Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Each time the hammer hit the nail, Evam felt like it hit his hungover head instead. A late night full of drinking and whoring cost him dearly, both in regards to lack of coins left in his purse, and in the headache and dry mouth from almost a dozen mugs of sour beer he drank last night. He smiled slightly, remembering the evening before that he spent fondling the innkeeper’s young daughter’s chubby body, the wild, passionate followup with a maid that had cleaned his skin with her mouth a mere half an hour later, the alcohol and gambling with local patrons that occurred before and after all the bodily pleasures of the night happened…
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
He groaned, and turned in the soft, warm inn bed he slept in…
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“What in the three hells is going on…” he growled as he opened his eyes, realizing just now that he did not sleep at all in the inn, but atop a haystack behind the inn’s stables. He stood up, still dizzy, and lumbered slowly towards a nearby square where a crowd had already gathered.
Thud. Thud.
He pressed through the crowd until he stood in front of a large message board, where a richly vested man nailed the notice.
Thud.
Hammer hit the nail for the last time, and the noble man started to read the message out loud.
“Good people of Glaeria, the Citadel awaits you! Come live a better life in a place, where famine is just a fame, where rich and poor are equal, where all the knowledge of the world awaits you for free! Come, and live the life you’ve always dreamt of!”
A life I’ve always dreamt of… Evam smiled at the thought.
***
Triarch gave them two days to gather whatever they deemed necessary for the road, with a limit of two chests per person, as they were supposed to travel lightly in a small group of merely thirty people, out of which there were fifteen guards. Auria did not think long of what to pack, as most of her earthly possessions fit comfortably in one chest - spare clothing, few books and journals, and a wooden box filled with pouches of herbs and narcotics that were invaluable in her battle against constant headaches. She packed the second chest with general medications, poultices, disinfectants, needles and syringes, bandages and all the other utilities she deemed useful for the road. After an hour of packing, she found herself sitting on her bed, staring into the wall, thinking.
I did not have a headache for a rather long time, considering how often they tortured me, but I still did not have a night full of peaceful sleep.
She felt tired, and each time she thought of the metal arm reaching out of her back, Auria felt a sharp thorn of hunger, deep and cold, as if she never ate in her life.
Loud ringing caught her attention, and tens of people hurrying on the street below her room’s window caught her attention.
They aim for a shipyard. Perhaps the fleet has returned. Father…
She did not hesitate for a long time. She wrote a quick note to Naira, explaining where she went, and stormed out of their common home.
***
Sound of thundering hooves warned the villagers. Riders clad in black garments stopped just a few paces before the village, screaming and shouting, taunting everybody. A local militia made up of volunteer villagers stood in front of them, holding primitive weapons - spears, axes and short, rusty swords - in their shaking hands, waiting silently for the inevitable escalation. Riders did not move until enough people gathered outside of their homes. After a command from their leader, faces of riders became illuminated by the light from freshly lit torches. Their horses rammed through the militia and the riders dispersed between the houses, throwing oil-filled jars and torches on the wooden roofs, burning whatever they came across. The fire spread quickly, giving villagers barely enough time to leave and save themselves before the flames. All the houses burned down completely, as the riders made any attempts to put the fire out impossible.
“Who were they?” A woman with a sobbing infant in her arms cried out after the riders left, leaving smoldering destruction in their wake.
“What did they want? Why did they do this?” a local blacksmith bellowed with a strong voice.
“We can't stay here, they might return!”
“But what are we supposed to do?”
“Where are we supposed to go?”
Questions, questions, questions, but no answers. Not until the village mayor silenced everybody, and asked the most important question. “Which way did those bandits leave?”
“To the south!” bellowed the blacksmith again.
“Well then, we run north, away from them. We will seek refuge in the Lands of the Citadel.”
***
“Medic, wait!” Auria was hurrying through the crowds, impatient to meet her father after a long time, when Harian’s voice broke her concentration. She turned quickly.
“What are you doing here, soldier?” She asked him when he caught up with her and they hurried together.
“Mechanic did not want me with her while she was packing half of her workshop, and so she sent me to you. Where are you hurrying?”
“Shipyard. The bells rang, people hurried there, I suspect that the fleet had returned.”
“And what’s your interest in the returning fleet, medic?
“My father sailed away before we could really talk. With both of us running through the world, trying to help whomever we can, we weren’t really able to spend any time together in recent years, with a few painfully short exceptions.”
“You two must have a great relationship then.”
Auria exhaled deeply. “A deep relationship perhaps. And a complicated one. Other than Naira and his lover, he is the only family I’ve ever had.”
“His lover, not your mother?” Harian asked curiously. Auria shook her head.
“Maybe given more time, she might have grown into something of a mother figure.” From her tone, Harian understood that something bad happened, and he did not want to pry. Quickly enough, Auria asked a question of her own.
“What about you, soldier? Any family? A wife, children?”
“I’ve had brothers and sisters. Now, I am alone.”
“They died?”
