Apostasy: The Book of Ithaca

Chapter 3

Chapter III




         If only she could do more for him. She had done everything she could, but she was no paramedic or surgeon. Comfort filled her slightly as she laid the back of her hand upon his cheek. He was not showing signs of any fever. Thank Azul.

         Lady Elaine stared deeply into the face of her bodyguard, her savior. His closed eyes darted all about. His dreams were clearly troubled. Such a burden; such a curse it must have been to be an Expurgator, for it certainly placed a great deal of stress on his heart and mind. She could only wonder as to what he was dreaming, as she watched the rise and fall of his chest. His breathing was severely labored as if his chest were being crushed.

         Gently removing the wrappings from his head, she sighed in relief, for she was thankful the bleeding had stopped. It was quite the worst of head wounds. At least from what she had ever seen. Such a severe impact he must have made when they had crashed, she had been amazed that he had even survived.

         Stealthy as a cat stalking its prey, her hand slowly unstrapped one of the small knives upon the sleeve of his banyan. As she stared into his shut eyes, she slid the knife from its scabbard, making strong effort not to disturb him.

         She smiled as his breathing began to slow. He was a stalwart man. So stubborn he was to survive, for any man would have died. But not Valimaar, for he was different. Valimaar, her savior, was special. He had saved her from a terrible fate, and sacrificed his body to do it. It was a devotion she had never seen, and an embrace she had never felt. Something inside of her had truly come alive in that moment, for she could feel it. It was a rush of emotions like a torrent of pollen upon the summer breeze. Sweet and beautiful. Warm and wonderful.

         "Azul bless you my dear sweet Valimaar," she whispered, burying herself into cutting a new bandage for his head.

         Cutting away strips of her silken cassock, she looked up at him as he deeply inhaled. He seemed to be sleeping as if he had not slept in an eternity, though she could not recall the last time she had seen him sleep. Perhaps it was her fault. She had charged him with so many mundane tasks after all, and he had performed every one without question or protest. He had remained awake through many nights alongside her, as she buried herself in books and scrolls. He had refused to sleep simply to ensure her safe slumber. Perhaps it was her fault.

         He was sleeping now, and she knew that that was all that mattered. Despite his disapproval for not continuing on, she was glad that he was asleep. She could not allow him to walk in his condition. He was broken and exhausted. Sleep was the only thing she could allow him to do.

         Gentle as a feather falling upon a stream, she wrapped the clean bandage around his brow, remarking at the movement of his closed eyes. She had seen a troubled dream before, but this must have been terrible. Valimaar looked as though the nightmare had come to life. She could never truly understand her bodyguard, but to see him in such a state, she almost felt guilty to force him to sleep. Almost.

         It had been two hours since they had trudged into the ramshackle of a home, and still the sun had not risen. The dull glow of the everlasting dawn barely shone through the dirty windows of the run down building, and in the haze of the violet light, the shadows of the dark came alive. It was a dreadful house. With very little to offer for aesthetics, and even less for illumination. The dreariness of the dark had made it difficult for her to continue her work, but it was at least a shelter while they rested.

         Cobwebs hung in the dimly lit corners and dangled from the ceiling swaying like leaves upon a tree in a breeze that wasn't there. Old, dry-rotted, and splintered wood offered the excuse of a solid floor, and had granted her feet no luxury of warmth in the cold room. Despite the small fire she had managed to light in the hearth, the cold and musty air seemed to consume any warmth like a starving animal.

         Tattered and shabby cushions hadn't offered much for comfort, but they at least made sitting in the dilapidated chairs a little more pleasant. The slight fear of spiders crawling about had kept her eyes on her lap and legs as she sat in the old seat.

         She lightly giggled to herself as she realized that after demons, the only thing to fear were spiders and insects. Irony was so harsh sometimes. Though not pleasant in any manner of degree, she welcomed any spider over another encounter with a geist. Especially when her bodyguard was so incapacitated.

         She had abandoned the effort to keep herself clean in the dusty house. For with every movement of her body, puffs of dust floated out of the tattered cushions. Despite the remnants of her silk cassock being torn and frayed, she had found it sad to see such dirt on it. It felt like sacrilege to allow it to get so filthy. After having torn it into shreds to bandage Valimaar, she had decided that such petty thoughts were not something she should be dwelling on.

         They were stranded, in a very much less than acceptable location. After having contact with creatures she had never before laid eyes on, anywhere would have been better than here. If there were three, why couldn't there be four - or five? She closed her eyes as the troubling thought took over. It would be a terrible thing to be waylaid by another one with Valimaar in his condition. She had no knowledge or skill with weapons, and much less with demons. They were defenseless.

