Heresy: The Book of Mammon

Chapter 10

Chapter 10



The biting chill of the wind licked at Abbadin’s wounds as he lay upon the cold, grassy earth. The smells of burning wood and black powder mixed with one another into a vile concoction of pungent odors. It burned his lungs as he breathed the smoky air. Pale, white light of the moon illuminated the haze in a glowing aura that hung above him like a veil of fireflies. He could see no stars. The cloud of smoke was far too thick. He heard the groans of men all about. He was certain that most had not survived.

It was quite a distance to plummet. Such a distance, that he was thankful to have survived. Surely, he had broken bones. A fall like that would break any human. The shrills of agony stung his ears. It was not reassuring at all.

The chirping of crickets joined in the symphony to a loud crescendo. He was in the wilderness, alone but with others. He turned his head. Nothing. No pain. Men lay upon the ground in twisted and contorted positions. Others crawled on all fours. They were slow, and moaned as they slid across the cold moist grass.

A heavy mist hung low to the ground. Shadows moved across its shroud as he stared through the haze. The gentle glow of the moon offered little for visibility. Burning bits of wood were scattered about. They illuminated the ground around them in a dim, flickering halo.

His muscles twitched. No pain. He was slow as he rolled to his side, fearful that waves of agony would attack him like the bodkin of an arrow. No pain. He was unharmed. It was a miracle. He stood, and the world spun as he wiped the burning smoke from his eyes. He turned on his feet and burning wood and wounded men filled his vision. His hand touched his side, and he was relieved to find his pistol and sabre still with him. He stepped forward through the burning rubble and dead men, and those not quite passed grabbed at his ankles and raised pleading eyes at him. It was a horrific sight that he would not soon forget. Most of the men were far too wounded to offer any sort of aid. Their entrails hung as they crawled, or blood poured from deep gouges and lacerations. Others were missing limbs or eyes, and some were little more than a charred corpse.

How had he survived this? Certainly he was not that lucky. Perhaps there was a god after all. Though he favored the thought that chance had decided to spare him this night.

A dark tree line stood in the distance to what he thought was the north. Its shadows stabbed from the earth in the pale moonlight. Shelter. He could not afford to linger here. Surely the Ecclesian army would come looking for them. How far he had managed to fly before the balloon finally burst was unknown. It could not have been far, for the headwind slowed its progress. Damn the wind.

He filled his lungs with the frigid northern air, pulled his waistcoat close to his flesh, and marched on. Nothing could be done for these men. The thoughts of slow, painful death ripped at his emotions as he walked through the sea of agony.

The moist ground squeaked under the soles of his boots as he cautiously stepped between bodies and burning wood. Blood trickled from his cuts and scratches, but he had no time to dress them. He needed to move. He needed to get away from this place.

He knew that it was likely he would not see the sands of his home again, but he would die a prisoner. He was not built for a cage, he was built for the skies. The same sky that was no longer his. Ecclesia had taken that from him as well. To hell with the Ecclesians. He’d hoped that the bombs had killed as many of them as possible.

Regardless, there were so many of them – more than he’d ever seen. Even if every bomb, cannon ball, and rifle shot found its mark, how many were left? The army stretched across the horizon. There would be more to take the place of the deceased, but where were they coming from?

The wind howled as it rolled across the expanse of the rolling fields that stretched before him. Tall grass swayed in the breeze and rustled like the whispers of a thousand spirits. The smoke began to clear, and the smell of flames lightened. The world grew brighter as he left the crash. Above, stars began revealing themselves from beneath the veil of hazy smoke.

He turned round on his heels and looked once more at that which he left behind. It was his home. His life. His soul. The only joy he had lay upon the ground in tattered, burning remnants of its former beauty. His men were breathing their final breaths, and choking on their last taste of life.

He shook his head as a tear rolled down his cheek, and turned to face the forest once more. His limbs ached. Fatigue crawled through his bones and muscles, but he could not afford to rest. He could not afford to slow his pace. He had to reach the forest. There, he could find shelter. There, he could plan his next course of action, though, there was little he could do alone. Surely, there had to be someone still in the sovereignty willing to lend aid to him, but who? Even if there was, what would he do then? It was difficult to hide his speech, and his dark skin. The Ecclesians would know he was not one of them. He could not hide from their eyes – it was impossible.

He searched the skies for familiar stars. Above, constellations twinkled in brilliant clusters and darted the black expanse of the night sky. He recognized their patterns and looked ahead. North, he was traveling north. The ship had managed to pass the mountains before it fell from the sky.

