by Lucas Hault
“Because he did not enter our land, but was brought here”.
“What do you mean?” asked Rebecca, as both the husband and the wife stared at Sir Thomas vacuosly.
“Gary Feck did not enter our land. His dead body was carried to the place by some clumsy imitator who overdid his part, trying his best to misrepresent this as an ordinary case of self-poisoning. It was simply a ruse to divert inquiry into a wrong channel”.
“You mean he was killed?” he asked.
“He was dead for more than a week. The Dorphous did not enter his body through his mouth, but was injected through his veins. His body has been examined and that’s what it says”.
“But even if his body was carried to the place, how possibly did they escape the guards? How it was that no one noticed them?” asked Elias with a touch of impatience. The more he thought of what had happened, the wilder and darker it grew.
“This is the only question I believe that veils the mystery,” he replied. “But soon shall it be unveiled and the truth will be out before everyone.” He sounded audacious and intrepid, and undoubtedly the man was filled with both.
“What about the Dorphous?” remembered Elias. “You know it’s not accessible to all”.
“I do Lord Rayne”, he replied. “The Dorphous was legally dispatched from Spion by the authority’s consent.”
“Who ordered it?” asked Elias.
It looked like most of the case was wrapped by Sir Thomas, and shortly would every question be answered. He could feel the eagerness down his chest, pinching him to come across the name of the man, who could prove to be a way to get their hands on the throat of the accused.
“It’s outlandish, and might appear improbable as well”, replied the detective.
“Who?” he asked. There was a palpable force drawing within him that could bear no more suspense.
“Simon Conred!” replied Sir Thomas. He was thunderstruck, and so was his wife, as the couple exchanged their awestruck expression. It was highly prodigious and hard to swallow.
“Are you serious?” asked Rebecca. She was in the same state of shock like her husband, striving hard to believe her ears. “The one you mention has been long dead following the Great War of Syneria”.
“I know it all, but that’s what the investigation speaks. Nothing can be concluded at the instance, but the truth will be out shortly. Sources reveal that the Dorphous was stolen midway, and the one suspected behind it is Stephen Ray of Aries. The man presently is confirmed to be in Hustlecitis”.
“He is in the Capital?” asked Elias shockingly.
“He is a pimp in the big brothel of the city, and thus stays here for most of the time. We can get him there, and then he would be the one speaking out everything”.
“And what about the torn bodies of men and animal in the forests?” asked Elias. “Are both the incidents related to one another?”
Thomas Wright shook his head at once. He sank his hand deep into the pocket of his overcoat, digging out some photographs. Elias remained still and waited, with a cluster of thoughts surrounding his mind. That incident had disturbed the whole situation, and it had to be sorted out real quick, before the matter reached the President’s ears, or to be worst, flashes before the Ministry of Human Rights in the Northern Continent. Lord Elias Rayne and his men had to work it out as early as possible in order to prevent chaos everywhere around.
“The men and the tiger had been killed the night before”, remarked Sir Thomas Wright. “We still know nothing about the attacker, except for this little clue”.
This relieved the long furrows on his forehead. A Clue! Yes, he heard it right. At least a clue would do better than knowing absolutely nothing about it. They had a chance and would do their best to make the optimum use of it. “What clue?” asked Lord Rayne impatiently.
Sir Thomas Wright moved next to him, displaying the photographs of the scene. “This was where the bodies were discovered, but look at the blood spills everywhere around and the charred grasses,” he explained pointing it out with his long fingers. The image was zoomed out, covering everything properly and clearly. “Look at the remains all around. It seems to be splattered like some sign. It looks like the symbol of…”
“A skull!” Elias cut him off midway. Thomas nodded. The spills of blood around the butchered bodies and the scorched grasses seemed to have been carefully done. It appeared like some sign or symbol, which perhaps the attacker might have purposely left it behind. It was like a skull that had a thick sword pierced through it, which bothered Rebecca who had the photograph grasped in her hand, staring at it continuously. Her lips were compressed and her brows drawn down over her eyes. It seemed like she was familiar to it, and had at some point in her life at least heard about it, but she couldn’t exactly remember it, despite her repeated attempts.
