CAEDES DAMNATORUM ATARAXIA
Agonizing death rasped run through the crimson sands of the desert Caedes, third world of the so called ‘grave cluster.’ The surface of the desert world is unlike sand anywhere else in the known cosmos. At the furthest edge of the Quad is the home of Caedes. Warped, twisted sands – if stories are to be believed – seep from a cavernous pit that not even the bravest astronomer, druid, or mech-mage may hope to grasp. These winds have spread across the planet’s surface like a disease, tarnishing everything they touch.
The dark outcrops I could see over the horizon were mountains, which cut angrily through the red sand like shattered bone through bloodied flesh. But not all of these are mountains; instead, they are a graveyard of fallen stars; asteroids half buried in the blood red sand. Tormented souls, twisted spirits, and ancient creatures have crept in from Netherspace, the dark realm between dimensions. Their carnal hauntings are angered by all the gods of civilized realms who prefer light, order and knowledge. But on Caedes, those gods are now dead, traveling along the warped winds as nothing but forgotten memory. In their place live the Damnatorum: decrepit, vile daemons left homeless, exorcised or banished from their own lands, realties, or ancient hells.
It was noon on the third day, if I remember rightly. Yes, it was the third day of Vernal when I came from that infuriating cactus forest in which the Brethren Ataraxia had left me. That’s when I first saw the crimson sands of Caedes. Like I said, it was Vernal – but spring was long gone in that nerve bending wood. I saw no signs of spring; nothing like the warm springs of Quietum Cor, my home. Instead, all signs were gripped by the rotting, vein-like vines and gnarled, sometimes carnivorous growths that I had battled through. It was like no forest I had ever seen or wish to see again in my lifetime, as the growths looked like deformed hell spawn.
The world’s pungent air was touched with decay. A strange, almost intelligent, acrid fungus cooked and boiled the surface, killing off all but the cruelest of vegetation. Violet, three-eyed vipers – or what looked like vipers – watched me from their homes in the gnarled growths. Those creatures had gotten under my skin since daybreak and, on top of the unease they brought, I swear some of the fungi considered me lunch. Large teal tendrils and barbs of dripping ashen venom danced in the faint breeze, almost as if they were taunting me into their grasp. What I hoped would be my one salvation of water was also taken from me by this infernal hell, as something I dare not think about seemed to move in the shallow pool. I felt lost, and it was then I grew to know the hatred my recent acts had caused within the Ataraxia and to wonder if this was their penalty for my actions.
There is no point going into what I did, which led me to this unearthly hell; far from my family and homeland, into the clutches of those blasted brethren loons who claim to serve Malusstilio, the venomous, three-headed spider god. These and the legalities of my arrest are too painful to record in this tale. But, more than anything, I hope to forget that three walled cell – the fourth wall a sheer drop, where ivory white husks crawl and climb towards me, hoping to feed on the last morsels of my sanity.
But after taking me to the verge of madness, my captors lashed me to a huge, insect-like beast that I couldn’t even begin to describe. There I sat for hours, until I was flung to the ground, landing badly on my wrist. Now I had only my wits to keep about me as I stood at the foot of that wretched forest. Brother Mendax told me my punishment had been paid in full and the spider god had forgiven my trespasses, as they called them. Mendax went on to tell me that through the forest was my freedom, and a little further still would be a vessel to take me home. In a bag, they gave me a spoiled loaf, wrapped in hide, and a water skin by way of my rations. It was that afternoon I came to the desert of Caedes.
So far, I had not thought of turning back, for the pure evil of that forest scared me. I took a moment to remember the horrid tales of this land I had found myself in. Caedes is a place where no one goes willingly and especially not without blood curdling fear. Fewer still have returned and those few mortals who do babble manically about unknown horrors. It is said the end result of some of those horrors spoken aloud wither limbs and break souls, until every inch of their being is snuffed out and they join the haunting desert wind. So, thinking about all those terrors, I took my first pained step onto the crimson sands. I was terrified to go back and uneasy about going forward, knowing what would happen if the brethren saw me again; probably torture – or worse – at the hands of the dreaded Brother Dolor. So I went forward with cautious steps. It was then that I saw the horrid forked tail of a dune centipede, bigger in length than an adult male. I stepped on its claw without realizing, a vile crunch underfoot alerting me to this fact, and then a stench that could kill filled my nostrils, turning my stomach.