         Lady Elaine jumped with a start at the ruckus of clattering and clanging of steel outside the door. Had the geists found them? She reached for Valimaar's pistol as the latch on the door scraped against rusty iron. Her hands shook violently as she strained both thumbs to pull the hammer back into a locked position. What was she doing? Did she even know how to shoot a gun? Could she? She shrugged the thoughts of doubt aside as the door swung open with an ear piercing creak.

         The shadows of two men rushed into the room along with the cold grasp of winter's bite. The clamor outside the house granted her yet more fear, how many men were there? Who were they? Could she shoot? After one, what would she do?

         Shaking like the mechanisms of some great mechanical monstrosity, she forced herself to pull the trigger. The hammer struck, sending sparks aloft like fireflies in the night sky. Nothing. It was not loaded.

         " 'Old your fire woman! What's the matter with you," one of the men asked gruffly. His voice was harsh and throaty. It scratched as it left his lips like a coarse stone.

         "Hell, she just tried to kill you," the other said, pulling a pistol of his own.

         The man beside him swatted at the other's shoulder as he began to take aim, "Don't you dare, she's among the Presbyterate you fool!"

         Grunting with annoyance, the man turned as he placed the pistol back in its baldric.

         Who were these men? How did they know she was a Presbyterate? Half crippled from shock, and half crippled by stupor, the minute whimper that sounded from her lips was but little excuse for a valid response.

         "Who - who... are you," she asked, as the tremerous shivers of fear shot through her tense body.

         "Ha! Did you 'ear that," the man called to his companions, "she wants to know 'oo we are."

         Stepping closer, the vibrations from his boots sent waves of fear down her spine. He clattered from the array of steel armor that adorned his body. The chain coif draped over his bulbous head clicked against the steel like the tick - toc of time.

         "We're soldiers my lady," he said, bowing low.

         "Aegis," his comrade added, bowing equally low.

         Aegis. Hammer of the Divinity. Azul's army. They were safe at last.

         "We were looking for someone when we saw the smoke coming from this 'ouse," the throaty one said, raising from his bow.

         At least he was respectful... somewhat.

         "The name's 'awkins. Sergeant 'awkins, and this ugly fellow 'ere is Corporal Richemont," he said motioning to his partner.

         "At your service my lady," the corporal said, smiling a mouthful of black teeth.

         What were they doing all the way out here? Why had they bothered to see what was going on in this house in the first place? Who were they looking for?

         "Forgive me my lady, but you infected?"

         The throaty one laughed, "She ain't infected you moron. If she was she'd not be so healthy lookin' after all."

         "We still have to ask," the corporal replied under his breath.

         Whacking him in the back of his head, the sergeant shook his head, "Even if she was, do you think she'd tell us? Of course not."

         "No I'm not infected. Thank you for asking," her mind raced in a hundred directions.

         "Then what you doin' in a place way out 'ere? Ain't nothin' out 'ere but infected," the sergeant grunted, leaning in to examine her.

         Backing away from his foul breath, she motioned to Valimaar, "We were making our way back to Ecclesia. But we were attacked by Geists."

         The two men shared a look with one another, "What's a geist," the corporal asked the throaty man, scratching his head.

         "Dunno. Never 'eard of it. You traveling by foot?"

         Lady Elaine shook her head, "No, we were traveling by wagon, but it was wrecked about a mile west of here. We were with one other but he was killed in the crash."

         "Then those were your 'orses I s'pose," he said, scratching at the sores in his beard.

         "Horses?"

         The corporal nodded, "We came across two horses who had broken loose from their yoke."

         "Yes, those were ours," she replied.

         "Did you see a man per'aps down the road?"

         "A priest," the other said, taking a step closer.

         She nodded as she closed her eyes, "He's dead."

         The sergeant snapped his fingers, not removing his lecherous stare from her. It was a silent command that recieved swift response. The corporal quickly tunred and marched out the door.

         "What's wrong with yer friend there," the sergeant asked, nodding his head to the Expurgator.

         "Were you looking for that priest," she asked, ignoring his questions.

         "I s'pose we were, but I guess we found 'em didn't we? Shame it is. What's wrong with yer friend there," he asked again. His persistence was growing to be an annoyance.

         "He's injured," she replied, turning to face Valimaar.

         "Injured? 'E just looks asleep to me," he replied, crossing his arms in disbelief.