“Do you know anything about it?” asked Elias, noticing the strange look around his wife’s face.
“I can’t remember it”, she replied, giving up at it, though there still remained some lurking suspicion in her mind.
“We shall find it out shortly”, said Thomas Wright, taking back the photographs and dropping it into his pocket. He hustled on his overcoat and bustled about in a way that showed that an energetic fit had superseded him. “We can get hold of Stephen Ray in Hustlecitis and then he shall be the one answering all the questions in our head”.
“That is brilliant Sir Thomas! There is a reason for this absolute image of yours”, he complimented.
“It’s an honour to hear this from you, Lord Rayne!” replied the detective, who was as sensitive to flattery on the score of his skills as any woman could be of her beauty.
“We shall be leaving for the Capital tomorrow morning,” said Lord Elias Rayne at last.
The crackling sound of vigorously burning huts filled the entire Valley of Gilbert. The woods had all turned into dust, and the loud cries of pain and suffering had all ceased. The once existing community now lay in ashes.
The houses and properties were completely destroyed, while death toll had exceeded too high to enumerate.
“Is everyone done?” asked the commander, Steve Curzon. A high-blooded, fiery and masterful, grey-haired man of about sixty years in age, there was an acquaintance in his manners which spoke of his veteran calibre. There were pride, valour and strength in his thick brows, his sensitive nostrils and his large amber eyes. Dressed in black cargo, and space grey flak jacket flaunting his strong corpus, the man was the supreme commander in the Second army of Antonio Calaway. “The Dictator has strictly ordered to wipe each and every one of them,” he roared.
The commander along with Sir Ronald Hilton, a high official of Vegarita, had led their army to the Valley of Gilbert and, as per the command, had destroyed everything around. The commander could smell their victory, as he stood with pride, gazing at the burning houses, and the piles of bodies’ lying right behind him.
“There might be some hiding by the scene”, said one of the soldiers beside him, dressed in similar cargos, with pale grey jackets and armoured helmets.
“Finish them all,” commanded Steve Curzon and the soldiers proceeded.
“Get your hands off me you bollock!” cried Amanda Layne, pouring out her soul in a torrent of words. She tried her best to resist the man to her fullest, who forcibly pulled her all the way. A young lady in her late twenties, she had a proud, finely cut face, with rose gold hair and grey eyes. With her perfect figure and elegant dress, her charm was washed away with horror, witnessing the merciless massacre. Tears ran down her eyes, making her white glowy face wet and dull. She could hardly hold her emotions, but shivered with horror and pain.
“You are lucky that you won’t be dying tonight like the rest”, said the man, Sir Ronald Hilton, a tall and stout man exceeding fifty, with dark curly hair, and a deep narrow scar crossing his face from the right of the forehead to his left chin. Dressed in the same military attire like the rest, he was shorter than the companions beside him, who continued
shooting down the poor residents that remained.
Sir Hilton dragged Amanda by her hand, though her sobbing never stopped. She tried defending herself as much as she could but it didn’t work successfully. She couldn’t free herself from the hold, as he dragged her towards the cars, standing on the narrow road beside the site. She was in so much pain that her complexion was ashen. Her bright skin had sunken in tone to something so lifeless that its sight could scare anyone who had known her. She had no other option left, but this, as she bent her head closer, biting his hand as hard as she could. It did mutilate, sending the aching sensations over his body, following which the defenseless lady received a smack. She lay by his arm, with a face closed in a grimace that was skin pale and clammy. Her eyesight blurred, but not because tears were welling up. Everything had turned fuzzy, and then she saw absolutely nothing. Sir Hilton carried the unconscious Amanda Layne over his shoulder, moving past the piled bodies of small children that was merciless and poignant, and proceeding towards the cars where Orsino awaited him.