He recalled the position of the army. It made camp between the twin peaks that guarded the gap into the borders of Ecclesia. He could not escape through the pass without being detected. His only hope was to seek aid in the Cardinal City. It would be a slim chance that he could breach the walls of the city, but it was still a chance. Jazira could help him, if she were still alive. He could find her. He had to find her, but before he ventured into the heart of the beast, he needed shelter. He needed to dress his wounds that ached with every movement. Still, he would find her.

He trudged on through the darkness, the cold grey light of the dawn formed in the east. Day would soon break, and he would be in the open. It was something he could not afford. Sunlight was slow rising in the northern lands, but it would rise nonetheless. His pace quickened as he stepped through the dewy fields.

The grass grew taller as he continued on, it rose to above his waist. Perhaps he could huddle in its thick mask, but the possibility of being spotted by the dirigibles waved the thought from his mind. He had to reach the forest. There was no other option.
The grass continued to rustle in the gentle breeze that slowed, but the rustling was louder than it was before. Something was stirring in the thicket before him.

He slowed his pace, and placed one cautious foot in front of the other. He gripped the butt stock of his pistol and removed it from its banyan. The sounds grew louder, and sharp, chilling cackles shot through the soft whispers of the wind. Whatever it was, was certainly not friendly.
He cocked the hammer of the gun and stared down the muzzle. Time seemed to slow as he crouched low to the earth. His hairs stood on end as the hiss of the thing’s sniffing filled his ears. What was this thing?

More cackles.

He checked the clearance of his sabre in its scabbard and returned his eyes down the length of the pistol barrel. The quiet of the night rose to a deafening roar as he listened. It was coming closer.

The wind shifted and blew gently at his back. Damn the wind.

Screeches stabbed through the grass, and the rustling grew loud as it ran towards him. He slowed his breathing and his forefinger squeezed the trigger of the pistol. Yellow circles glowed in the darkness as it lumbered on. Its gurgling shrieks stabbed at him like knives. A cold shiver coursed down his spine, and his breathing stopped. Before him, a hound stood. It was twice the size of any he had ever seen, and its bare flesh was torn and twisted. Red, slimy muscles rippled as its clawed feet slammed into the ground. Sharp fangs jutted out of its mouth and dripped with saliva.

He pulled the trigger. A hiss of black powder, and the crack of flint broke his silence. The crack of the shot rang in his ears, as the beast came skidding to a stop in front of him. Dark, curdled blood poured from the hole between its front legs. Its breath burned his lungs. It reeked of dead flesh and stale blood. Its eyes stared into his, and its jaw snapped at his feet as he lunged backward.

He pulled his sword and ran the tip of it into its skull. A sharp cry burst out of its mouth before the breathing stopped, and its eyes hazed over.

More shrieks filled the silence of the night. All around him the called into the darkness. He couldn’t count how many he heard, or guess where they came from, but there were many.

His eyes shot about the grass around him, but he could see no glowing like he’d witnessed before. Still, there was no telling how many there were, and he could not afford to guess. He willed himself to stand, and sprinted toward the dark forest that stood in the distance.

The rustling of the tall grass behind him was terrifying. He didn’t know how close they were, but he dare not turn to see. Whatever they were, they were coming.

He stared off in front of him. It was still so far away. He couldn’t make it. He would die like his crew. Torn apart by demonic claws, and feasted upon like the corpse of animals. What a terrible way to leave the world. Still, he ran. The hissing of their breaths sent cold waves through his flesh as he sprinted through the grass. Fanged jaws snapped behind him, and claws raked at the air. Drafts of their speed brushed against his skin. They were close.

A whistle of something flew by as he ran. What in the name of creation was it? Another, and then another. Behind him, he could hear their bodies fall to the cold ground. More things flew by as he ran, and shadows raised out of the grass in front of him. They were men. Who were they? That didn’t matter, for whoever they were, they saved him from a most terrible death. Arrows shot by his body as he continued on, more and more, the beasts fell to the earth.
As the last one skidded to a violent stop behind him, he slowed his sprint to a jog. His calves burned and his breaths could barely keep up with him. Blood spewed from his cuts as he slowed to a trudge. His legs struggled to hold his body upright as he walked.

The shadows walked towards him, their bows were at the ready. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sabre as he stopped and stared. The man in the middle waved, and more shadows rose from the veil of grass. There were dozens of them. They came at him in slow stride. Their arrows pointed at him from every direction.