         Lady Elaine shook her head, "He was injured in the crash, and he was exhausted. We were waylaid by Geists, and he had fought them off. He's my bodyguard."

         "Bodyguard?"

         "Yes bodyguard."

         "Why you need a bodyguard," he asked, smiling at her. It was a very creepy and toothless smile.

         "Sergeant Hawkins, we are on our way to Ecclesia by order of the Arbiter. I have no time to answer your questions," she said, the heat in her voice could boil water.

         The sergeant gruffed at her, "Aye, I can take a hint. I can send you with an escort to Duraine about three miles down the road."

         "Why Duraine?"

         "We got a camp there. Yer friend 'ere can get some proper attention before you head to Ecclesia," he said, nodding towards Valimaar.

         Lady Elaine nodded, "That will do. Thank you sergeant."

********************

         This fight, this battle, this war we wage against the devil's most wicked servants is not one of sword and shield. In this struggle we do not employ the weaponry of the common man. Cast aside the things that make us human and embrace that which empowers. Our weapon is not bodkin, nor bullet, nor bomb, but unflinching faith in the Divinity. In these dark times we must exploit all at our disposal. There is no right, there is no wrong. There is only the believer and the non-believer. The pious, and the heretic.

This struggle is not upon the battlefield of mortal man, but upon the realm where heart and mind dwell. This is a conflict of will. There is good and there is evil, and there is an Expurgator. You... you soldier of Azul. You herald of the word. You bulwark against evil - cannot afford the luxury of morality. For in this dark time, we employ dark methods.

         The words had cut at him like the onslaught of a thousand swords writhe with the hungering of his misery. Valimaar sat against the damp walls of the stone house prostrate and sickly, for brooding the very thought of such persecution had turned his stomach. He had seen terrible things; unmentionable things within the Hereticus Administratum, but this was far too much. These were people after all. Not heretics, nor slaves, nor animals, they were people. They deserved to be treated like people.

         Having seen the distress that the quarantine had placed on the citizens of Duraine, he could not settle his mind since he had awoke. How could the Divinity handle such matters so carelessly? Such mistreatment to human rights was disgusting. Indeed he had done terrible things, but they were heretics, not innocent people. These were certainly not people who had defied the Divinity in any way. Why? Why must they be treated so terribly?

         He watched as the Aegis paramedics floated about the large room as if they were in a trance. They were far too adamant in there strict disregard for life. Though they did administer remedies, salves, poultices, and the occasional bandage, there was no compassion in their expressions whatsoever. They were golems. Individuals who were devoid of any emotion whatsoever. They made him sick.

         Being stuck in the shabby bedding in such a remarkably gruesome room was absolute torture. This was far beyond what he thought to be acceptable attention. Though a broken wrist, cracked ribs, and a severe laceration on his head did perhaps require some attention, this was ridiculous. He had spent the past three hours in this room, listening to the groans and cries of the unfortunate men and women who had succumbed to the infection of the plague. Such torment was unbearable.

         Perhaps the paramedics had simply seen too much of it to display any sort of human characteristics. They were soldiers of Aegis however - human characteristics were never much of their strong point. Even he, being so far beyond the boundaries of what anyone would call human, felt sympathy for these poor people. Forced into a room which they were not allowed to leave, not allowed visitors, and barely allowed to speak, they had shown signs of a fracturing sanity. Who could blame them? Merely being there for three hours was enough to break any man.

         He would be leaving at least. But these people... these unfortunate souls, would die in this dreadful room. They would not be leaving. How terrible it must be to be forced into a building, simply to live out your last moments alone.

         Valimaar scowled at the thought, for dying in such a fashion, would be terrible. He could only hope that Azul would be more merciful on him when his day finally came.

         "How's the wrist?"

         The emptiness of the question made no impact on him. It struck a chord, befowled the air, and vanished before it had managed to enter his awareness.

         "How's the wrist?"

         Again? They were so persistent... so ignorant.

         "I'll live. I've already told you that. My head is fine. My wrist is fine. My ribs are fine. I've told you that three times," he hissed as he glared up at the blank face of the young paramedic. She was naive; arrogant.

         "Perhaps we could give you something for that wound," she said, bending down to inspect the wrappings of his head.

         Valimaar pulled away, "Give me your poultice and be on your way. I'm done with you."

         Without any rebuke, the young woman floated away. He observed with growing hatred, as she continued about the room of dying and deceased, asking the same arrogant questions. No emotion. No care. Nothing.