“Here you have the key to your reward”, said Ronald Hilton, noticing the lanky fellow smiling at him. “You owe me five, lad,” he added, dropping the senseless lady on the back seat of the vehicle. Sir Hilton seemed clever enough to have never lost his count on the favours made to the one before him. He remembered it all perfectly.
“I owe you none, Sir!” said Orsino smiling. “I have always provided you with fresh maidens for every single favour of yours”.
He smiled wickedly, recollecting something.
“I remember your last one, Maggie. She was amazing. I want that big titted beauty for the other time”.
“You got your wish”, said Orsino grinning, with a twinkle in his eyes. He locked the back door of the car, before getting on the driving seat. “See you in Hontroferry”, he said, driving away his car to the Capital.
“Dickhead”, sniggered Sir Hilton, turning his way back to the site.
It was a harsh autumn night, dark and long. The hills appeared like large pyramids of darkness, though the blazing fire draping the houses diluted the dullness covering the land. The strategy was successful and everything worked as planned. The Ramons were decimated, and their piled up bodies appeared as high as hill. The men and women—all laden upon one another. The bodies of children that had been placed separately was pushed into the blazing fire. The cries and wails had ceased, except for a handful that remained, who were properly handled by the army.
A skinny lad remained among his family, hiding by the small bushes beside the site, but was mercilessly dragged by those bloodthirsty men, and one among them blew off his head into pieces with his shotgun.
Some other men discovered a wounded child, who was perhaps below ten. The fragile creature cried in pain, as he crawled himself towards his dead mother. He sounded so grieving that it could make the angels of torment break into tears, but it had absolutely no impact on the evil. They moved closer, and one among them returned with a big stone on his hand, and he, without a moment’s thought, crushed the poor crawling figure, spilling blood everywhere around.
Some other Ramons remaining were shot down, before a group of five soldiers noticed a terrified woman hiding by the bunch of bodies. The blonde might have thought that her trick would perhaps prove fortunate, and that she may remain unnoticed, but was never aware that those demons had their eyes set everywhere. They pulled her out violently, torturing her and firing bullets in different parts of her body. She died within an instant, and her body, covered in blood and dust, was dragged all over and thrown into the flames that had begun to die.
Same was the scene on the other side of the land, where a group of twelve men shot down the poor women trying to hide behind the rocks. One of them tried to pelt stones on the soldiers, for which she was coercively pulled by her hair and thrown into the fire. Her loud cries and bawl filled the entire place, as the flesh and blood turned into ashes.
The river flowing by the valley had turned red. Pale-faced, meek-looking women; strong, laughing children; and anxious, earnest-eyed men all laid down slayed and dead. Countless lives were destroyed, and the foundation of fear and supremacy was successfully laid.
Silence reconquered the place. The locality lay in ashes. The pile of bodies appearing as high as hill marked their sign of victory. The Valley of Gilbert looked like the Valley of Dead.
“You are worth every praise!” complimented Ronald Hilton, as he approached the commander, and shook hands for their glory.
“So are our men”, he said smiling, as the two stood facing their army that had just gathered before them.
“It feels so appeasing to finally spot a piece of land following the perpetual voyage”, said Joe Rodrick. A small, slim, clean-shaven, prim-faced lad, flaxen-haired and lean-jawed, between seventeen and nineteen years of age, he was the closest friend to Sebastien Stummenford. The exhaust and fatigue look over his face had been replaced with cheerfulness and delight.
“You shall soon get used to it”, replied Sebastien.
The long harassing journey was finally about to be over, though it never bothered him. He was habituated to it, but was, anyway, thrilled to witness the end.
Sebastien looked glamorous in his red velvet shirt, worn over a pair of brown trousers, and leather boots of similar tint. The cilory tint of the wig over his head looked well and real, with its long braid reaching down his shoulders. He had a small crossed bag, which contained some of his belongings. Joe and other two companions were dressed in waistcoats and hats, impersonating the practicing traders, while the remaining four crew members were disguised as swashbucklers. There were large barrels of oil, some containing weapons, placed on the deck.
