Jeanne leaned against the cold earthen wall, looking back at the monstrous creature on the other side. It reminded her of the old stories her father would tell her in the darkest of winter’s nights. When the branches outside her room took on the form of jagged fingers reaching out to grab her, the hoots of owls the foul calls of the hidden predator searching for its prey. And the moon’s once warm glow, was now the dead eye of horrors long forgotten looking for its next victim to feast on in the dark places of the world.
She remembered him telling her of creatures, foul and cruel. Sending shivers up her spine and nightmares for days long afterwards. But there was one she remembered with advantage. The Brenindaegwa. A fiend from a time when the ancient days of the world were still wet with the morning dew.
This was a monster which devoured all who stood in their path. Leaving nothing but death and devastation in its wake. She wondered if this was the creature that inspired those stories passed down from generation to generation.
She turned to see Leonidas, Silvius and Hypatia examining the image. Consulting their notes with dim laylight and a glowing white orb held by the doctor to provide illumination. She could hear their murmurings as they traded notes. Pushing herself off the wall, she walked to the edge of the lit area and summoned her own small ball of fire to move around the tunnel.
As she walked a short distance from the others, she turned towards a small indentation, moving her hand around to see the details better. Hearing soft footsteps she turned to find Silvius approaching. “Find something interesting?”
Jeanne shook her head. “Don’t know. Not sure what this was for.”
“My guess is it was a burial niche for someone. Probably of high status in society.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Usually those from the commoner rank and file were cremated and their urns would be put into these smaller niches around the bigger one.”
“So who would be in the bigger ones?” Jeanne asked.
Silvius shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you for certain. Not since they’ve been picked clean. But my guess would either be someone of considerable note, the head of some major house, if not just a regent by that alone.”
“And then they prop you up like a statue and watch as you waste away to bones and dust.”
“Oh. come now,” Silvius said, “don’t forget the smell.”
“Do not bring up the smells,” they heard Leonidas call out a distance down from the tunnel.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“I find it brings the whole spectacle together,” said a voice from the darkness.
All four turned, torches trained and weapons unsheathed towards the voice. As the light illuminated the section, they saw a man standing with a plain staff in his right hand. His hair long and unkempt. His beard stretching down past his chest, some of the hairs catching on the rough spun tunic dressing most of his body. He had on simple laced sandals, the heels made of a thin layer of wood to keep the ground from his feet. A brown braided, stained with dirt and grime wrapped around his waist.
He walked forward in a calm fashion. His eyes trained to the image of the monstrous creature before him. “A reminder,” he said, “that despite where we are, where we come from, what robes we wear or eloquent words we utter from our mouths, we all come from and return to the earth which gave us life.”
Jeanne noticed Leonidas looking at her with a worried look, as she gripped the handle of her handle tightly. The thought of swinging the flattened head of her hammer through his temple was an alluring temptation for her. It took every once of control to keep herself from flinging herself towards the man and bludgeoning him to death.
Stefan examined the image of the creature. Looking at its eyes particularly. Jeanne noticed he had an expression of one missing an old friend who had passed away decades ago, with the wound still fresh and filled with pain. He turned back to the others. “This was one of the royal burial tombs of the kings of Inderawuda. Before the coming of the empire, before the coming of invasions and strife plagued this land in death and complete turmoil.”
“Is that your people are striving for,” Silvius said, “peace and prosperity?”
“We want to bring our people back to the ways of our forefathers,” Stefan replied. “When faith had weight to it, and not from that of coins and loot and things which linger only in this world.”
“And when did this become such a prevalent part of your world view?” Jeanne asked, her jaw clenched and her teeth bared. “How many innocent people did you throw into the ditch to die and rot before your conscience finally discovered itself?”
“I do not hide from my past. All the terrible things I’ve done. The lives I’ve ruined, either from theft of gold or of their very being on this earth. And I recognize that no amount of repentance will absolve me of the sins I committed under my family’s name.”
Jeanne felt her fist clench harder, her muscles shaking, as she looked at this man. All she wanted was his blood, she wanted him to feel the pain she had held within her for years and begin to finally find form of peace. Before her thought returned she had her forearm pressed to his throat, holding his body up against the wall. She heard the others shouting at her, but their words were lost in the darkness. “Do you know who I am?” she hissed at him.
“I have my guesses,” he said in a strained voice.
“I am Jeanne Marais, from Teeg-Upon-Avon. And you, and your vile excuse of kin took my sister from me. You left her in a ditch to rot until our mother found her. Do you know what that’s done to me! To my family! And now you speak of forgiveness? Let me tell you this, I’ve been tasked with taking your head, and I’ve been dreaming of doing this for a long time.”
“The irony is not lost on me.”
“So, you give me one good reason why I don’t pull your head off with my hands?”
“I know not how much this means to you, but I am sorry for my part in your pain.”
Jeanne felt a deep hatred come over her. A sensation robbing her of all but thought bloodied thought. “Sorry?” she mustered herself to say. “You’re sorry?” She struck him across the jaw, blood splattering on the ground.
“Jeanne!” she heard Silvius cry out.
“Stay out of this!” Jeanne roared back before turning to Stefan. “Too long have I dreamed of cornering one of you rats and what I’m about to do.” She struck Stefan again, harder, feeling her skin becoming covered in stone scale as she pulled her fist back. She felt Leonidas grab her hand and she flung him back with enough force he landed on the wall from the other side.
She slammed her fist into his face several times before she stopped, seeing her knuckles dripping in blood. She saw Stefan, his face battered and now laboring to breathe. Tightening sensation come over her. As she tightened her fist, she found she could not make the final strike. Something deep within her held her hand back from ending this man and she could not fathom the reason. Giving a wrathful roar, she summoned the will and hearing Leonidas cry out swung her fist down with murderous intent.