         They deserved better. These people, dying of the most terrible malady he had ever seen, should not have been treated like this. Twenty-three. Twenty-three men and women lay in beds all about the stone building. All were covered with sores and boils, trickling with the crimson flow of blood. Small red blots, speckled their pale skin, and light red rivers streamed down their chin and swollen neck like a river of crimson. They looked almost inhuman. Twenty-three. An hour ago there had been twenty-seven. An hour before that... twenty-nine.

         This was the plague that they had been fighting. The plague that they had delved into the deepest and darkest corridors of the oldest libraries in order to combat. Nothing had been found. Nothing would be found. This plague, this pestilence, this murderer... was unstoppable, and the people made to suffer at its vile hands had been rounded up like livestock and thrown into a dark room - destined to die alone.

         The fetid straw thrown about the floor, stinking of mold, bile, and blood, had been enough to burn his nose and eyes. Not even a rat would die in such filth. This was deplorable.

         "Brother Valimaar."

         What now?

         "Brother Valimaar, are you alright?"

         "What do you want," he asked, looking up from all the death. It was another of the golems.

         "Your presence is requested, you may go."

         "Very well," he replied with a particularly monotone voice.

********************

         The bite of the chilling air had taken his breath away, as he stood in the doorway between life and death. Or death and death as he had come to recognize it, for conditions outside were not much better than that of the Aegis Infirmary. The citizens of Duraine walked about the streets aimlessly, heedlessly enthralled in their daily tasks as if all care or compassion had been ripped from their souls. For they were prisoners. Their rights had been stripped from them once Aegis had arrived.

         The quarantine was a dastardly way of announcing that the Divinity had little care for the populace. At least that is what Valimaar had decided.

         The dirty slosh of melted snow and mud splattered beneath his boots as he solemnly marched toward the church. He could feel the calculating stares of Aegis footmen following his stride as he walked. He cared little, for the mindless rabble of disorderly men had little comparison to an Expurgator. In his current mood, he could only hope that one questioned where he was going or why.

         They let him be.

         The cold touch of steel against his chest stopped him as he slowly walked up the stone stairs of the old church. He didn't look up. He didn't have to.

         "Where do you think you're -"

         The immense force of the shove had sent the soldier flying, and the clanging of steel against stone rang in high pitched melody as he rolled down the stone stairs. Valimaar was in no mood. The firey stare he gave to the other guard was warning enough, and the trembling young man nodded his head at the door, gesturing that he could enter. For to cross an Expurgator, though crippled, was still an idea that most wouldn't think, especially one with his grim expression.

         The echo of his footsteps rang out in the large room of the church. In front of him, a scarlet carpet was laid out. It ran from the door to the altar where Lady Elaine had been speaking with another man. A man he didn't recognize.

         The two turned their attention to him as he strolled towards the altar. Lady Elaine couldn't see it, but she knew he was in pain.

         "Brother Valimaar," the man said, "I'm glad to see you've made some recovery."

         "And you are," Valimaar asked, turning his icy gaze to the grizzled man.

         "Lieutenant Warley," he replied, "I command this detachment of Aegis."

         Valimaar nodded, "Then I would like an explanation for why your men are mistreating these people."

         "What do you mean," the Lieutenant asked.

         "You're treating them like prisoners Lieutenant. Have you not stepped outside this church?"

         Lady Elaine shut her eyes in annoyance, she knew that Valimaar was doing everything he could to contain himself.

         "Brother Valimaar, I was ordered to quarantine this town. You may have noticed that the plague has made its mark here in Duraine more than any other. These citizens are not allowed to leave for fear of spreading it."

         "You could at least show some compassion Lieutenant. They are humans after all... not dogs."

         "My paramedics are doing everything they can for these people. We've made it a point to not interfere with their day to day lives."

         "And I'm sure that locking them all in a room to die isn't an interference is it," Valimaar asked, the sarcasm in his voice was quite apparent.

         The Lieutenant shook his head, "Those men and women are the worst of the infected, we were told by the Apothecaries that that stage of the plague is the most contagious. Which is why we have no choice but to keep them in the infirmary."

         "And so you had me placed in that room to receive medical attention? You had me placed in that room among the most contagious," he asked.

         "Brother Valimaar, from what I understand you must come in contact with one infected by the plague, in order to contract it."

         "And you are qualified to make that assessment," he replied, the sarcasm in his voice had subsided, now there was pure fire.

         "Valimaar," Lady Elaine said, placing a soft hand on his shoulder, "That will do."

