The Scars of Saints

by Unknown

  A crack of thunder roared over his head, the sky lighting up wondrously.

  Reaching the pub’s doorway, Rian discreetly wandered in, his shoulders hunched, his face and neck smeared with blood and rainwater. Inside, the establishment was empty. Stools lay toppled on their side, half empty glasses of beer donned the tabletops, and plates with piles of half eaten food decorated the bar. A single candle burned beside a tall glass whisky bottle. Along a wall, hundreds of weapons rested; spears, axes, bows, maces and halberds, all appearing as though they had been left while occupants drank. The weapons looked similar to the ones he had found in the forest. Left by the hunters murdered by the harpies.

  “Hello?” Rian called. The creaking wooden sign out front, swaying in the wind was his only response.

  Turning a full circle, he called out again.

  “Hello? Is anyone here?”

  Noticing leu coins piled on the bar, Rian cupped his hand and shovelled them into his pocket, before offering one more look around.

  “Hello, anyone at all?”

  Departing the pub, he found himself in the main square. The darting rain made visibility low. Off to his left, a single cow fed on a patch of withered grass, not bothered by Rian’s appearance nor the heavy downpour. All around him, quaint gravel roads lined with trees, sparse of any activity. Rian tipped his head in a state of perplexity.

  The village was completely empty.

  Swearing loudly, Rian clasped his fists and did his best to contain his rage. The dense rain overpowered his fury, and he bent over, hands clasped on his knees as the rain dripped from his body.

  He pictured his father, beaten, bloody and desperate.

  He raced back to the pub, and lifted one of the crossbows over his shoulder. He then helped himself to two knives and a mace. He splashed his face with cool water from the pub’s sink, and helped himself to a lager that sat unattended.

  He had an overwhelming desire to help Sully, which meant he needed to go into the church. This was something he didn’t want to do. But she needed him, and he needed her.

  Fighting back exhaustion, he turned back towards the way he came, trotting along the empty cobbled streets, past carts of fresh fruit and woven frocks and hats. Approaching the bend in the road leading to the church, his father’s words clouded his mind.

  You promise me you will never go into a false temple controlled by the otravă faith!

  He needed a plan. He couldn’t just walk into the church. He needed a reason. His father’s words plagued his thoughts once again. The ‘otravă faith’ - his father’s unique way of referencing his detest for Aevum. The old villages of Transylvania would farm rare venom otravă from snakes, then used in hunting wildlife which threatened local villagers prosperity. His father had never been fearful of anything. But he feared Aevum– so much so that he and his comrades had labelled it the otravă faith. Venomous and lethal.

  What was his plan? What was he going to do? Was he going to kill them all? They were just women and children, he couldn’t kill them. He wasn’t a murderer - and it wasn’t their fault. The serum had been injected into them, they weren’t themselves. No, he would only focus on the true followers, the Aevum faith mongers who inject the needy with poison and lies.

  Without realising, and lost in his thoughts, Rian had reached the sealed doorway to the old church. He placed a hand on the crippled old door, leaning close to listen. Pressing his ear against the cold wood, he closed his eyes. He could fell his heart racing, his heavy breathing reducing any chance he had of eavesdropping. He held his breath; once again an attempt to calm himself. The barren church doors secreted an unpleasant stale odour, a cross between wet wood and rust. A lone screech of a white-tailed kite cut the silence, and after realising he couldn’t hear anything, he decided there was only one course of action. He had to go in.

  Cursing to himself, he clenched his jaw, punching the air in frustration. He was going to give Sully a serving when he found her – but there was no denying he was fearful for her wellbeing. A part of him toyed with the idea that was her plan. Maybe this was all a ruse for attention – that’s the kind of thing she was prone to.

  Within seconds, he picked the lock, and pressed against the door. It creaked open with gentle ease.

  CHAPTER 15.

  Cervis fell to the floor, his face landing in a pile of stagnant, green water. The splash was soft, his face colliding with the floor almost immediately. Phillipe had yanked him free from his prison, his skinny arms tugging angrily onto Cervis’ underarms. He had been stuck in the crevice for only a few moments, but it had been enough to turn Cervis red with terror, claustrophobia taking hold, and he threatened to faint. Now freed, he now wore a giant gash along his left torso, his clothing torn in a v-shape. He shook terribly, cradling himself like a new born.

