Creak… creak…
The wooden plank groaned under the dead weight of what used to be a man. Wenamor and two other villagers struggled to keep their footing on the dusty road because their hands were slick with sweat and fear. Between them lay the severed remains of Benny.
Beside the makeshift stretcher walked an older woman. She did not scream. She did not wail. She simply walked with a hollow stare while tears cut clean paths through the grime on her cheeks.
"It's a tragedy," a bystander whispered from behind a shuttered window.
"To be cut in half like cattle…"
Jerrick, the burly farmer who still clutched his pitchfork like a lifeline, spat on the ground.
"This is that old stranger's fault! If he hadn't provoked Beltrom, Benny would still be drinking ale right now! He brought this curse on us!"
"Hush, Jerrick," Laviss said softly as she stepped out from the ruined tavern. "Now is not the time for blame. We must bury our dead."
Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
A sound drifted on the wind. It was faint at first but grew rapidly in volume and intensity.
THUD-THUD-THUD!
"Horses!" Wenamor gasped. His eyes went wide. "They're coming back! Beltrom is back!"
Panic swept through the small procession like a wildfire.
"Run! Hide!"
"I'm not dying today!"
Clatter!
The two men helping Wenamor released the handles of the stretcher. The plank hit the dirt hard and Benny's corpse rolled off into the dust with a wet slap. The bearers didn't look back; they scrambled over fences and dove behind water troughs.
"Damn you cowards!"
Wenamor cursed but his own courage failed him. He abandoned the body and sprinted into the nearest shed where he slammed the door and prayed to a silent god.
Only the widow remained. She stood over her husband's remains and waited for the end.
The galloping slowed. The aggressive thunder of the charge faded into a rhythmic, deliberate walk.
Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
A group of riders emerged from the dust. They were not the ragtag thugs of the estate. These riders wore pristine black and white uniforms.
The lead rider pulled his reins in the middle of the town square. He was a short figure but his presence filled the street. He swung his leg over the saddle and landed silently on the ground.
Provost Kirill scanned the empty street with eyes that were too old for his youthful face.
Flutter.
A white dove descended from the sky and landed on his shoulder. It leaned close to his ear and whispered in a voice that sounded like rustling paper.
Kirill nodded once. He looked at the trembling widow and then raised his voice.
"Show yourselves. We are Priests of the Convent. We mean no harm."
Silence hung in the air for a heartbeat before the sound of a door unlatching broke it.
"Priests?" Laviss peeked out from the tavern. "Not… not the Estate?"
Slowly, heads popped up from behind barrels and fences. The relief was palpable. It washed over them and left them weak in the knees.
"Oh, thank the Heavens!"
The widow let out a sob and ran toward Kirill. She reached out with blood-stained hands as if to grasp his cloak.
"Halt."
Meldov stepped forward and placed a heavy hand in her path to block her advance.
"It is fine, Meldov," Kirill said calmly. He stepped around his apostle and looked at the carnage. He gestured to the severed body in the dust and the collapsed roof of the store.
"What happened here?" Kirill asked the old woman.
"Vile men," she wept. "Monsters from the Estate! They chopped my Benny in two! There was a man… a brave stranger… he tried to fight them."
She pointed a shaking finger at the blood-spattered wall where Zareth had pinned Beltrom.
"He fought like a demon, but they overwhelmed him. They used poison gas! They took him… and the child."
Kirill's eyes narrowed. "This stranger had a child. Was his name Zareth?"
The widow shook her head. "I… I don't know. He was older. Grey beard. He fought with his fists."
"That's him. Where did they take him?"
Wenamor stepped out from the shed. He rubbed his hands together nervously. "To the Blackthorn Estate, my Lord. The thugs… they work for Lord Blackthorn."
"Blackthorn Estate?" Kirill frowned. "That is a prestigious noble family in this region. Why would they abduct a retired Priest and an infant?"
"Prestigious?" Laviss scoffed and stepped into the street. "They are evil! They have been terrorizing this region for years. They take our young women. They take our children. We never see them again. We suspect they are doing something devious inside those walls."
