A March of Woe (Overthrown Book 3)

by Aaron Bunce

  The innkeeper knows. She’ll tell him that Hobart and I just arrived this night! She realized, her heart skipping a beat. Where no one before the fire necessarily noticed them enter together, save for Dylan, the old woman greeted them. She knew.

  “Down the hall…on the right,” Dylan whispered, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

  Aida chanced a glance back, just before they turned down the hall. Balin’s simmering gaze slid from the innkeeper to her, the attention unsettling her immediate.

  Dylan tugged her forward, just as her steps grew sluggish.

  “Here,” the young man hissed, groping the door for the handle, before slapping his palm hard against the wood.

  Aida turned and looked back down the hall, just as a bucket and broom rattled to the floor. Balin stepped into view, his dark form like a shadow threatening to envelop the knobby, aged innkeeper.

  The old woman greeted him, the words passing quietly between them. She is telling him! Oh, piss, run! The little voice screamed into her mind, and then Dylan was pulling her back through the open door.

  * * * *

  A flutter filled Tanea’s chest, as if butterflies filled her heart and made it beat with the flurry of their surging wings. She sputtered, coughed, and then gagged for breath, thick dust covering her mouth and throat. Julian’s heartbeat matched her own, his will stronger than ever. Something had changed.

  Oh, Goddess, is he close? Please tell me he is close!

  Julian, she thought his name, because she couldn’t say it. Darkness surrounded her, a smothering blanket she could not shed.

  Someone coughed and groaned nearby, their voice muffled and small, lost in the black. She pushed up onto an elbow and swiped at her face, grit polluting both of her eyes, tears streaming freely down her face. Every part of her body hurt all at once, the pain seemingly seeping and radiating out of every bone and joint.

  “Where…what?” She finally tried to talk, but the dust…the darkness, choked her.

  She blinked over and over, until the tears finally washed away some of the dirt. Everything was dark, then blurry, but still dark. White Lady, guide your servant, show me the path, she thought, focusing on the thread connecting her to Julian, and ultimately to her goddess.

  A solitary pinprick of light suddenly illuminated the space around her, the bright shaft coming from a crack, no, a gap in the rubble somewhere above her.

  “Blessed thanks?” she croaked. The voice she’d heard early returned, moaning softly somewhere ahead and to her right. A moment later she heard rocks clatter and shift.

  Tanea crawled forward, searching the darkness, motes of dust swirling in and out of the pillar of light. She worked her way up a pile of rubble and found the source of the light. Jagged splinters of a wide beam jutted out of the stone. It, she realized, was the reason why she hadn’t been crushed. Saying a silent prayer of thanks, Tanea started pawing at the hole, breaking the stone loose and making it bigger.

  After several moments of work, the hole was the size of her fist, her head, and finally, her shoulders. Gingerly, Tanea snaked her battered body up through the gap, the bright light stinging her eyes. She blinked away the pain, the space around her utterly unrecognizable once her eyes adjusted.

  The floor had collapsed, and taken several walls with it. She’d fallen down, the Chapterhouse basement sinking into the ground. The door she’d previously been trying to walk through hung broken and twisted far above her, now worthless and horribly out of reach.

  Tanea heard someone moan again, followed by rocks shifting, and what sounded like something being dragged. She squeezed her body the rest of the way through the hole and into the light. Her hand landed on something soft. Thick fabric. A robe.

  Tanea recoiled, a twisted, mangled hand jutting out of the rocks directly before her, the fingers bending off in different directions. But it wasn’t Father Pallum. The skin was still young and supple – not the old man’s papery, withered skin.

  She skated around the acolyte’s body, looking away an instant too late. A large, mortared block had landed on the young man’s head, smashing it, and a good portion of his chest, flat.

  A droplet on the stone caught her attention, the dark red blood the only thing in sight not covered in dust. She followed it to another, scaling down the pile of rubble and onto a relatively flat space. She scraped her slippers over the layers of thick dust, exposing cobblestones. They resembled those of the basement passages above, but appeared far older.