Silver Island was one of the greatest exporters of petroleum oil, which was the one and only trade that continued between the two islands; the rest were terminated long ago.
“Have you ever been to the Islands of Sinfron before?” asked Joe.
“Once”, replied Sebastien. “The relations between the two weren’t this sore then, when I made a visit with some of the high officials”.
The men had been on the voyage for more than a week, and watching their destination far at the horizon was simply pacifying, quelling the agitation and weariness that had hung over them for so long. It pleased the men, who were fed up gazing at the blue surface everywhere around. A flush of joy passed over their disguised faces, breathing relief to discover the journey’s end. Sebastien closed his eyes and drew in a lung full of the land breeze. He let the sound of gulls fill his ears which felt like God’s whisper. In his quiet contemplation he could think about love, the people he cherished and what was right in his life. They were on the Great Synerian Bay which separated the two islands.
“Can I ask you something?” began Joe involuntarily, who had the same baffling look throughout the journey. He had been enquiring about it more than a dozen times all the while, but every time was either ignored or was bid to ask about it at the end. The long exhausting voyage was almost done, and it was the perfect time to opt for it.
“Alright”, he replied, despite lacking interest in it. It seemed that he was already aware of the interrogation, but unfortunately could not escape it. There was an obstinacy in Joe’s nature which he knew quite well, and the only way to overcome it was by answering him; otherwise, the questioning would never stop no matter whatsoever was done.
“What is bothering you so much?” he asked.
“I was there when you were bidding farewell to your parents, before getting into the ship. That was where I heard you calling it to be a final expedition. And that is the only thing which bothers me”.
He sighed. “Are you aware that we are out in a crucial errand?” Joe nodded. He continued, “Stepping into an alien land, executing someone who is a foe to you but a friend to the place, and setting back heroically isn’t always expedient. It can sometimes be the opposite, leading your head in a spike”.
He was definite, unaware of the fact that his words had st
artled his friend.
“I hope you will let us all through this without any detriment!” said Joe.
“I am no God and hence I won’t be promising anything”, he remarked, gazing at the harbour getting closer every instance. The cool winds of the Islands of Sinfron kissed his face, gratifying his arrival. “I shall try my level best like always before”. He said it in a low but resolute voice, like one who realizes the greatness of the peril, but has steeled his heart to meet it. He turned to look his friend in the eyes. “Are you afraid?”
This particular thing flashed like an arrow, penetrating deep into his prestige. “Definitely I am not”, pretended Joe, though Sebastien could now read it in his eyes, clear and perfectly, which made him smile.
Joe knew the look around his enamoring face. “It’s not that I am afraid. I just don’t want to die before my marriage to Natasha. I have always liked her right from our childhood. We have always been good friends. It has been just a year when she had proposed to me, and I don’t want to die before marrying her”.
“I wish you fortune for your impending life!” expressed Sebastien. Joe smiled.
The ship approached the horizon and hit the harbour. They were finally in the Islands of Sinfron, and the men stood tall, gazing at the stretch of land consisting of beautiful monuments, and narrow streets, and the closed houses that had its roofs attached. The Islands of Sinfron was a nation comprising of two huge islands, i.e. the Eastern and the Western Islands. The two landscape were separated with the Strait of Bantham, and collectively were known as the Islands of Sinfron. The men were before the Eastern, whereas the Royal Palace laid on the Western Island. There was an attraction about the land that pulled admirers towards itself, just like a magnet towards iron. They were all lost in the surroundings; everyone but Sebastien Stummenford. He had visited the place before, and that nation though beautiful did not attract him much. His own state, the Silver Island, was the only land lovable to him.
“Be prepared,” he cried, noticing the guards boarding their ship. Their heavy ascending steps caused a vibration over the ramp, and one after the other they got over the ship.