The creature withdrew sharply and I ploughed on again, hearing it follow me but ignoring it as much as possible. Before me, crimson dunes stretched as far as the eye could see and then, after a moment, I could see the mountains that I described earlier. In between the desert and mountains were seas of grey desolation and treeless hills, like the humped back of a gigantic monster. But I kept going. All around me were pits and potholes, where meteors had sunk from sight eons ago. At least, that was what I hoped and told myself caused the holes. I could see bones as tall as two men arching out of the ground, as if framing the horrors around me. Amongst the prehistoric bones, flying reptiles that the Order called Sanctus’s swooped and hunted for any dead soul that tried to escape the warped winds. On occasion, an undead wail echoed in the wind as yet another creature was caught and eaten; a perished soul. As I carried on, I saw a ghostly city of amazing size, mortified by this planet and now nothing more than a crypt.
I dragged myself with all my might over vast mounds of skeletal debris, walking past the twisted ruins of what was once a temple of what now must be a fallen god mourning the loss of its people in this forsaken hell. Other than the wind, it was deathly quiet and I started to feel at ease in the silence, though it was shortly broken by the sadistic laughter of hyenas gnawing at the carcass of one of their young.
On top of an almighty ridge, I saw the water of some strange lake; deep, dark and green as malachite, surrounded by spires of yellowing salt, as if they were fangs of some demented ancient beast. These waters were below me. It didn’t take me long to realize they were the last dregs of an ancient sea. Making my way down a steep slope, I washed my hands in the green waters in hope of mild relief from the heat. Suddenly and painfully, I stopped as the water began to burn my skin and hit me with me periods of hallucination. Quickly, I plunged my hands into the sand; the sand that had almost become a haunting friend on this journey. It was time to take stock and rest. Hunger reminded me I was human and I had to eat part of my limited rations.
It was my intention and plan to carry on, if my body could take it, and reach some part of North Caedes and, I hoped, my way home. These lands are barren and empty, apart from the scattered tribes of mutates that nomadically live in the north. I would survive if I could find one of these tribes. Well, that was what I hoped anyway. The pitiful meal helped only a little, but I felt almost full for the first time since I was imprisoned with the Brethren. The meal gave my soul a glimmer of hope. These damn centipedes had also stopped their hunt of me, something that helped a great deal.
As I walked, I stupidly began to think that the horror stories of this place were just that; stories. It was then that I heard it; the sound of a nightmare manifest, on a treeless hill above me. The shrill cry cut through me sharp as a blade through flesh and continued, never faltering on a single note. Could it be a daemon of myth?
I turned in time to see a cave mouth melt out of the sand. It was dark and unwelcoming, stalactites making it more menacing, and the shrill sound was coming from the cave’s depths. Curiosity froze me to the spot as I looked into the cave’s dark void. The cry grew louder now, though I still couldn’t see its owner, and then as my heart skipped a beat when I finally saw it briefly in the darkness. Then,
faster than an arrow, it darted out at a fast speed.
The creature was large, with an armored shell and the head of a ram, and its four legs were more like that of a crustacean, enabling it to move with its inhuman speed. My eyes locked onto the creature’s three spiked tails, all of which lashed across the ground with the sound of thunder and caused chills to run up my spine.
The hellish creature ran past me directly to the water’s edge and it was then I noticed it was blind; its eyes had been burned or ripped out by something bigger, while two knife-like ears rose from its ram’s head, high into the air. The creature’s mouth opened, letting out its shrill cry, and then it drank from the acidic water and, when satisfied, it turned. To my sheer horror, it seemed to sense me!
I watched as its ears scanned the air, searching for the sound of its next meal. Me! I didn’t know if it was going to attack or not, but I still used the last reserves of my strength to run for refuge behind the massive boulders and great salt towers that ran along the lake shore.