  Rocks shifted above, an instant before more stone started to collapse. Tanea flinched back, covering her face as the wall and a portion of the floor above it buckled and crashed to the ground in a choking plume of dust and rocks.

  Tanea was moving before the dust could settle. She spotted another drop of blood, and then another larger one, smeared into the dust. Tanea followed them toward the wall, where a pile of loose stone covered what used to be a door. She followed the bloody smear through a large, splintered hole in the wall and into the darkness beyond.

  The air in the tunnel was stuffy, dusty, and oppressively close. She worked her way forward blindly, her hands crawling out, supplanting her eyes in the gloom. Fingers slid into something wet. It felt sticky, a coppery odor stinging her nose. She’d smelled enough blood during her healing trials to recognize it even in the darkness.

  Ahead, the tunnel opened up, the gloom parting around a solitary shaft of light from a vent overhead. A pair of figures crawled away from her, leaving a dusty smear of blood behind them. Father Pallum and his understudy’s wrists were still bound with rope. Tanea pushed off from the ground and stood, her right leg shaking with the weight. She limped over to the old man and rolled him over.

  “Don’t touch me,” Father Pallum hissed, writhing upon the ground, but he was frail, injured, and with his hands still bound offered very little resistance. “Come to gloat over me, heathen? Hmmm, abomination?”

  Bloody spittle darkened the dust around the old man’s mouth as he spoke, fresh holes showing where teeth had been jarred free or broken off.

  “I don’t gloat,” Tanea said, simply. She tore a strip of fabric from her tunic and wrapped it tightly around a deep gash in the papery flesh of the old man’s leg. “I help people and heal them if I can. I don’t want to harm anyone.”

  “Spare me your righteousness. I know what you really are, abomination, and what you will ultimately bring to Denoril – lies, death, and destruction. A concealing cloud of ignorance to the true path of life.”

  Tanea took a deep breath, silently asking the white lady for the patience not to strike the foul old man, or worse, leave him there. Then she reached down and untied the ropes binding his legs together, before doing the same for the younger man. Father Pallum’s eyes betrayed his shock as he pulled his feet up to his body and sat up, rubbing the irritated flesh of his ankles.

  “Do you know where we are?” she asked, tucking a lock of flyaway hair behind her ear.

  The old priest cracked a bloody smile, “Why, we are underground.”

  Tanea tried to ignore the smug, condescending tone. “Are these tunnels connected to the pathways off the library? Is there a way out down here?”

  Father Pallum spit a wad of bloody phlegm onto the ground, before wiping his mouth on a sleeve. He held his arms out, indicating the ropes. Tanea shook her head, not shrinking away from his icy stare.

  “Do you know where we are?” she asked again, looking over to the understudy, who refused to pull his eyes from the ground.

  Father Pallum didn’t respond. Instead, he nodded at his bound wrists again.

  “So be it. I will find my own way out of here,” Tanea whispered, and roughly pulled his legs out straight and starting binding them again.

  “Wait! Wait, no!” Father Pallum cried out.

  Tanea paused, cocking her head to the side, silently indicating he should continue. The old priest glared, but this time he looked away first.

  “Yes. Yes, I know these passages. They are ancient, and run
under a good portion of the city,” he said.

  “The Old City?”

  “The…city,” the old man corrected. “Our order crafted new tunnels over the thaws, connecting them to ones under the Old City. But they are likely caved in by now. A pity your friends will never find the doorways hidden beyond the library. We hid them well.”

  Tanea grabbed the old man by the robes, pulled him up from the ground and turned him, before pushing him forward to lead. Father Pallum turned back and glared, but started down the passage, aged joints popping loudly.

  The old man hobbled out of the light, his understudy disappearing into the darkness behind him, Tanea right on their heels. The passage stretched out before them, a dark, claustrophobic space, broken sporadically by the light from small, vertical vents. A distant rumble shook the tunnel beneath her feet, mortar and dust raining down from above. They stopped as the thunder died down, another noise echoing from the bright vents.

