> Nevertheless, the belief in an ‘old world’ persists in religion to this day. However, it is this scholar’s expert opinion that there is no “golden coast” or “emerald isle”, such names confer an image of the fantastical and impossible.
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> - Of Myth and Legend, The Old World
Nahual stood to the right of the stage and watched the crowd amass. He waited for hours, watching for any sign of the enemy of mankind. He usually only wore his coat, but today he wore the entire regalia of a police officer of El Viajar. His pants, shirt, and coat were all ironed and pressed, the colors a deep, nearly black, blue. He wore dress shoes that shone with the light of his surroundings and wore white gloves. He stood beside fellow officers, each sporting nearly identical attire. His eyes never left the crowd. He was resolute, imposing.
Rykard had strode to the stage, and a crowd amassed when he spotted the girl he met all those weeks ago. She was safe, as she should be, but she looked homeless. She wore a torn wedding dress that didn’t fit her properly and stood next to a man with skeleton makeup. Clearly, she didn’t go home, but talking to her would have to wait. Instead, he focused on the crowd, searching for signs of Jaan.
Rykard spoke aloud, leading them in prayer. While each person in the crowd bowed their heads, and while Nahual felt the need to bow his as well, he resisted but listened intently.
“We thank you, most holy of lights. You are a beacon to growth, the provider of life. For granting us our daily bread, we cannot thank you enough. We ask of you the strength to walk with resolute strength in the coming days. The Necromancer, enemy of man, follower of Sin, and protector of the Jaan, has risen again. We ask you, to watch over us, guide us in life, and protect us from death. We thank you for this life. Amen.”
“Amen,” the crowd and Nahual said as one. Nahual half expected an attack to come during the speech, but none came. He was ready to relax, to let the night continue, but, far beyond where he could directly see, the crowd began to twist and squirm. Groups of people parted, granting passage for a man being followed by an amassed group of people, each covered head to toe in cloth and rags.
Except for the man at the head of the group, each member moved unnaturally. They moved with twisted limbs, some limped, but many covered their entire bodies in cloth of varying colors. Others exposed limps, their faces, or whatever they could. Each person appeared pale, deranged, mad, and angry. Undead.
“Inheritor Rykard,” the man at the fore shouted over the scared crowd. “I have come to ask your wisdom, and beg your forgiveness for our appearance.” They kept walking through the parting crowd, and tension in the air grew. “I must beseech you to listen, that man beside you, he is the Necromancer. Our eternal enemy. We have come to right a wrong, and ask you to imprison this man, and right our bodies so that we may live our lives as they would if he had not interfered.”
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Nahual grabbed his side arm and the sunstone in his coat. He called to his fellows, and without turning around, ordered several of them to guard the stage. He called several other names to come to his side and aid him in destroying the deranged undead.
What do they mean by our eternal enemy? Nahual wondered. Memories of study sessions involving the history of the city came to mind. The last time the Necromancer walked El Viajar, when the riots occurred, and how many people were hurt, the undead had said something similar. They said the Necromancer was their enemy, too; but they turned on those who helped them, the church, and innocent people.
Nahual gripped the stone in one palm, and his gun in the other. No, it would not happen again. The undead would not use their lies, or their deceit to harm the people again. They weren’t attacking now, but they could attack at any moment. No hesitation, no mercy for Her pawns. Nahual stepped forward, stone exposed towards the man leading the crowd, his gun pointed, ready.
The group backed away from the stage. The man leading the group appeared visibly pained, but the fear on his face was real. He backed away quickly. Most of the group followed suit, except for an older woman. Wrappings covered her entire body, preventing any decent person from seeing the state of decay that had taken her. As the rest of the undead backed away, she pressed forward, nearly begging.
“Please, we speak the truth. He turned us! The church can turn us back, right? Right?”
“Back away slowly!” Nahual roared over the crowd. His fellow officers surrounded the stage, while others moved into the crowd to intercept the fleeing crowd.
“Please, I want to be normal again. Please, let me know who I am. Heal me, at least, please. Lord Rykard,” The old woman ignored Nahual, and looked where she should not dare. “We know it is him, one of us saw him.” Her voice rose, and her fervor grew stronger. “Please Rykard!”
Her hand reached out. Nahual didn’t need to think, he trusted in the academy and the church’s guidance. His hand shot out with the stone, coming closer than it had before. Her hand in the presence of the stone began to decay. Her skin rapidly melted, dried, and fell from the flesh just beneath. Twisted sorrow filled her eyes, she clearly wanted to pull her hand back, but it froze there, stuck as if her own body failed to comply. Nahual stepped forward, and the stone again caused decay to come to her, but this time the connective tissues of her body seized, dried, and fell from her torso.
Nahual came close again, ready to send a message to the other undead who were now being corralled by the other officers. The woman began speaking, but at his step, her face rapidly decayed, giving way. A Jaan no longer lay before him, now it was merely a corpse. The last word to leave the bare skull, was a simple, “please.”
Nahual drew back and ordered the other officers to be ready to use force. “They’re not human, only Jaan in Her service.” He turned and faced Rykard, his face impassive. “Lord Rykard, what would you have your servants do.” Rykard looked over the crowd, seemingly uncaring that the enemy had come so close to the stage. He looked at Nahual, like a wise man from legends, the inheritor of Sol’s light.
“Do not dirty your hands, Nahual. We will deal with them. Gather them, and bring them to the church.” Nahual felt a sense of pride that Rykard knew his name. It should be expected, that his reports and sense of duty were second to none.
“As you wish, inheritor.”
“Non-lethal gathering, everyone. Take them all, and bring them to the church. Inheritor Rykard wishes to deal with the traitors to humanity.”
The other officers pulled out handcuffs, and zip ties, ensuring that the undead could not leave, or struggle for their freedom. A group quickly formed of undead lying on the ground. Police officers formed a perimeter, they held their stones aloft, forming a cage of life’s light, where no undead could pass.