  “Up,” Phillipe said, jabbing Cervis with his foot, “up now, you must hold the torch.”

  The rancid water around them blasted the room with an offensive smell. Their surroundings unfamiliar, Phillipe had predicted they were now within a similar cellar to the previous room, yet devoid of any furniture. Phillipe turned his head, noticing bunches and bunches of old, dead flowers lining the walls, held fast by candle wax. He drew a breath, his eyes widening.

  “Incredible,” he muttered to himself, “just extraordinary.” He touched them gently, small brown debris raining from them as he did, landing in the ankle-high slush at their feet, “Osha flower.”

  Cervis rose to his feet, holding Phillipe’s arm as steadfast. The left side of his body was soaked.

  “My arm,” he complained, gazing down at his injury.

  “Come,” urged Phillipe, turning, “we must continue.” He reached out, collecting one of the fragile brown flowers, and lit it on fire, “Cervis, please, collect the rest of the Osha’s.”

  Cervis did as he was asked, gathering them into a large bunch. He turned to quickly gaze at the hole that had trapped him, warily.

  Swiftly noticing Phillipe had made his way down a small corridor, Cervis was quick to follow, his footsteps clomping in the water. Lowering his head to fit through the entry, he called to Phillipe, “where are we going?”

  Phillipe didn’t respond, instead increasing his pace down the hall. He seemed excited, almost giddy.

  “The walls,” Phillipe called, “do you see? Do you?”

  Indents lined along the stone wall held stone artefacts, mainly pots. Nails, beads and pins were beside them, scattered around with no obvious pattern. Above them, long, straight tree branches stuck to the wall, seemingly applied with great intricacy.

  “Something was here,” Phillipe said, turning to Cervis, “I knew it.”

  “Who?”

  “Oh, not who,” Phillipe said, “you mean what.”

  Reaching the end of the corridor, they were met with a small staircase, leading downwards. Only five visible steps, it lead down into a room filled with dormant, gloomy water. Leaning forward, Phillipe grabbed Cervis’ arm and lurched it forward, bathing the water filled room in light. The intruding light exposed an entrance to a spiral staircase across the other side of the room, leading up.

  “There,” Phillipe said, “we must cross and go up.”

  Cervis’ breathing was extreme, his gulping desperate.

  “I cannot breathe,” he said, grasping his own throat. He flexed open his mouth, taking exaggerated gasps.

  “You can,” Phillipe replied, pressing his hand on Cervis’ shoulder, “now careful, if the flame goes out, we will have nothing but darkness. You cannot let that happen.”

  “You should take it,” Cervis suggested, offering the burning flower bouquet.

  Again, Phillipe gave no reply. He took a step down the staircase, easing a foot into the motionless water. Gentle ripples tore the silky abyss, fluttering across the room, lapping against the decrepit old stone walls.

  Cervis blurted, “I cannot swim, I do not know how.”

  “The smell,” Phillipe said, with a second foot in the wate
r, “you can smell that? It’s salt.”

  “Salt?” Cervis asked, quivering.

  Phillipe ventured three more steps, the water now almost shoulder high. Lifting his chin to escape the lapping water and repugnant smell, he braved another step. Lurching forward, Phillipe began a soft paddle through the murky water, his head held high enough away from the surface. Keeping the burning bouquet high, Cervis remained still, watching Phillipe disappear into the darkness across the other side. He found his mind wandering, contemplating how Phillipe seemed fearless, calm. The sickening water and pending darkness seemed to not damper his intent. The gassy air and demonic symbols did not stifle his goal.

  “You must come,” Phillipe’s voice rung out, muffled by the dense air. It sounded as though he were miles away, but Cervis could see him, perched on the other side peering up the staircase.

  “What is up there?” Cervis called, anxiously.

  “I cannot see, I have no light,” Phillipe called back.