         Valimaar shook his head in annoyance, as he turned his back to them. It was all he could do to not kill the man where he stood.

         "Lady Elaine tells me you're both traveling to Ecclesia," the Lieutenant said.

         "Yes."

         "I'm afraid there's not much I can offer for aid, but feel free to take whatever provisions you may need, and a horse for the both of you."

         "That will be fine," Lady Elaine said as she stepped closer to her bodyguard.

         "Before I can allow you to leave however, I must ask if you encountered a priest along the road."

         "Yes," Valimaar said, "We found a priest dead along the road, he was shot in the back."

         "Was he carrying anything with him," the Lieutenant asked.

         The look that Lady Elaine had given him was a strong enough message.

         "No. He wasn't carrying anything that I saw."

         The cold air rushed into the room as the heavy wooden doors burst open. The three of them looked up in a start as the woman limped into the church. Valimaar could see that she had been severely injured, for the blood running down the back of her calf had saturated her white gowns.

         "Lieutenant," the woman cried, "The infected, they're going mad!"

         Valimaar, pulled his pistol as he marched towards the door at a brisk pace. Each step had sent razors of cold dull pain surging through his body. Lady Elaine watched as his waistcoat flowed behind him like waves upon a sea, and she knew what he was thinking.

         "Lieutenant," she said, "I strongly suggest that you get your paramedics out of the infirmary immediately, and bar the doors."

         "I'm the only one left," the young paramedic cried, "The rest of them are dead."

         As guards began pouring into the church, the Lieutenant motioned towards the young injured woman, "See to the lady."

         "Lady Elaine," he said turning his attention to hers, "What is happening?"

         "They've been possessed," she said in monotone as she rushed off behind her bodyguard.

         The shrieks filled the cold winter air with frigid daggers of demonic melody. Valimaar knew that there was little choice to what must be done. As he looked behind him, he could see Lady Elaine running to meet him.

         "Get back to the church," he shouted, "It's not safe out here!"

         She did not obey him.

         The ruckus of people running in all directions, and guards clattering as they ran through the dirty streets was deafening. Still the shrieks cut through the clamor like knives. It was an evil sound. A dreadful sound. All about them, men and women scrambled for safety, he knew it was a sound they had never heard, and it was a sound he hoped he would never hear again.

         "Brother Valimaar," the Lieutenant yelled from behind, as he ran to his side.

         "Lieutenant Warley, tell your men to burn the infirmary."

         The Lieutenant stopped in his tracks, "Brother Valimaar, how can you say such a thing?"

         The Expurgator spun on his heels, gripping the man by the collar of his velvet waistcoat, "Don't question me Lieutenant! Those men and women are not human anymore!"

         The grizzled Lieutenant ran off shouting at soldiers as he went by. Though it was a terrible act, it was necessary. Valimaar knew that this sort of thing was beyond the expertise of the regular soldiers of Aegis. He alone knew how to deal with these demons. Snatching a burning lantern hanging in the door of an old half run-down building, he sighed as he marched up to the infirmary.

         Inside the walls, he could hear the scratching and shrieking of twenty three unfortunate men and women who had been claimed by evil. Not the evil of the plague. It was an evil far worse. A fate that only a forsaken humanity could ever experience. Where was Azul? Had she abandoned the world? Had she forgotten her children?

         The Lieutenant and a dozen other men stood behind him, each with torches and lanterns of their own. Every one of them had a look of utter terror. Perhaps it was for what they were about to do, but he knew it was from what they were hearing coming from the walls of the infirmary. They couldn't be allowed to live. Twenty three geists, could rip through a detachment of Aegis like stones through wet parchment.

         "Azul forgive us," Valimaar whispered before hurling the lantern atop the thatched roof of the infirmary.

         The shattered glass sent tongues of liquid flame spewing over the old straw atop the roof. In unison, a dozen other men threw torches and lanterns of the their own, and the low growl of flame rung through the cold winter air as they crashed into the building. They watched in silent abandon as flames engulfed the roof. Within the infirmary the shrieks grew louder, as if desperate.

         The culling of twenty three individuals. Twenty three men and women that had been forsaken by Azul. If this was the divine plan that Azul had for all her children, Valimaar had wanted no part of it. Behind him, he felt the eyes burning through his nearly impenetrable shell of devotion. A dozen men had sent these people to death's embrace following his lead. He could only imagine what they thought of him. It was a terrible thought. It was a terrible act, but it had to be done. For in the struggle against evil... there could be no luxury of morality.