Christoforos I: Shallow Waters
The Twelfth Day of the Second Month, 873 AD.
Thermanthus, Aegan Hills, Western Dathan.
No, no, no, no, no! This wasn't how this was meant to go! This wasn't supposed to happen!
Christoforos cried to himself as he ran through the back-alleys and side-streets of Thermanthus as fast as he could, hoping beyond hope that he'd be able to shake his pursuers. By all the Saints, he hoped he could shake them. If he couldn't then he was dead, Cardinal Admeta's men would see to that.
He took a moment to catch his breath as he leaned against the wall of a shuttered-up slum house, mind racing. How the fuck had it come to this? Just two years ago he'd been a citizen of the Republic of Aegos, foremost amongst the democracies of Dathan and all the world, and now the city he had known all his life, the nation he had lived in all his life, had become a nightmare of abhorrent pietism and theocratic laws. The Cardinal of the republic, Adikos, had usurped power from the senate and declared himself the 'Arch-Cardinal' of Aegos, sending out his cronies to subdue the other cities that once had formed the Republic of Aegos. Cardinal Admeta was one such crony.
People had been burned. People had been beaten. People had been tortured, persecuted, killed en-masse, and for what? The crime of being different. The crime of following their own faiths, their own sects and cults, and not the New-Church. The republic had been declared obsolete, and in its place Aegos and the surrounding cities were ruled by what Arch-Cardinal Adikos and the Cardinals under his command had called 'The Most Devout Church of Aegos', cementing their theocratic authority. Few people had been under any spell as to what the coming years would entail, but the scale and depth of the violence had truly beggared belief. How could those who called themselves faithful see to the harming of others so gleefully?
The vaunted 'Hero of the Republic', General Thrax, seemed to be little better at the moment. From what Christoforos had heard the man had declared himself 'Imperator of Aegos' and wished to reforge the ancient Aegan Empire, but so far had failed even to take the city whose name he bore in his title. Still, even a despot would be better than this, surely it would be better than the nightmare he was in right now; Christoforos couldn't think of a single one of his dreams that wasn't tainted by the scent of incense thrown on execution pyres, by the sound of tortured screams unable to be drowned out even by the ringing of a thousand brass bells.
Aegos had always been a holy city; in ancient times a great many religions had claimed it to be a holy site for one reason or another, but when the Church of the Saint came along they cast aside all other pretenders, for it was in Aegos, less than a hundred miles from where he stood now, that the First Saint had ascended over the barbarians who had attempted to cast him down.
Christoforos thought he could really use some of that divine providence right now.
"This way! I saw him run through here!"
He swore under his breath as he took off running once more. He'd spent far too long stood there like a statue with a pair of wheezing bellows attached, and should have set off after no more than a few seconds of rest. He ran through yet more alleys and bypasses, knowing that he was entering an area of the city that he'd never really been in before. Not that it mattered at this moment, of course; Christoforos was far more focused on not being drowned in a barrel of holy oil at the moment.
Oh yes, Cardinal Admeta had gotten very inventive with her executions these last few months.
Still, as terrible as things were here, in Thermanthus, and as terrible as things may have been in the capital, it was better than whatever was happening in Athio. Whatever Cardinal Sin was doing to the 'heretics' and 'non-believers' under his rule, no-one knew. Cardinal Admeta purged them with flame and spear, Arch-Cardinal Adikos with 'forced penance', but Cardinal Sin?
No-one knew. They simply disappeared, and not one had ever been found. No-one knew what he did to them, and that was almost worse than knowing would have been.
He forced his mind to slow as he clambered over another brick wall and into the next alleyway over. He couldn't afford to waste precious seconds musing over which of the old-republic's cities was worse off, which one had the vilest, most disgustingly pious ruler. No, right now he needed to find somewhere to hide and to try and forget the faces of the people he'd been hiding with, the people he'd had to leave behind. It wasn't his fault, they were too slow and the guards were too fast, he was unarmed, he was unarmoured, he was no soldier or combatant. What could he have done to help them? They wouldn't have wanted him to die with them, surely not?
