as he. The Order’s Champions should behonourable; to slaughter an enemy was one thing, to do this was anot her .
Veturius replaced his helm and kept Attia in his periphery as he circled wide. He resisted the urge to draw his swords. The air felt wrong and not because it was laden with ash. It was as if an unseen presence watched from within the smoke haze, which hung over the land like a morning fog. He refused to be spooked by shadows. Talinnius had given him this duty. Their friendship had been forged during childhood as Order Aspirants. It was because Talinnius’s that he never gave up and that he was a Champion today. He knew full well, he would have never passed the trials if it were not for Talinnius’s strength.
He shook those thoughts and feelings from his mind; then began to breath in a control rhythmic manner. The Trance crawled across his mind, like water questing along a flat surface. Emotion fell away into a dull background noise and he could feel his body in its entirety. He imagined this was how an apex predator must have felt on the hunt: focused, controlled, and vigilant.
Attia fell from sight as the towns remains began to obscure his view. Within the Trance, he could hear her soft foot falls and measure where she was amongst the jutting burned out wood. It did not look like a town anymore, more like a burned-out forest. Only a few cross beams breached the gaps between the columns – showing what it once was.
A wide and open road cut through the wreckage, straight into the towns heart. It was there that Veturius found the first corpse. The burnt remains were scattered, but not from wind or any other postmortem source. Although the flesh was blackened and cracked from heat, the remains' limbs were torn and flayed. He knelt beside the body and, with a careful touch, he shifted it with is taloned fingertips. Sundered flesh crumbled at his touch, leaving cracked bones behind.
His eyes narrowed. The bone looked gnawed upon at its broken tip, as if a feral dog or some other wild beast chewed on the flesh before the flames consumed what was left. That did not seem to make any sense. His only theory was whatever animal did this would have been very desperate to brave the firestorm Tettius had caused in order to eat the remains.
II
Attia was outside his senses but he was not worried for his fellow Champion. She was an accomplished warrior and judging by the scene, he doubted there would be any troubles for them to find. Tettius had done his heresy in a manner Veturius would have not believed possible, if he were not here to witness the aftermath. He did not understand why there was a need to burn the bodies and the town after they were slaughtered. What also confused him was why the legionnaires in the town were also put to the sword. He found signs of Tettius’s Champion blade work on sliced armour and other remains just as often as he found the bite marks and Gladius wounds. He wondered if any other Champion within the order could enact such a free-for-all violence.
Veturius had insisted on interviewing a few Legionnaires from Tettius’s rebellion before they were crucified, but they had yielded little information. All they could say was that only Tettius exited the town after it was set ablaze – all others who had entered the town did not return. Veturius wished a few Legionnaires had been jailed; more information could have gleaned with further interrogation, but it could not be helped. He knew full well none could be left to question.
He pushed onwards and entered the town’s square. This area was the most intact, as the buildings were made from stone and cement in the town’s centre. Even still, the fire had made the structures soft and brittle. Cracks raced across the black soot-stained surfaces and many buildings had collapsed on themselves after losing their integrity to the flames.
As he rounded a pillar, he sucked a breath in through tight lips. A mound dominated the square. Blackened bodies piled high on one another filled his sightline. Their mouths were agape, screaming soundless cries like some grotesque monument. Somehow, the flames did not devour their structure; aside from being black and cracked, he could pick out their individual features. Legionnaires, farmers, and townsfolk all were intermixed without any order or thought.
How could Tettius manage such a feat? He asked himself but found no answer.
Horror took hold in his core at the wanton devastation surrounding him. Death was no stranger to him, but massacre was a different story, especially when the majority were townsfolk and more so when it was caused by someone who had worn the same armour as he. The Order’s Champions should be
The debris shifted behind him and Veturius spun with a dancer’s grace, in one fluid movement, drew a sword. Its silver-white edges danced like fire in the poor light. The ash fog swirled around him and dispersed as if blown by a wind. In the ruins, an open cellar’s door rattled in the breeze. His senses told him the door had been closed when he first entered the square. They also told him something was still alive.
Without fear or hesitation, Veturius marched towards the cellar. However, he was not reckless in his approach, though to an onlooker they would have believed otherwise. The Trance widened his senses and if anything approached, he would feel it. At the cellar’s lip, he found that the ladder had been tipped inside beyond use; so, he dropped down with a slight hop. He fell into a crouch to absorb the fall impact. His eyes adjusted to the dark by the time he stood. After a quick scan, he pushed deeper into the space.