  Tanea drifted towards the wall of the passage and lifted her ear towards the square cutout in the stone. She could feel Father Pallum hovering behind her, perhaps curious of the noise, yet unwilling to openly admit it. Voices echoed down the small shaft, the stone distorting it so badly she couldn’t distinguish who or what was talking.

  Julian, she thought hopefully. Had he made it back? Had he brought the fighting men the city needed so badly. But then the voice grew louder, as if the speaker moved directly over the vent, and her heart dropped. It wasn’t someone talking, but something…growling. The horrible, barking, snarling sounds instantly made the hair on her arms stand on end.

  “Gnarls. Filthy beasts. Filthy, just like you, abomination,” Father Pallum cursed, moving away from her to stand in the darkness.

  “Let’s go. Keep moving,” Tanea whispered, apprehensively stepping away from the vent’s light. She would make her skin like stone, to deflect the old man’s every word. She would not let him goad her into making a mistake.

  They walked into the inky darkness, only the light of the next vent down the passage visible. Tanea pushed the old man forward with her left hand, while sweeping the darkness with her right. The Chapterhouse shook above them, the ground vibrating violently.

  “You were ready to kill me…but, what if…what if you’re wrong? What if the goddess truly selected me for…?” Tanea asked.

  Father Pallum chuckled, this voice icy cold in the darkness. Tanea thought it an evil sound. They moved forward in silence for a short while, until he finally coughed, the sound ragged and unhealthy.

  “Our order is not wrong. We are the truly faithful. We’ve been given a vision of the future, and it is glorious. But we know that the path to that future is treacherous, abomination. The wolf, cloaked in her purity, will try and lure us from the path, blind us with lies, and consume us if unwary. That is why for generations we have killed the wolf’s pups, so that we might see the moon set on this age, and witness the birth of our promised and glorious sun,” Father Pallum said, his tone shifting smoothly into his well-practiced sermon voice.

  “Promised sun?” she echoed, Julian’s heartbeat spiking and flooding her with…doubt, confusion? She didn’t know what it meant, only that he felt closer than before. It felt so raw.

  Father Pallum exhaled loudly, impatiently.

  “You’ll be torn apart and eaten soon, abomination, so I will tell you. Thaws ago, our clerics unearthed an ancient script that foretold the end of the celestial gods. That J’ohaven and his child, Mani, would fade into the deep night, following the other lesser gods. And only when the moon sets on their time would we see the birth of a new age, like the rising of a sun, to bathe us in the glorious light and warmth of prosperity and power. That script also told of a wolf, wearing a pelt of the moon’s purest fur, which would thwart us. Yes…you, abomination. That is why you must die.”

  Tanea felt her skin go horribly cold, a knot twisting in her gut – the darkness around her suddenly darker, the light that much farther away. She’d never heard any of this before, but couldn’t deny the effect of the wretch old priest’s words. It was his conviction that unsettled her most.

  They fumbled by another vent, a raucous noise filtering down like rain from above. Tanea flinched, expecting one of the beasts to claw or reach out and grab her from the darkness or the square vents in the stone.

  “The chapterhouse has fallen. Good. I’m sure the men that killed for you are already dead. The beasts are making up for my failure,” Father Pallum said, quietly, his understudy sniffling in the darkness ahead.

  “When they find us, do you think they will just kill me? You will die, too,” Tanea responded, her anger flaring. She knew what he was trying to do. He was baiting her, trying to get her angry and emotional, so she would make a mistake.

  “We all die, abomination. I am an old man, and have lived a faithful life. If I die in service to the glorious coming, then I die a worthy and honored death.”

  “You are a traitor to the faith. You will die a liar and a murderer, and be found false before our goddess. She will bind you in the darkness, to slowly whither and rot, reliving every foul deed you’ve ever done,” she spat, wanting nothing more than to pick up a rock and strike him.

  Father Pallum chuckled, but before he could speak aloud an angry rumble reverberated through the stone passage around them. Rock screeched and groaned as mortar broke loose and rained down around them. The passage went quiet, a heartbeat before a tearing noise filled the space. Father Pallum fell into her, knocking her to the ground as the ceiling above started to collapse. The elder priest’s understudy cried out, but his voice was abruptly cut off as a deluge of rock, dust, and light consumed him.