He cleared his mind again. There would be time for grieving later. Right now he needed to find a place to hide from the guards, get out of the city, make his way across the border to... to somewhere, it didn't matter where, and tell the world what was going on here. Surely the neighbouring realms would intervene and put a stop to this madness? The northmen, maybe, in the Kingdom of Kortheros? Perhaps the easternmost Klironomeans could be convinced to launch a crusade and uproot this militant, extremist branch of the New-Church. Besides, Christoforos was a follower of the Old-Church, as were most of his friends! Surely the Klironomeans would recognise one of their own?
He took a moment to gather his breath once more. He had lost his pursuers, at least for now. His friends may have been dead behind him, but he still lived. That was something. Besides, Elias had broken away from their group at the start of the hunt, perhaps he had managed to make it out as well? Maybe. Maybe not. Right now there was a bigger problem in front of him; he was horribly lost. He'd never been to this part of the city before. It seemed dark and dense, claustrophobic even, though luckily he seemed to be in one of the only 'clear' areas around. Judging by how silent, how empty this place now was, it must have been one of the minority-community regions within Thermanthus. Perhaps he was in the old Orgilaan district? That foreign people, their diaspora spread thin all across the continent, they had been one of the first targets of the Most Devout Church, though luckily most of them had had the good sense to realise this and had booked it from the Republic of Aegos as it fell. Now only squatters and thieves remained in the old slums, and they didn't tend to last long anyway. The one benefit to having such harsh, archaic laws forced upon them all was that crime had fallen to its lowest ebb in as long as anyone could remember. Murderers were killed. Rapists were gelded, then killed. Thieves had a hand removed, then were killed. Vocal dissenters had their tongues removed.
And then were killed.
Small wonder crime had fallen. The only criminals left were the really good ones who knew how to hide. It felt strange to Christoforos; the once murderous and vile criminal underground were now some of the only good men left in the city, many of them helping people like him escape. Not for good will, of course not, but extortion was better than execution. Besides, even the hardiest criminals had begun to look upon the actions of the inquisitors and holy militias with disgust. He supposed that just showed exactly how mad this corner of the world had gone in these last few years.
Still, he was tired and hungry. He needed to find some food and a safe place to sleep before he carried on with his efforts to escape Thermanthus, and the nation as a whole. He couldn't go back to his house, not now, and given that the guards had busted their safehouse that wasn't an option either. For a moment he thought about chancing one of the old thieves hideouts in case the Old Firm was somehow still around, but he thought better of it. He wasn't sure if having those cutthroats still around would be a good or a bad thing anymore, but he did know that they were dangerous.
Unfortunately the only real landmarks he could see were the cathedral and the church on Lysania Street, and given that they were currently doubling as barracks for agents of the Most Devout he really didn't feel comfortable getting any closer to them than was absolutely necessary. So, there were his options, he supposed. Get closer to the church or cathedral and attempt to navigate using them, or wander around aimlessly and hope that he stumbled across someone who would be able to help him. Joy of joys, what a fun decision to make. He slumped down against a wall, trying his best to ignore how uncomfortable the slick of rainwater along the cobbles made him feel, and sighed heavily. He was fucked. There was little use in trying to beat around that point. He was well and truly fucked. He was being hunted by an enemy who knew him by name and by looks, his friends and comrades were scattered or dead, and in his flight he had lost absolutely all of what remaining supplies he had thought to carry with him. He had no weapons, no armour, no disguise, no food, and absolutely no skills that might help him survive the coming days save perhaps his slightly above-average agility and endurance. Slightly. He was no messenger or soldier, but his time spent running quivers of bolts from his master's smithy to the fletcher's shop had at the very least meant he was in a better shape to run than some of his friends had been. Honestly, what had they all been thinking? That they would somehow manage to avoid the hundreds of guards, priests, informants, and inquisitors that littered the city, make their way to the walls, find a way outside the walls without a single bargaining chip, and then somehow make their way out of the country with hardly any food or coin? Saints, it was no wonder most of them had been killed. It was a small miracle he hadn't joined them.