No fire had touched the underground. Thick rectangular stones sided the walls and ceiling, while round flat ones made up the floor – all remained pristine with only dust coating their surfaces. Shelves, staged like a library’s, filled the space in rows. He was surprised that most of the food on the shelves was unspoiled and attributed it to the cold that permeated the air. His breath misted with each exhale as he eased through the shelves careful not to disturb anything. Shadows from the room’s corners reached for him as if alive, but his sword’s glow dispelled them.
He heard it, in the furthest corner to his right. The sound happened so fast. If it were not for the Trance, he would have thought it his imagination. A breath; a pained sharp one.
With care, he maneuvered closer to where the breath came from. His footfalls were soundless, despite the metal that enclosed his feet; there was no metal-on-metal rattle or the scraps on the stone floor. Not even the air seemed to move as he ventured closer to his target. In the last few feet, he angled his sword so that it was parallel with his collar bones, while he reached forward with his free hand.
In the final few feet, rot filled his nostrils and almost made him gage. He briefly wondered how he had not smelled it before and stopped to refocus. The corner’s shadow gave a pained moaned and a pale hand – with black veins stretching inside like lightning bolts – reached out.
Dirt crusted nails dug furrows into the stone as the long digits sought purchase. A second hand followed the first, but this one had been touched by the fire. Black and cracked skin wept putrid blood, leaving blemishes on the stone.
Slowly, the shadows seemed to pull back – like a curtain being lifted for an audience’s enjoyment. Unfortunately, there was no actor on this stage; instead, a grotesque thing that, to Veturius’s eye, defied natures order crawled out into the pale light towards him. The tattered, black-burned flesh covered over half its body. Where the flames had not touch, the skin was the putrid white with forked jet veins. Hungry eyes glowed in the dim light and saliva strands flowed from its mouth’s corners. It rasped a voiceless cry as it pulled its half-ruined body forward with its one unburnt arm.
Veturius took a step back. His hold on the Trance fell away as uncertainty and fear overtook his breathing. His logical mind screamed for him to resume the meditative state – knowing full well it was his only chance for survival – but the cold dread icing his veins refused to let him breathe.
A shelf prevented any further flight. The solid barrier steeled his nerves. He took a deep breath as the thing’s long gnarled fingernails scraped against his greave. There was no time to resume the Trance, but he did not need it to strike as a normal man would. The creature clawed up his leg, dragging its limp body up and pressed its weight onto him. Veturius spun his sword into a reverse grip and took it in both hands. With clenched teeth, he raised the sword’s hilt above his head and aimed the tip towards the hideous creature’s upturned gaping fanged mouth.
Silver white flashed across his vision, faster than he could follow. The thing’s face grew stupid and hits head rolled backward down its arched back. Black gore exploded from the open neck cavity and drenched Veturius. His stomach emptied at the blood’s sour and rotten bouquet. He pushed the seared corpse away and fell in the opposite direction. An arm embraced him from behind and he looked over his shoulder to see a helm that matched his own.
“Attia,” He breathed with relief, but realized he was completely wrong as the breath settled in his lungs.
The clawed hand around his chest tightened. His armour bent from the pressure the claw’s points put on the metal. Before he had any chance to react, he was spun to face the newcomer who easily stood a head taller than he.
“No,” It said in two voices with hell’s depths laced in their tone. “Not Attia.”
Veturius had no chance to respond. The newcomer’s hand gripped his throat with a force that stole his breath. He felt his feet leave the ground and his vision immediately blurred. A sword’s point – similar to his own – was pressed under his chin, where his helm gave no protection. Consciousness left him quickly and his last thoughts were driven by panic.
Is this the last thing I will feel? He wondered.
He managed to look down at the newcomer, one last time, as his vision turned to nothingness. Eyes with a fire’s raging intensity met his own. True fear overtook him in his final thought and what little air in his lungs escaped in a rasping squeal.