  Tanea pushed to her feet, her legs wobbling as she pulled the old man up with her. The ground shook so hard they almost fell again, just as the ceiling shifted and fell, a crushing flap of timbers and stone landing where she’d just stood.

  They scrambled over the pile of loose rubble, the light from above now so bright it stung her eyes. Father Pallum grunted and hissed, fumbling over the twisted and mangled limbs of his understudy protruding from the rubble.

  Tanea rubbed her eyes, willing them to adjust to the light. The ceiling had collapsed, exposing a nondescript hallway of the chapterhouse’s cellar. The walls were sheer, leaving them no way to climb out. Her eyes darted back to the darkness of the tunnel before them, the passage now half obscured by the cave-in.

  “Which way is out?” she asked, desperately.

  Father Pallum turned, his legs wobbling as he looked back, forward, and up at the large rend in the ceiling.

  “Which way?” she asked again, more urgently.

  “I…” he started to say, but she grabbed ahold of his robes and pushed him forward violently. Voices. She’d heard voices above. Nasty, growling, voices.

  Tanea shoved the old man down the pile of rubble, the clatter reverberating loudly in the confined space. She slipped, fell, and turned. Faces hovered in the light of the floor above. The beasts, their faces matted with dust and dark fluid sniffed the air.

  “Mani, protect me!” Tanea gasped, gulping down a panicked breath.

  A raspy howl split the dusty air. A pregnant moment later something heavy dropped to the ground, followed by another, and another. She could smell the beast’s musk, their snorting and gurgling breaths echoing off the stone, seemingly all around her.

  Tanea shoved the old priest forward into the darkness, and ran.

  Chapter Twelve

  Friend Or Foe

  The man’s body hurt Luca – his taught muscles, armor, and even his clothing. It all felt hard and unyielding, putting uncomfortable pressure on every sore part of him all at ounce. But there was nothing for him to do.

  Part of him longed for the soft and loving embrace of the water, despite its dark and suffocating nature. He remembered who he was, his memories sporadically jabbing into his mind, accompanied by new tweaks and pains in his body. And yet, the more he remembered, the more he wished that he could forget.
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  Robert and Damon, his father’s friends. Dead. Hunter, his older brother. Dead. Eisa…she was likely dead as well. Now Emma and Cassendyra were gone. Luca didn’t understand any of it, his mind strangled by pain.

  Altair and his dalan guard left the small building they had sheltered in and made their way towards the sun. He struggled to keep his head up, the pain creeping up his back and into his neck growing until it felt like someone was standing on his head. Eventually, he gave up and laid his head on one of the guard’s shoulder. The strange figure didn’t seem to mind, if he noticed.

  The sweeping hills and open, jagged bluffs quickly gave way to thick forest. The trees were small at first, but quickly grew in frequency and size, until they loomed high overhead, their trunks like the stems of colossal giants. Altair led their group in silence, the dirt and bark crunching softly underfoot, the path narrowing until the foliage closed in like walls all around them.

  Strange lanterns appeared, casting a gentle glow through the shadows. The strange constructs grew from the ground like a tree, but possessed no branches or bark. They curved high overhead, their grainy skin splitting into what looked like a dozen knobby fingers, all bent to support a brightly shining stone. Luca wanted to reach out and touch one, but the fear of pain kept his arms tight to his body.

  After walking for a short time, the forest thinned out around them, the path splitting off into a tangle of side paths. Luca closed his eyes as another memory stabbed into his mind, his right leg throbbing horribly in reply. A strange form moved amidst the shadows of his thoughts. He bit his lip, fighting the urge to cry out as the beast moved into the light, its pale skin, bulbous eyes, and multitude of limbs a truly horrific sight.

  When he opened his eyes again, the forest had changed. Buildings sprouted up between the trees, some even sprouting out of the larger trees. Flowing stone and rounded buttresses merged with wood, until Luca couldn’t discern where one ended and the other began. Ornamental glass bulbs covered the fantastic structures, glowing like fireflies in the forest’s heavy shade.