"Okay," he said to himself, trying to ignore the churning feeling in his gut as his voice broke the almost stifling silence in this empty neighbourhood, "I need to get up. I need to move. I need to find food and shelter, then I can work out the rest."
With that he sighed once more, forced himself to his feet, and began walking. He might not have known this part of the city very well, but at least there was little risk of encountering an inquisitor or guard patrol. After all, why waste soldiers and spies on making sure the absent and the dead were not heretics when you could instead use them to terrorise your own populous and earn the favour of your master in the capital? That was why Admeta was doing this, after all; she wasn't some pious, bleating fool like the others amongst her rank were. She was ruthless, power hungry, and smart enough to know that so long as she could keep the people united against an internal threat, she would remain in power. It just so happened that she'd been given a mandate for such a thing by Arch-Cardinal Adikos, so Christoforos supposed that everything must have been going very well for her at the moment.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Ah well, no use dwelling on that. Besides, someone was waving at him from a shuttered house. At first it seemed almost absurd, seeing as he'd only been aimlessly walking for a little under a quarter of an hour. But then, he reasoned to himself, it could be a trap. Not that it mattered; he was hungry and the sun was setting. He'd just have to risk it, and hope that the woman flagging him down was a friend rather than a foe.
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"Saints, are you lucky that we found you. You may as well have dropped yourself off at the cathedral, walking around in the open like that!"
Christoforos turned to the woman, flushing at the admonishment.
"I'm well aware, so let it go. You've told me that half a dozen times this last half-hour, and I'm tired of it."
"Well, stop standing in the corner like you've contracted shock. The others 'll be back soon."
He looked the woman over properly as she stepped into the candlelight. Raven-haired, dusky skin, ornate bracelets, rings, ritual earrings.
"An Orgilaan?"
She smiled at him and nodded.
"I am, yes."
She gestured towards his neck.
"Ybridica-Agiathos?"
He gently pressed a hand to the noose pendent on his necklace, nodding once.
"How could you tell?"
She shrugged.
"The rope coils eight times. One coil for the First Saint, seven for the Angels."
He smiled at her, impressed, as she continued.
"Of course it is a little bit of a guess. The New-Church makes use of much the same iconography, only with no standard number of coils. It could have been coincidental, and you a New-Church worshipper who just so happened to have an eight-coil noose pendant, but given the fact that you were wandering aimlessly through the abandoned 'foreign' neighbourhoods of the city, I don't think you're going to be in that camp."
He moved forwards to seat himself by the candle, the short conversation helping him to shake the horrible feeling he'd had in his gut since his friends had been caught.
"You are experienced in telling apart different sections of the faith?"
"Sure am. Followers of the spear and the sword, of the tides and the stars. There's plenty in this little group, though most are spread out through this part of the city. We try to lay low, not give the Cardinal a reason to send her dogs after us. There's somewhere between a few dozen and a hundred of us non-believers stuck here, and we're trying to get out."
Christoforos nodded.
"Yeah, me too. I was with a group of friends from down the smith's road, all Old-Church followers save a follower of the Manic-King's teachings. We got found as we were trying to leave and... well, I'm sure you can gather the rest."
She nodded sadly at him.
"Indeed, that I can. We've got a plan to get out, the small cell of us here anyway. Are you still interested in escaping?"
He nodded earnestly, but then there was a knock at the door. He eyed it suspiciously, earning a scoff from his new companion.
"You are paranoid, aren't you? Come in, friend!"
A large, gruff man opened the door, squinting at Christoforos in suspicion a little. Christoforos paid it no mind though, because stepping into the room out from behind the large man was-
"Elias!"
"Christoforos!"