III
Without fear or hesitation, Veturius marched towards the cellar. However, he was not reckless in his approach, though to an onlooker they would have believed otherwise. The Trance widened his senses and if anything approached, he would feel it. At the cellar’s lip, he found that the ladder had been tipped inside beyond use; so, he dropped down with a slight hop. He fell into a crouch to absorb the fall impact. His eyes adjusted to the dark by the time he stood. After a quick scan, he pushed deeper into the space.
No fire had touched the underground. Thick rectangular stones sided the walls and ceiling, while round flat ones made up the floor – all remained pristine with only dust coating their surfaces. Shelves, staged like a library’s, filled the space in rows. He was surprised that most of the food on the shelves was unspoiled and attributed it to the cold that permeated the air. His breath misted with each exhale as he eased through the shelves careful not to disturb anything. Shadows from the room’s corners reached for him as if alive, but his sword’s glow dispelled them.
He heard it, in the furthest corner to his right. The sound happened so fast. If it were not for the Trance, he would have thought it his imagination. A breath; a pained sharp one.
With care, he maneuvered closer to where the breath came from. His footfalls were soundless, despite the metal that enclosed his feet; there was no metal-on-metal rattle or the scraps on the stone floor. Not even the air seemed to move as he ventured closer to his target. In the last few feet, he angled his sword so that it was parallel with his collar bones, while he reached forward with his free hand.
In the final few feet, rot filled his nostrils and almost made him gage. He briefly wondered how he had not smelled it before and stopped to refocus. The corner’s shadow gave a pained moaned and a pale hand – with black veins stretching inside like lightning bolts – reached out.
Dirt crusted nails dug furrows into the stone as the long digits sought purchase. A second hand followed the first, but this one had been touched by the fire. Black and cracked skin wept putrid blood, leaving blemishes on the stone.
Slowly, the shadows seemed to pull back – like a curtain being lifted for an audience’s enjoyment. Unfortunately, there was no actor on this stage; instead, a grotesque thing that, to Veturius’s eye, defied natures order crawled out into the pale light towards him. The tattered, black-burned flesh covered over half its body. Where the flames had not touch, the skin was the putrid white with forked jet veins. Hungry eyes glowed in the dim light and saliva strands flowed from its mouth’s corners. It rasped a voiceless cry as it pulled its half-ruined body forward with its one unburnt arm.
Veturius took a step back. His hold on the Trance fell away as uncertainty and fear overtook his breathing. His logical mind screamed for him to resume the meditative state – knowing full well it was his only chance for survival – but the cold dread icing his veins refused to let him breathe.
A shelf prevented any further flight. The solid barrier steeled his nerves. He took a deep breath as the thing’s long gnarled fingernails scraped against his greave. There was no time to resume the Trance, but he did not need it to strike as a normal man would. The creature clawed up his leg, dragging its limp body up and pressed its weight onto him. Veturius spun his sword into a reverse grip and took it in both hands. With clenched teeth, he raised the sword’s hilt above his head and aimed the tip towards the hideous creature’s upturned gaping fanged mouth.
Silver white flashed across his vision, faster than he could follow. The thing’s face grew stupid and hits head rolled backward down its arched back. Black gore exploded from the open neck cavity and drenched Veturius. His stomach emptied at the blood’s sour and rotten bouquet. He pushed the seared corpse away and fell in the opposite direction. An arm embraced him from behind and he looked over his shoulder to see a helm that matched his own.
“Attia,” He breathed with relief, but realized he was completely wrong as the breath settled in his lungs.
The clawed hand around his chest tightened. His armour bent from the pressure the claw’s points put on the metal. Before he had any chance to react, he was spun to face the newcomer who easily stood a head taller than he.
“No,” It said in two voices with hell’s depths laced in their tone. “Not Attia.”
Veturius had no chance to respond. The newcomer’s hand gripped his throat with a force that stole his breath. He felt his feet leave the ground and his vision immediately blurred. A sword’s point – similar to his own – was pressed under his chin, where his helm gave no protection. Consciousness left him quickly and his last thoughts were driven by panic.
Is this the last thing I will feel? He wondered.
He managed to look down at the newcomer, one last time, as his vision turned to nothingness. Eyes with a fire’s raging intensity met his own. True fear overtook him in his final thought and what little air in his lungs escaped in a rasping squeal.
Thanks for reading!
Brett
More please. Another chapter in about a week would be great.
ReplyDeleteYou get one tomorrow haha
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