The sword fell to the earth, and he raised his hands in surrender. The one he assumed was the leader rested the pull of the bowstring and placed the arrow back in its quiver.

His face was stained with mud. Leaves and grass were tied into his dark, knotted hair, and white eyes stabbed through his dark camouflage.
“Identify yourself.” The man’s voice was hoarse and throaty. It carried the tone of caution.

“I be Captain Abbadin Al-Ghamdi of the Lokken Avians.” His voice shook as it escaped his lips.

The man nodded, and held his dark, mud-stained hand out in greeting. "My name is Owen, we are Tarkans." He waved his hand at the dark companions behind him.

Tarkan. He had not heard word from any of the sovereignties that shared their borders. The nation lied upon the eastern borders of Ecclesia in a dense woodland. Its people were proud warriors and skilled hunters.

"These are the last of us that survived the attacks."

Attacks? Ecclesia has attacked Tarkan? Why? That was troubling news. Tarkan has ever been a neutral entity in the wars of men. They often aided in the trade of food and furs, but nothing more. Surely there was little reason to attack them.

"Come with us. Those wounds need some attention."

Abbadin nodded, and picked his sabre up from the cold ground.

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

It was a small fire, but it warmed the cold in his bones. Abbadin sat across from the man that called himself Owen. They spun some creature on a spit over the fire. He did not know what it was, but it smelled divine. He was famished. The men of the small group busied themselves around the encampment.

They sat, dotting the ground, carving new arrows from straight branches. Others skinned dead animals they had killed, and some were busy changing bandaging or offering aid to their wounded. It was a sad sight to see such proud people in exile. He imagined the Expurgators and the Vicar Forane felt the same way as these people did. They were after all, driven from their homelands by the same juggernaut that had come upon these men.

"You're quite lucky to be alive."

"I be aware of this. I thank you for your aid." His voice carried off in monotone as he stared at the glowing fire.

"How did you manage to get past the army without detection?"

Abbadin shook his head. The thoughts of the crash rushed through his mind. "We flew above them."

"Flew?"

"Yes, I be a Captain of the Avians, the pilots of the Lokken dirigibles."

"The sky ships," Owen said, stirring the fire.

Abbadin nodded. Remorse flowed through him as images of his dead men laying upon the cold earth filled his thoughts. Such a terrible way to die. Whatever those beasts were in the fields would make a meal of them. He'd hoped that they were dead long before they suffered such a fate.

"Where did all those men come from?" Abbadin looked up at Owen.

Owen shook his head. "That's the same army that raided Tarkan a week ago. Their ranks have grown since then. They came without warning. They stormed our cities like they were a great mist upon the wind. We stood no chance against their power. They had guns, sky ships, and armored things that rolled across the ground."

Abbadin nodded. "I've seen them."

"They killed everyone. Women, children, elderly. They showed no mercy."

Damn Ecclesia. They were horrible people. How could they do such a thing? Why would they? What purpose were they serving in attacking so many people? Surely they knew of the Sacrament, that explained the attacks on Lokken, but what made Tarkan so significant?

"They took our dead."

Abbadin looked up at him. "They be taking the dead?"

"Yes. We've been tracking them for a week. We do what we can to slow their progress, but we're only a few men. We can't defeat a force such as that. We raid their supplies, occasionally kill an officer, but they grow. They keep moving. Eventually we will have to move on, but there's nowhere for us to go."

Their bravery and resolve was something to be admired. Regardless if they were doing any damage, they were trying. Such soldiery was rare.

"The beasts of the lands often hinder us. We are not familiar with these things. We've never seen them in Tarkan."

"You be talking of the hounds?"

"Yes, but there are others that roam. We know of the hounds. They are in the ghost stories we tell our young. Barghests, we call them. Hounds from hell, but the others, are far worse."

He couldn't imagine anything worse that what he'd seen. Those things were vile.

"Men that crawl on all fours and shriek terrible calls to the fog. They feed on the bodies of the dead. Others are slow, lumbering men, their flesh rots away, but yet they walk. They feel no pain, our arrows do nothing against them. There is one other that we've seen. A great beast. It has the body of a horse, but the torso of a man - head of a lion. It was massive."

He was speaking of Daemons, he had to be. So Ecclesia has been infested with Daemons. It was strange that their ranks felt no fear of the things, unless they were among their forces. That was a troubling thought. Ecclesia recruiting the ranks of Daemons. They had finally fallen to the darkness.

Two men came to gather around the small fire. One twisted the spit, and the cooking flesh sizzled as the flames licked it.

