Heresy: The Book of Mammon

Chapter 26

Chapter 26



The sun beat down upon Melchiah as he walked the barren streets of the city of Kabir. The parched lands lay desolate and empty around the battered buildings. Stones and rubble encumbered the dusty roads that weaved between the structures, and smoke still lingered in the hot air. The dead lay upon the ground in twisted, knotted clusters. Flies consumed what little remained of their sun-baked flesh, but the smell still remained. It was like walking through the plague all over again.

Shadows cast long, sharp darkness over the streets. What little shelter there was against the onslaught of the desert sun was stained with the blood of the dead. It was a slaughter like none he’d ever seen. If there were any survivors at all, they most certainly did not remain in this dying world.

Buzzards circled above in the cloudless sky. All about him, their droppings stained the once magnificent beauty of this city. White and black speckles dried upon the hot stones and the dead bodies. Wells and fountains were filled with whirling filth and blood.

It was all he could do to not leave, but he couldn’t. The Exarch requested that he search for survivors, and that is what he would do. Still, seeing this was beyond surprise. The other cities he’d searched were nothing like this. Though they were little more than hovels that stood in the unrelenting sands, there were no corpses like this. The northern borders of Lokken were little more than empty wasteland, abandoned, and forgotten. This was different.

He saw no signs of battle here. There were no weapons, or tracks from an attacking army; only the dead. This was not a battle, it was a massacre. These people had no chance of defending themselves. No walls stood against attack, and from what he could see, no soldiers dwelled to defend. These people were nothing more than civilians.

Hashim lied to them. The cities had not fallen in defense, they were simply obliterated. Still, the tales of the dead were all he knew. No corpse had a gunshot wound, slice, or anything to assume they were attacked. These people died of something else, and whatever it was, they did not expect it. It was as though they all simply fell dead to the scorching ground. What happened here? The dead did not speak but they left him valuable information. There was more to Ecclesia than swords and guns. Something far more powerful was held in their arsenal, and he could only imagine what it was.

Something urged him to not continue. He could not place the feeling, but it implored him to leave this place. His muscles twitched and his blood surged. Whatever it was, was still here. His hairs stood on end and his feet were like lead, but he pushed himself forward.

He felt the smooth wood of the butt stock of his pistol. It felt reassuring under the circumstances, though he doubted that one shot would defend him against what had happened here. Shadows loomed over him like colossal black statues. The still darkness beneath the sun was chilling to the bone. He felt as though he were stepping through the flames, into the cold snow.

Buzzards fluttered away in the distance. Clouds of dust rose from the silent road that lay before him, and the shadows darkened ever more. The pitter patter of bare feet on stone whispered in the silent heat, and ragged breaths echoed between the buildings.

He drew his pistol and took aim. His eyes focused on the dark figure that ran toward him. Behind the bright veil of the harsh sun, a hobbled man ran at him at full sprint. His ragged, torn clothes whipped and tore as he sped through the sea of death. Dark, brown skin shined in the light, and beads of sweat glistened.

He cocked the hammer of the pistol as the man continued to sprint. “Hold or be fired upon!” His voice echoed in the streets of death, and returned his voice a hundred times. Buzzards flew away at his call, and the man slowed his sprint to a slow walk before collapsing onto the burning stone before him.
Sharp, ragged breaths escaped his lips and his chest rose and fell in quaking violence. His eyes were wide and bloodshot as he stared up at the fiery sun. Urine stained his torn linen pants and sent its burning aroma into the hot air. Melchiah shielded his nose in vain effort to ward away the new stench, and he dropped to a knee.

The man shivered as though he were freezing to death. Dark spots dotted his skin and lips like blackened, burnt flesh. Crimson streams poured from the corners of his eyes and mouth and bloodstains cascaded down his shirt as though he’d stepped through a scarlet mist.

“What happened here?” He loosed the hammer of his pistol and returned it to its banyan.

“Darkness.” His voice murmured through shaky breaths. His eyes darted about the towering buildings and came to rest on the dark shadows that stabbed through the light.

“What do you mean?” He pulled the skin of water that dangled from a string, over his shoulders.

“Darkness came to us.” His hands raked at the leather skin as he held it to him. He tipped it to his lips and choked between draughts.

Melchiah held the man’s head up as he drank. His skin was as ice, but sweat streamed down his flesh.

“The shadows came to life.” His eyes darted again back and forth. “They slid across the ground, and rose up like a sandstorm.” He covered his face and jolted as the shadow of a buzzard crossed over.

It was difficult to imagine such illusions. He was clearly deranged.

“They came into our mouths and eyes and the darkness swallowed us.” Tears rolled down his cheek as he spoke. They did not shine in the sunlight, but rather they were dull like mud-stained water. Streaks of black trailed behind them. “They all be dead!”