  “Okay,” Cervis nodded, peering down at the brown cesspit. He dropped his foot into the water, and sucked in some air in terror. The thick sludge caressed his ankle, tickling his toes. He shivered in disgust, and lowered his other foot in.

  “Hurry now,” Phillipe called, “the flame is low.”

  Holding the torch high, Cervis eased his way in to chest height, the water lapping at his body. Managing another step, his foot searched for the bottom, but found only weightless abyss.

  “The bottom, I cannot feel it,” Cervis called in a panic.

  “You will have to swim,” Phillipe called, a sense of urgency in his voice, “hurry now.”

  “I don’t think I can,” Cervis called out, his natural nervous nature taking hold.

  “Stulte!” hissed Phillipe, “there is no time for this!”

  “Okay,” Cervis nodded, his hand grasped tightly around the fading torch, “okay I am -“ but he paused in terror when he saw the face of a girl appear behind Phillipe. Long blonde hair, sad blue eyes and blackened teeth. Frozen in terror, Cervis tried to call out to Phillipe, who appeared to not realise. Cervis’ mouth fell open and he wailed in horror, dropping the torch into the water.

  A barbaric hiss filled the air, the flame quenched by the brown sludge. Darkness engulfed them, like a black cloak thrown over a bird cage.

  “Stulte!” roared Phillipe’s voice, somewhere in the distance.

  Cervis waved his arms back and forward; once, then twice. The slightest of noises ordinarily undetected now seemed to infect his ears. A slight drip. A pop of a bubble. A scratching – rats perhaps.

  “Phillipe…” chirped Cervis, trying to widen his eyes as a way of combatting the delirious dark cellar, “I think I saw a girl….”

  “The flame, it’s lost,” cooed Phillipe’s detestable reply, cutting him off.

  “I cannot see,” whispered Cervis, his arms still waving arbitrarily to nurture his purloined vision.

  “Move forward, towards my voice,” Phillipe urged, “we can exit up this stairwell.”

  Doing as he was told, Cervis began his wade through the stagnant water. Within seconds, his feet could no longer feel the bottom, and he kicked chaotically. Sinking below, he swung his arms in panic, gulping a mouthful of water. A revolted gurgle and helpless wail saw him retreat backwards, to the safety of the steps.

  “I cannot,” Cervis whelped, coughing and spluttering, “the water is too deep and I-“

  His words were cut off by a sick, horrible wail from the room behind him. Dragging out for a long moment, the ominous shriek lowered to a deep gasp, and ended as a gargling cough. Turning his head, Cervis peered towards the sound, towards the tiny hole from whence he’d come.

  And he knew the wail had come from the man resting in the other room. And he soon realised there were other voices in that room also, deep, brooding and angry.

  ---

  The aged wooden door scraped along the stone floor, an indented abrasion etched its trajectory. Rian peered inside, wary not to make any noise. Four pillars seven feet high, candles mounted atop flickering with a sense of nonchalance forged the centre of the chamber. A stone archway rose behind the pillars, various blocks of raised stone platforms either side. Under the archway a small cubed alcove housing a rectangular brimstone block, donned with a single melted candle and a dusty red throw, encrusted in gold linings. A small staircase mounted on the left allowed access to the elevated stone pathway that ran around the full circumference of the church, along with a single stain glassed window perched in the back corner, its deep blue calming and serene. A distinct earthy smell lingered, a mixture of ancient stone and musty uncirculated air.

  Although strikingly cold, the most alarming prospect was that the church was completely empty. Still gripping the door, Rian scanned the dated walls, the dusty uneven rock floors and the pillars.

  Where had everyone gone?

  Releasing the door, he took a single step inside, his footstep exuding a resounding clomp. A small puff of dust danced around his feet. Blood continued to seep into his eye, blurring his vision. Frustrated, he wiped it away. It was if he couldn’t shake away the sense of dread - it was if the tiny stone artefacts in the church were watching him; the four rows of unimpressive old bone colour seats ahead of him, the candles perched high dancing a hypotonic melody, the conspicuous arch half veiled by the poor light to the rear of the church.

  He grunted, kicking one of the old benches. A lump formed in his throat, and he reached for his dagger, soon realising it was gone.