"These are my kin." Owen said, pointing to the two. "This is my brother, Samuel, and my sister Ravenna."

Sister? There were women with them?

She looked up through the dark camouflage that masked her face. He saw blue eyes that glowed in the dancing fire light. He saw a bosom beneath the thick lair of fur. She stared back at him, and offered a light smile.

"You are free to stay with us as long as you wish, Captain," Owen said.

Abbadin shook his head. "I must get the Cardinal City. I need to speak with someone there."

The three of them looked at him in silence. "Going to the Cardinal City is suicide. We thought we could seek shelter there, out of the gaze of their armies, but we were wrong. We heard the humming of machines, and the rumbling of clockworks. All around it, the armored behemoths stand below its walls, and above it, the sky ships fly.

"I must try. I have friends in Ecclesia that can carry news of our crash, and news of your sovereignty. Perhaps Lokken can lend you aid."

The three of them shared a look. Owen scratched at his mud caked beard.

"There is one way to get past the walls." Ravenna's voice was soft and elegant. There was a pride in her tone that was rare among women. "The sewers."

Owen shook his head. "The sewers are more dangerous than the lands above."

"Yes, but he could avoid detection there."

It was a chance and one that he would be willing to take regardless of the risk. He had to try. He had to face the danger.

"I'll take you there at sunset." She shot Owen a look, but received no response.

He could see that the suggestion bothered him, but whatever dangers lie in the sewers, could be no worse than those of the world around him. He had no choice.

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

Rest did not come easily to Abbadin. The sounds of the waking world taunted him as he tossed and turned throughout the dawn. He did manage to sleep a few hours before the ruckus of the Tarkans woke him. He rubbed the haze of grogginess from his eyes and sat upright. Leaves and twigs stuck in his hair and on his velvet waistcoat.

He brushed them off, and tightened his clothes around him in a vain attempt to ward away the cold. The fire was quenched, and little more than a pile of ash with its last plumes of smoke dancing from its former warmth.

All about, the Tarkans were dashing around gathering weapons, supplies, and other provisions. It was a show of panic.

Ravenna rushed to his side and held her hand down to him. “We have to go, Captain. There’s trouble coming.”

Trouble… he’d seen enough of the new north to know that whatever it was, was an urgent matter. He took her hand and she heaved him up. His drowsiness subsided as he watched the Tarkans darting about their makeshift encampment.

She tugged at his arm and they rushed through the many men that lingered behind. They knocked down lean-tos and doused the small fires. They ripped up their belongings and kicked leaves on ash piles. They were running from something. What could it be? Was it the Ecclesian Army? It couldn’t be, for such a force would make tremendous noise. It would have roused him.

They darted through the thick undergrowth of the forest. Twigs and branches snapped at his face and limbs as they ran. He ignored their sharp stings knowing that a more important matter was at hand. Something foul drenched the smell of dead leaves and mossy earth. It stung his senses to alertness. He smelled that scent before. It was the same as the Barghests that Owen spoke of, but much worse. It was strong, as though it dangled in front of his nose.

It smelled of death – decay. If pestilence had a scent, he imagined this was it. She pulled him down a steep hill, and he tripped over himself as he went. The two collapsed to the ground, and the leaves slid from under them as they rolled down the hill. They came to a stop at the bed of a stream. Sharp rocks poked at his flesh as he rose. His wounds ached, and his eyes watered.

They splashed through the chilling, clear waters of that whispered upon the rocks as it flowed, and she finally came to a stop at the base a great tree. He looked up at its high boughs and saw men roosted in its highest branches. The moved toward its trunk and their figures vanished. Their camouflage was amazing.

She turned to him. Her eyes were wide with shock. “Can you climb?”

Climb? It was something he had never tried. The desert had little more than knee-high shrubs spread across its parched sands. Climbing was not one of Lokken’s specialties.

He shook his head.

She sighed and pulled him round to the opposite side of the tree. A dark hole bored beneath its great roots and into the cold earth. Without warning, she shoved him through the opening. “Keep quiet. If you so much as breathe too loud, it will hear.”

That was strange. It could hear breaths? What of the ruckus they had made rushing through the forest? Branches cracked under their feet, and rocks kicked up beneath them as they ran. Surely, it heard that. As far as stealth, they had none.

He simply nodded, and Ravenna vanished from sight.

He sat in silence, focused on breathing short, shallow breaths. The things beneath the roots of the great tree came to life, and insects crawled across his exposed skin as he sat. He despised things he could not see, but he dare not swat them. He felt legs. Hundreds of legs. Spiderwebs stuck to his hair as he huddled in the darkness.