The two of them met in a great big hug, tears springing to the corners of both of their eyes.
"I thought you were dead!"
"I could say the same to you!"
The woman coughed and raised an eyebrow at them. Christoforos and Elias flushed a little, untangling themselves from one another and stepping back.
"I take it this one is a friend of yours, Christoforos?"
"He is. The truest friend I know, and no less."
Elias smiled at that.
"Is this true?"
The big man grunted out a noise that might have meant 'yes' but Christoforos hadn't even the vaguest idea what it was he'd said. No matter, the woman seemed happy enough at the response, and chose not to press that particular line of inquiry any further. The next question did give the two of them pause, however, and as she spoke Christoforos suddenly felt that he and Elias, mainly Elias, were treading on very dangerous ground.
"And what section of the church do you follow? To which of your Saint's cults do you belong?"
Elias took a deep breath, and Christoforos squeezed his hand in support.
"The Alithini-Agiathos."
The woman and large man both spun to look at him, reaching for blades. Christoforos held out is free hand.
"Peace! Please, peace! He wants to leave just as much as we do! The Cardinals and their boss may proclaim to follow the New-Church, but true worshippers like Elias know better. Elias knows what has happened to the rest of us, and he wants to flee and tell those who follow his faith in Kortheros alongside me, the Old and New churches beseeching the eastern Klironomeans to do something about this."
The woman relaxed a little, though still maintained narrowed eyes at Elias.
"I really should not be trusting you, not after the things your faith has done to us."
Elias nodded, voice level and almost apologetic, as if he had been anything to do with the massacres and violence these last few years.
"I know."
Something in the young man's voice must have resonated with the woman, for her eyes took on an almost pitying countenance as she nodded at Elias, slowly placing her knife back in its sheath.
"Alright then, I guess. We've got a little food and some blankets to keep you fed and warm, but it won't be much. We can't afford to waste anything at the moment. We're fleeing in a few days, and if you want to make your way to Kortheros and bring back help, you'll need to come with us. Get some rest and regain your strength before then."
Elias and Christoforos smiled at each other. It seems fate had given them a second chance after all, even if the price had been steep.
"Thank you, friend. We shall."
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The days came and went, and soon enough they were stalking through the streets of Thermanthus at night whilst shrouded in black cowls. It wasn't much of a disguise, but it was better than nothing. There were eight of them in total, a small group of four followers of Hydran's Cult joining with them as they moved to flee the city. He'd been sceptical when the woman had said she'd met with worshippers of the waves before, but here they were in the flesh. He hadn't truly believed that any following such an obscure cult had existed this far to the east. After all, they normally congregated on the shores of the great western ocean in Licotemos, and this was almost as far away from those distant Klironomean shores as possible. Either way, here they were, heads down low and as eager to leave as the rest of them were.
"We're heading to an abandoned sewer opening in the west of the city." The woman had said. "It's gonna stink like shit and will likely be the most disgusting experience of your life, but at the end of the day it's our best chance out of this city. After that we run parallel to the road north. Not on the road, there's too many patrols for it to be safe, but if we follow it from a distance we should be safe. Our task at the moment is to get out, then get help. Understandable?"
The seven of them had nodded silently at the woman, the large man grunting his affirmation once more as Elias moved next to Christoforos to grip his hand.
"Right, let's get moving. Come on."
And with that the eight of them had set off, twice stopping at a hushing motion from the woman as small patrols moved past them at far too close a distance for any of them to be comfortable, but reaching the grating that she'd promised them would lead out of the city and towards the river. With a small amount of applied force to the rusted grate they were in, and walking through the tunnels in near total darkness towards freedom.
"Christoforos... what do you think the King of Kortheros will do when we tell him what's happening here? None of the Klironomean kings in the Heptarchy have cared about matters outside their dominions since Harald the Second was slain."