I was so exhausted my heart felt as though it was going to explode under the stress. I stopped at last, thankful I had not been chased, and rested in the shade of an enormous skull of some long dead titan. But my refuge didn’t last long, for no sooner had I caught my breath than the second fateful encounter gripped my being, forcing me to believe all of the horrid legends I’d heard and witness the last grains of my courage and sanity die. It rocked me more than the sharp cry. As I began to get to my feet, something grasped my ankle from under the crimson salt and sand. Then I heard a woman’s cry. It was a voice I couldn’t forget, one forever imprinted on my heart. My dear wife, Spem - which means hope on my planet.
As I turned, the grains of sand and salt morphed into the face of my beloved wife, who looked like she was in agony. She was naked, white perfection, her topaz eyes looking deep into me, but she was buried in sand to her navel, as if she had been made part of this cruel hell. Her eyes screamed for me to save her; her mouth moved silently, mouthing words I heard echo in my head:
“Dolet dilecte adesto me dolore non possum, quaeso, viri, miserere.”
(“It hurts, my beloved, please help me, I can’t take the pain, please, husband, have mercy…”)
From out of the sand came another hand, as if held out for mercy and rescue, begging to be pulled from the sand and freed. What could Spem have done for the Brethren to have sent her here? Was it just for the sick, perverted amusement of Malusstilio? She was innocent; a pure light in a dark system! I grasped her hand hard, forgetting the cruelest of tricks this planet pulls. All I cared about was saving my life mate. But as I did, her voice entered my mind a second time, now like a surgeon’s scalpel:
“Tibi mentiti sunt mihi,Tu me kiled,...Quid? Quid fecitibi? Ad mortem te Medicus... Vale virum. Inveniet I in Netherspace.”
(“You lied to me, you’ve killed me…why? What did I ever do to you? I will never forgive you, Medicus… goodbye, husband. See you in the Netherspace.”)
Watching her features painfully contort in agony, I couldn’t take it. Had I killed my dear Spem? I howled in anger at the planet’s two visible dark moons. In my grieved state, I felt another small hand but I dared not look. Instead, I turned and ran. But again, I heard another voice from my life before this place; that of Flos, my little daughter; a child of pure joy, only five solar seasons old. Like I said, this time I did not turn to see her, as I knew I couldn’t bear to lose her like I did my wife. I ran, but couldn’t help hear her young plea:
“Salvum me fac, magis, Ego sum in dolore, placeo, magis...”
(“Save me, papa, it hurts, please, papa…”)
As I ran up the long slope, the pleas of Flos echoed in my mind again and again, as if slamming a door; the voice breaking me down blow by blow; her young voice haunting me in a way no father would ever want to hear. Stumbling up the slope with as much speed as I could muster, I tripped over boulders of onyx and sharp ledges that cut deeply into my legs. I ran over deadly shale like a man who tries in vain to outrun a nightmare, clutching and clawing to escape.
While running for my life, I saw a singular shadow that began to menacingly run in step with me. This blasted shadow was a Flos-shaped torment which ran in front of me, then turned to stop suddenly. The shadow’s head morphed from that of my young child to that of an elongated, bat-like being, and then the body followed suit. My heart was beating in panic and my limbs were shaking madly, but the terror gave me a new kind of fire; a fire I used to reach the hilltop before I dared to look back again.
But still, the blasted shadow beast kept pace with me. That was when I caught its stench in the breeze; that of metallic blood and decomposition.
I ran for what felt like miles, while the red sun started to duck behind the black mountains to the west. But the shadow seemed to herd me in a direction of its own desire, keeping the same distance from me as I fled. It must have been close to sunset when I found myself in a circle of small ochre pillars that slowly emerged from the ground, almost pristine amongst the ancient ruins. Was someone looking out for me? Or was this just another of this planet’s cruel jabs? I didn’t know.