  It was then he felt a slight gust of wind; a draft from the back of the church. Shivering, he managed a few steps into the heart of the church, his eyes never faltering from the arch.

  He felt it again, a freezing wind, quick and pressing, coming from the tiny alcove beneath the archway. With slow, light steps, Rian approached, passing the four pillars, and down a few steps. He was accustomed to not making a sound, passing through areas unseen, ready to flee at any moment - this was just another job.

  Except it wasn’t.

  He’d been exposed to all types of dangers in the past. He and Sully’s transgressions had commonly ended in chases or fights. Sometimes they would have to hide out, regularly not eating for days.

  But all that seemed inconsequential now.

  Lowering his head, he stepped into the remarkably cramped cavity, resting a hand on the brimstone block. A puff of dust circled. Again, he felt the draft, immediately to his left. Frowning, he turned to find a stone wall. Almost on his knees, he ran a finger down the jagged protruding stone blocks, soon realising the back wall of the alcove was a hidden door.

  His adrenaline kicked in and blood rushed to his head, his wound bleeding profusely as a result. Resting his open palms on the dusty masonry wall, he paused a moment, taking a few deep breaths. The hidden door was tiny, the size of a window at best.

  With one final breath, Rian gently pushed on the stone, feeling it slide backwards. Within seconds, the stench of the air behind caused him to wretch; an overbearing stagnant odour of antiquated old dust and decomposition. He was met with nothing but an envelope of darkness. Unable to see at all, he turned to fetch a candle from atop one of the pillars. Exiting the alcove and returning to his feet, he jumped onto one of the stone slabs, and with the grace of an experienced thief, launched himself at one of the pillars, gripping it like a monkey to a tree. Disturbed, the pillar seemed to crepitate, dust showering from it as it chirred from Rian’s weight. He snatched the candle atop the pillar, wax falling onto his hand. He sparred with himself in frustration, clenching his teeth. Dropping back to the floor, he promptly darted back into the alcove and the tunnel beyond.

  As soon as he passed the entry there was a sharp unexpected drop, causing him to lose his footing, and almost the candle. Freezing for a moment, he turned to light up the darkness that encompassed him. Holding the candle close, he found himself in a single narrow corridor. The walls on either side flaunted engraved murals, an array of mythical beasts embroiled
in battle. Holding the light towards the wall, he marvelled at the detail. He turned, continuing slowly down the passageway. Even with the light, he could barely see an arm’s length ahead of him, and so every step he addressed with cautionary interludes. There remained total silence.

  The wick was coming to an end. Holding the bottom tip of the candle, Rian watched it burn lazily; ready to extinguish at any moment. The corridor seemed endless. So many thoughts raced through his mind, he had lost track of how far he had come. There was empty darkness behind him, and more ahead of him. He had no choice but to continue. If he had any luck, he’d find Sully soon.

  When he finally noticed a bend up ahead, he breathed a rare sigh of relief. The incredible markings along the wall had continued all the way, seemingly illustrating a story of a great battle in ages past. The air was intensely heavy now. Every breath caused him to cough. The hardened floor had now become gravel, his footsteps crunching in the dirt.

  Slowly, he progressed around the bend, his breathing accelerating.

  Another corridor, but this time he was able to see where it ended. Ahead, a huge steel door encrusted within the stone wall, and positioned in the centre of it a small statue of a lion’s head.

  The flame from the candle Rian held gave off a final timid flicker, before abruptly disappearing, suffocated by the poor oxygen, leaving a tiny glowing tip in its wake.

  He stood alone, in complete darkness.

  Smoke from the extinguished candle lingered in the musty air, identifiable only by smell. Accompanied by the sound of his heavy breathing, he shuffled blindly towards the end of the corridor, a bid to reach the door. Placing his dagger in its sheath, he outstretched his arms, trudging through the darkness, in case he was to walk into anything. For what seemed an eternity, his fingertips eventually met cold steel. Feeling his way across the bumps and grooves imbedded in the door, followed by the lion’s head, he searched for a doorhandle amongst the darkness.