Elias' voice was whispered, but still maintained a slight waver that let Christoforos know that his friend was truly struggling to keep his mind afloat at the moment. He squeezed his friend's hand again, and gave him his best reassuring smile. It was dark and thus hard to see, but he hoped Elias could see him well enough to be calmed.
"Hey, we'll worry about that when we get there, okay? Someone will notice what's going on sooner or later, and they'll demand action. Hopefully our words will bring 'later' to 'sooner' and 'sooner' to 'now'."
Elias smiled a slight smile back at him, nodding as they walked along the slick cobbles of the sewers. Then there was the sound of barking ahead of them, and a voice made itself known.
"Halt! Cease your movements and identify yourselves!"
The eight of them froze in place, horror quickly rising. They'd been found out. How the fuck had they been found out?
Immediately the four Hydran cultists had bolted back the way they'd came, whilst the woman and the large man rushed for a side passage, leaving Christoforos and a frozen Elias alone to face the guards. Why the fuck are they patrolling the sewers? Are they that adamant to stop us from leaving?
He quickly broke himself as the sounds of footsteps echoed through the sewers, knowing that hesitation would get them both killed. Christoforos grabbed Elias' hand and yanked hard, practically dragging the frozen man behind him until Elias regained his senses, the two of them tearing down tunnels and adjoining walkways.
"Christoforos... I don't want to die!"
Elias panted the words out behind him, and Christoforos tried his best to keep dragging the man along behind him, but it was useless and the two of them knew it. No matter how feverishly they looked around, how much terror they felt at the approaching voices behind, they knew the foe was close. Still, they continued running. They ran until their legs felt as though they were burning, until their feet were bleeding, until eventually the inevitable happened.
Elias slipped on one of the wet cobbles, and slammed into the floor. Christoforos screamed in denial, begging his friend to get up, but it was no good. The fall had killed him stone dead. Christoforos could at least console himself with the knowledge that his best friend's death was quick. It was a poor consolation, especially since such a ray of sunshine should have been laid to rest under the gaze of the stars, not in some dingy sewer, but it was all he could manage at that moment.
He at last tore his gaze from his friend as the furthest edges of the light of a torch came into view at the end of the tunnel, as well as a command that he halt. He spared one final glance at the surprised expression that was now etched onto his friend's face, at the black blood staining the cobbles, then continued to run. He didn't know what he'd expected to happen as he continued to run, but he had not expected it to be this. The sound of baying dogs closed in behind him, and one of them bit at his heels and sent him tumbling to the floor as agony flared from his ankle.
"No, no, no!"
The words did little to keep the dogs off of him, as did his flailing limbs. These were not the hounds of the northern folk, but strong Tildan mastiffs, trained for hunting and tracking even in the worst of conditions. There was little he could have done against one of them at the moment, but the three of them around him were little more than the personification of death in that moment. Nonetheless, he battered at them with a flailing fist, striking one in the snout as it snapped and growled at him and another in its chest with his leg. A whine came from one of them, but it was quickly drowned out by Christoforos' screams. A savage bite tore out a large chunk of one of his thighs, whilst the dog he had managed to strike clawed at his face with murderous intent, gouging one of his eyes. Christoforos screamed and pleaded, as though the tamed beasts would listen to his cries, but rapidly found himself unable to move. A forth dog, younger and smaller than the others, came from somewhere and tore off one of his ears. Christoforos wasn't in much of a position to work out where it had come from, for even as his ear was torn off the sound of two guards came running around the corner. There was just enough light for him to see one of the guards turn to the other and hold up a hand, the two of them stopping and watching as the dogs tore him apart.
"Let the dogs have their fun," the senior of the two guards said, "they've earned it after today."
Christoforos tried to scream, to beg them to just kill him, but all that came out of his throat was a gurgling mess of blood and guttural moans.
He'd just wanted to leave, but he knew that now he never would. He'd be stuck here forever now.
I hope I see Elias when I die, he thought to himself as he tried to ignore the feeling of his right arm being torn from its socket. That would be nice.