The thuds of a lumbering beast rumbled in the earth as he stared out to the waking daylight. Whatever it was, was enormous. The smell grew worse. It was all he could do to not vomit. Above, the hunters perched in the trees, if it were to come upon him, at least he would be somewhat safe. They would protect him... he hoped.

His hand was slow and careful as he pulled his pistol. It was a rash move, but he would not die without injuring the thing. The click of the hammer sent a shockwave through his body. He felt his heart pounding beneath his chest, and his breathing was unsteady. The crashing grew loud as it lumbered its way through the dense forest. The cracks of tree branches and the rustling of leaves grew to a mighty crescendo. It was close. Still, the smell was ever worsening. It was close to unbearable.

He heard sniffing. He heard snarling. Water splashed as its feet crashed into the stream. He held the pistol out in front of him and his hands shook with violence. Tremors surged through his body, and his knuckles went white from the tight grip on the butt stock.

He could hear it thumping through the dense undergrowth of the trees. It was making its way around the tree. He would not be safe for long. Surely it heard his pistol.

One hoove crashed into the ground. It displaced the soil beneath it, and left a deep imprint as it continued to walk. Another, and then another, until four hooves stood in front of the opening to the tree. It looked like a massive horse, but it had no fur or skin. He could see dark, curdled blood coursing through its exposed veins. Its sinewy muscles rippled as it moved through the forest. A layer of slimy residue coated its flesh and steamed in the day's cold air.

It sniffed again. He saw it's muscles tighten and growl resonated through the hollow of the old wood.

He heard the snap of bowstrings, and the whistling of arrows in flight. It roared, and it seemed as though the trees nearby shook with fright. It reared on its hind legs, and crashed into the tree. The wood creaked from the stress, and the tree shook. He heard the crash of something outside his shelter.

Another impact, and more thuds to the cold soil. He heard the ringing of steel, and the scream of someone... a woman. It was Ravenna. She had fallen from her perch. Arrows stuck in the ground beneath the beast's hooves, and it moved about this way and that.

He could not let any harm come to them. They had saved him.

He gathered all of his will, and took a deep breath. He jumped out of the dark hole of the ancient wood, and took aim. It was enormous. Twice as tall as he. It's body was encumbered by muscles. Two large fangs jutted out of its jaws, and its eyes glowed red like boiling blood. It had no fur on its body, but long fleshy tentacles covered what he thought was its mane.

The eyes fell upon him, and clawed hands raked at him. Abbadin rolled to the right, and pulled the trigger as he leaped to his feet. The crack of the hammer against the frizzen sent sparks aflight and the bang of the pistol sent smoke spewing from the muzzle. The beast roared, and blood oozed from the bullet hole in its chest.

He drew his sabre and the beast reared once more. A hoof kicked him in his face, and he fell to the ground. The hooves slammed into the dirt, and sent leaves floating upon the air. The impact shook his bones. Arrows continued to fly, and landed all about him, some had found their marks and stuck in the thing's flesh like needles. It was not at all slowed by its injuries.

He looked up, and its claws swiped down. A blade swished by him, and the beast’s hand fell to the ground. Its roar was deafening. Ravenna, pulled him to his feet as she stood in defiance of the beast. He wiped blood from his eyes but it poured from a gash in his brow.

Men jumped from their perches in the tree, with swords at the ready. It kicked at one with its hind legs and the man was sent flying against the tree. The cracks of his bones echoed through the ruckus, and he fell lifeless to the ground. Ravenna stabbed at the beast, and the sword drove deep into its chest. It gripped her by the arm, and flung her aside. More men came upon it as it pulled the blade from its flesh, and a dark mist sprayed from the wound.

Its claws slashed at him as he dashed forward. He ducked below its swipe and spun as his sabre swished through the air. He felt the impact of the blade against bones, and blood speckled his skin as the beast crashed to the ground. Its front legs lay upon the dead leaves. It kicked violently with its hind legs as men skewered it with their own swords until its thrashing subsided.

A dark pool of thick, oozing blood wetted the soil and the smell was almost too much for him. His chest rose and sunk heavily as he wiped the blood from his eyes. Ravenna rose from the ground and wiped her blade clean. Her blue eyes fell upon him as she breathed heavily.

It had done significant damage to the group, but they survived. Whatever it was, he knew it was not the last horror he would see in the North. If they feared the sewers more than what walked the lands outside the walls of the Ecclesia, he could only imagine what awaited him within the bowels of the city.