She fell to her knees and clasped her hands. "Please, my Lord! You have to save them! Bring those Blackthorns to justice!"
"Justice?" Hindar adjusted her gloves. She looked at Kirill. "This is strange, Provost. The Blackthorns are nobility. If they are trafficking humans or harbouring heretics… that is a grave offense. Should we investigate?"
Kirill thought for a moment. Zareth was there. That was all that mattered. Kirill decided.
"Regardless of their dealings, if the target is behind those walls, we will tear them down. We hunt."
The villagers exchanged looks of hope. Finally, someone was going to stand up to the tyrants.
VMMMM!
A low vibration buzzed through the air.
Hindar reached into her pouch and pulled out her Ascending Stone. It shook violently in her grip. She held it with both hands as runes etched into the dark surface began to glow with a violet light.
A hazy image projected upward from the stone. It coalesced into the face and upper torso of a woman in a nun's habit. Her eyes were covered by a blindfold.
"Can you hear me?" the image distorted and then sharpened. "Church Number Nine, can you hear me?"
Hindar nodded. "This is Apostle Hindar. We hear you, Li'er of the Sensory Nun Unit. Why have you contacted us?"
Li'er's voice was tight with urgency. "We have a Code Red situation. A massive Tumor outbreak has been confirmed in the Nesbeth region."
Kirill stiffened.
"Two Churches were already dispatched. Church Number Fifteen and Church Number Twenty-Seven. They are… unresponsive. Our last report confirmed that a Sarx Effigy has formed."
"A Sarx Effigy?" Meldov's grin vanished.
Li'er said, "The area is overrun. We have mass casualties. Civilians and Priests alike are being consumed. Since your Church is the closest, you are ordered to divert immediately. You must resolve the crisis before the Effigy matures. You know what will happen if it fully awakens."
Kirill's hand drifted to the silver badge on his collar. The number '9' felt heavy and cold against his chest.
A bad memory surfaced. He saw fire. He saw a massive, pulsating tower of flesh reaching for the sky. He saw the face of a comrade as he was dragged into the mass, screaming for help that Kirill could not give.
'Not again. I won't lose another squad to an Effigy.'
His face hardened into a mask of professional resolve.
Kirill said to the projection, "Understood. We are moving out immediately."
Li'er nodded. "I will try to relay the message to the surviving apostles in Nesbeth to hold the line. Godspeed."
Zap.
The light faded and the stone went dormant.
Hindar put the stone away and looked at her Provost. "Sir? What about the mission to track down Zareth? Nesbeth is on the opposite side of the valley. It will take us days to return."
Kirill looked toward the distant hills where the Blackthorn Estate lay hidden in the mist. He wanted Zareth. He wanted to execute the traitor. But duty, and the threat of a Sarx Effigy, outweighed his vengeance.
Kirill said sharply, "Priorities, Hindar. If a Sarx Effigy breaks containment, this entire province dies. Zareth is trapped in a cage. He isn't going anywhere."
He turned his horse around.
"We resolve the outbreak first. Then we return to burn the Blackthorns and collect our bounty."
"Mount up!" Kirill commanded.
Meldov pounded his fist into his palm. A savage grin returned to his scarred face. "Finally! I get to cleave some real flesh! I've been itching to go wild!"
The members of Church Number Nine swung into their saddles.
The villagers watched in confusion and dismay as their saviours turned their backs on the Estate.
"Wait! Where are you going?" Laviss cried out. "What about us?"
Kirill did not answer. He dug his heels into the stallion's flanks.
Thunder.
The unit galloped out of the town and left a cloud of dust in their wake.
However, as they rode away, Kirill raised a single finger. A dove made of white scripture materialized from his cloak. It did not follow the unit. Instead, it flew up to the roof of the tavern and perched on the weathervane. Its grey eyes locked onto the road leading to the Blackthorn Estate.
Kirill would leave, but he would not be blind.