He scanned the twisted mass of death that littered the streets of the city. Their flesh seemed far too dark to be normal. Those that lay in the shadows were far darker, as if blackness consumed their skin. Was it possible? The sense of danger burned in the back of his mind as he walked. He recalled how cold it was beneath the shadows of the buildings, like winter wrapped around him as he walked. Something dwelled within the darkness.

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The sun slid itself slowly across the sky as it always did. As it moved, the shadows shifted with it. They stretched far across the streets, and try as he might, the man would not move. The white within his eyes were no more. Black voids took their place, and the dark spots on his skin grew ever larger. Hair slowly melted from brown to black as he lay upon the scorching earth. Darkness was taking him.

All about him, the piled corpses slowly melted away into the shadows like ice over fire. Black liquid oozed from their flesh and fell upon the burning sands. As it dripped, shadows grew from their spots. The darkness that stained the ground swelled as the dead vanished to nothing.

“Leave this place!” The man gripped his arm like the jaws of death itself. His cold grip sent ice surging through his veins. Black swelled upon his arm where the man held him, and he pulled away. “Do not stay in the shadows or they will consume you!”

The air grew cold as he rose from his spot on the ground. All about, the world faded to hazy twilight. Dark vapors rose from the liquid shadow that oozed onto the sands from the dead.

“The sands of time be swallowing this land.” His voice was ragged and weak as the last of his flesh was taken by the dark. His eyes shut, and flies poured from his mouth. They did not buzz away in the air, but rather covered his body like a living blanket.

Gusts of icy wind blew at him, and ripped at his clothing as he spun on his heels. Upon the wind, hushed voices whispered in his ears like chilled daggers. They were like jagged, rusty razors in his ears, but he could not make out the words.

Dark, hazy mist veiled the sun as it hung above him to the west, and the world grew ever darker. Flashes of darkness ripped past as he ran at full sprint away from it all. Shadows rose from the ground, and formed hands and claws. They grabbed at his legs and arms with their cloudy forms, and waves of ice flowed through his flesh.

He saw eyes, teeth, and claws. The came upon him like a storm. It was as the man said, a sandstorm of shadow. The whispers rose to a crescendo of madness as dark figures rose from the black sands. Shadows slid across the ground toward him, and he jumped away in zigzagging patterns. They moved with speed he’d never seen before, like falcons flying through the air. They sliced through the ground like blades, and as they moved, sand spewed like geysers behind them in their wake.

Before him, he saw a dark wall that was there but not. It looked as though it were a wall of black mist. Beyond, sun burned against sand dunes in bright light. He ran hard and fast as his legs would carry him. His muscles burned and his fingers were numb from the cold. All about him, the dead rose from their black pools like figures of liquid clay. They shouted and cried in high pitched agony and pierced his ears.

Darkness swirled all about him in smoky vapors, shifting the sands in front of him like whirlpools. Still the world grew ever darker within the wall of black. It was close. So close. Hands ripped and tore at his flesh and jaws snapped at him as he ran. Clouds of black blanketed the ground and rose in wavelike motion as he ran. Spikes of darkness closed in on him, stabbing at his mouth and eyes.

So close. The ground beneath his feet shook with violent tremors as the earth split open. Sand fell into the void as it tore before and behind him. The jaws of the earth were swallowing this place. The darkness swirled around him, and he dove forward through the wall of black and back into the sunlight.
Sand burst through the earth behind him like flames as he rolled to a grinding stop in the burning sands. He turned and looked on as the black swallowed the city. Faces of what he could only imagine, were the dead churned and spun in the twisting shadows behind the veil. Muffled cries of terror and pain screamed beneath the dark shroud and echoed in his ears. He had just tasted death.

Wisps of dark smoke shifted and whirled together and dark figures shot toward the wall of darkness. They thinned and spread against the barrier as they crashed into it. Whatever was happening, was far beyond what he could ever imagine. Ecclesia had far more power than anyone could think. Before him, the realm of the dead swelled and churned in the harsh desert sands.

The cold lingered in his flesh as the sun burned his pale skin. Dark spots dripped away from him like liquid shadows and spilled into the sands. Shadows swelled where the spots lay, and he stepped away. Slowly, darkness was taking this place.

He turned away from it, and made his way through the shifting sands. He hoped that his horse was where he left it. The cold melted away as he walked. Sweat dripped from his brow and burned his eyes. Behind him, the cries of the dead still screamed. Whatever was happening, he knew that eventually it would come to Veruna.

How could they stop such power? How could one combat shadow? He turned back to look upon the darkness once more. It swelled across the sands slowly, but it still grew. Whatever it was, it was coming.