As I cautiously passed these pillars, I heard something stir, then whimper like the growl of a jungle cat; something between rage and fear. It was only then I noticed my hunter had not followed me inside this circle of etched stone. I moved to one, tracing my fingers over the ancient etchings, waiting there to be sure; hoping these pillars were a real haven. My dark predator would not enter, trying several times in painful protest, before solidifying and crumbling to dust with a gut-wrenching howl as the sun went down. It seemed to be dead, but I couldn’t be completely sure.
Half an hour later, I still didn’t dare move or leave my sanctuary. Then the beginnings of night and realizations of possible new horrors pushed me on, as far as I could, to the north. For I was in the very heart of Caedes, where daemons or worse may dwell and would probably laugh at this minor obstacle of my pillared safety. As I pushed on, the planet’s bluish moonlight altered the horizon lines; almost as if the planet had molded or changed shape somehow to suit the night time. Nearing what I thought to be the new horizon, I sank into a fog of dust and haze, mixed with an evil intent that seemed to beat in time with the heartbeat of Caedes; evil vapors coiling skyward in large spirals from black gulfs, lying just out of reach of the world’s rim. In that light, the Caedes wastes and rounded mountains were drenched in a dark scarlet curtain.
Then suddenly, out of the north, where all the shadows seemed to muster, there came what I thought to be a curious shrouded figure. As the strange figure approached me, the shroud melted away to reveal a tall man fully clothed in ancient chain mail. At least, I thought it was a man; grey smoke seemed to be the only thing holding the being together.
As the figure moved towards me, clanking dismally with each shadowy step, I noticed that its helmet was of brass etched with carnal runes of some sort, each with its own strange glow. Two horns arched from the helm and framed two blazing, fiery eyes. I say that it had a head, for there was a lot of smoke and it was dark and hard to make out at times and from a distance. But as it came closer, I realized, to my sheer terror, it was one of the Damnatorum. My heart stopped at the same time as this hell born apparition did, staring at me; faceless, except for its eyes. Then the vile Damnatorum told me his name was Exilium – or exile, to my tongue. It was to be my judge in this life and the Brethren’s vessel to the next.
Before I had time to state my defense, it moved through me, causing everything in me to shudder and scream in otherworldly pain; as if I’d been ripped from every spiritual plane. Pure fear rocked me as it clanked through and past me. That was when I saw it as I screamed in vain at the sight. In its metallic gauntlet was my very spirit: pale green, with a look of eternal slumber. Then I realized I was gone. I was a husk of my former self; I had been devoured by this eons old monster. Then it vanished and I fell to my knees, now just a shell of my former self.
It was then th
at I realized then the sheer malevolence of the Brethren’s plan. I had died spiritually; my very soul was now part of the crimson sands. Then, on my knees, I saw it. It came upon me fast; as the blue moonlight faded, there approached a second monstrous apparition: a second of the Damnatorum, making the ground recoil with every incredible step. It loomed over me and stopped in the blue twilight – the monstrous nightmare of a dark, ancient king, still crowned with untarnished gold. But it seemed to lock onto me and my gaze, now just a memory in time, had begun to waste away. It seemed to look into the very heart of me, as if the creature had known me all my life. A battered cloak flapped around its skeletal legs and, above the gold crown set with sapphires, a black something swayed and nodded horribly, but only for an instant. I couldn’t have dreamed of what it was.
Suddenly – in the middle of the oddity – two oblique, scarlet eyes opened like hellish coals, and two great fangs glittered in a warped, ape-like mouth. Its shapeless neck of black leaned down, as if it had a twisted spine, and rasped in the dead king’s ear.
“Venit tempus, Iudicium. Sibi eum.”
(“The time has come, judgement. Claim him.”)
Then, with one great stride, this titanic undead monarch covered half the distance between us. From the folds of the tattered cloak, a gaunt arm arose and fleshless, talon-like fingers laden with gems grasped my throat, gripping tighter and tighter…draining the life out of me. I tried to struggle and claw for freedom from those claw-like fingers, but it was all in vain. An otherworldly cold started to take me over, my lungs collapsing and my heartbeat slowing to nothing but a deathly rattle, it was there I continued to die as the planet took me; mind, body and soul, making me just another ghost of these endless crimson sands.
Ghostly Writes Anthology 2016 Page 8