“Something like that. I’ve been stripped of honor for carving the ultimate insult into the face of a particularly sick bastard from the army of Glaeria, and as a reward, I’ve lost everyone. I don’t care about the rank, but the companionship… That’s something different.”
“Maybe you won’t be alone anymore.”
Harian looked at Auria with raised eyebrows. “Yes, maybe.”
***
People died by scores, a slow and terrifying death taking them regardless of their age or sex. A priest was sent directly from the grand cathedral in the golden city, yet there was not much he could do to save the plague-ridden border town. Through vermin and water, through wind and flies, the plague spread, forming giant, pus-filled blisters all over the body. He could not save anyone, and so it was quickly decided to burn the town down to ashes, along with all the infected inside.
The inhabitants did not like such an act of their merciful god’s messenger. Instead, they cast him out of the town. After the deed, they had to think and act quickly - more will come, with the same idea in mind and this time, they might be accompanied by soldiers…
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
What were they supposed to do?
They left their homes. A plagued caravan, a convoy of thousand people with wagons, they marched towards the grand wall of Citadel’s first line of defenses, seeking the world-famous healing skills of their medics.
***
The fleet had indeed returned back to the home port, but it was not a cheerful greet that awaited them. Instead of laughter and cries of happiness, a wailing of widows of the sailors serving on destroyed or damaged ships filled the air. A general commotion set Auria and Harian aside, as they made room for the transport of injured sailors. Auria glanced over at some of them, their skins bruised from the onslaught of under-skin bleeding, their bodies mangled and cut. In her mind, she applauded the efforts of fleet medics that worked with limited resources and time, yet were successful in keeping the wounded alive and stabilized.
“Do you see your father anywhere? Did his ship return?” Harian asked her politely while watching the medic regiment at work.
She pointed towards the largest vessel of the fleet. “Not his ship as he is not a captain but yes, Luthra returned. There, the largest one.”
“It’s been heavily damaged, even I can see that.” Harian muttered. Auria nodded. “He lives. I saw the glint of his armor from afar.”
“Let’s go to him then.”
Auria shook her head. “Not until all the wounded had been taken care of. We wait. He’s a medic, he will probably be carrying wounded this way soon.”
She focused on the nearest wounded, a young man barely out of the training by the look of his face, and focused on him through the projector. An assault of deranged, hungry, screaming voices hit her and she staggered. Her vision spun, and she sought something to support herself against. Her hand touched a young widow wailing besides her, and the projector comfortably curled inside the backpack SCREAMED.
Internal, psychic scream that filled her with terror, agony, hunger and want.
“FEEEEEEED. OOOOOON. HEEEEEER.”
She felt as the metallic arm started to unwind, ready to thrust itself against the crying widow, ready to pierce her and devour her like a starving animal. Auria jumped away from the woman, colliding with other people in the crowd and tackling them on the ground. She ended up atop of them, and the screaming intensified.
“FEED ON THEM!”
“EAT THEM!”
“DEVOUR THEIR ENERGY!”
“THEIR LIFE IS OURS!”
“WE HAVE BEEN STARVING FOR TOO LONG!”
“FEED US, AURIA!”
She wasn’t controlling herself, stunned by the screams of tormented voices inside her head. Her vision still spun, black dots appearing everywhere, slowly pulling her towards unconsciousness.
“Leave me be!” She thought weakly, her inner voice killed by the constant screaming. The projector kept uncoiling, seeking the next target, the next victim, the next prey to feed upon, a wild animal on the hunt…
“Here, medic, let me help you.” Harian pulled her upwards, supporting her with his strong arms. “Focus on me, medic. Focus on my voice Auria. Look into my eyes. You are alright, you are on the ground, safely anchored. I’m holding you. I’m not leaving. Focus on my voice. Focus on me, and nothing else.”
Harian recognized her behavior as an onsetting panic attack, a wicked thing he too often observed in soldiers that overcame trauma of battle and death.
“Breathe, Auria. Slow breaths, focus on breathing slowly. Focus on my voice. Here, drink some water.” He handed her his leather flask and Auria drank. The voices in her head were screaming still, but the soldier's calm voice and strong grip created a thin barrier around her own mind.
“Calm, Auria. Be calm. I’m holding you, you are safe.”
Crowd kept their distance around them for which both Harian and Auria were thankful. The reason behind that however wasn’t that of compassion or understanding coming from the surrounding people, but the metallic arm turning around, lashing at the crowd, seeking something to bite into.
Auria fought a battle inside her mind, and she was struggling. She felt strangled by the air around her, compressed into a tiny pebble by the unrelenting assault of voices in her mind. Her headache returned along with a sudden surge of withdrawal symptoms, as her painkiller-addicted body realized that something was missing. The will of the projector wanted to feed - on Harian, on people around her, on Auria’s own mind - but she tried and kept the arm at bay. She felt it flailing all around, but she kept the projector far away from the soldier. A grim realization of what the arm wants to feed upon crept slowly upon her.
The battle inside her mind was hard, but after years of tormented psyche ruining almost every day of her life, she knew not to relent. She fought, as bravely and hard as she could, her willpower adamant, her mind waging war against all the voices, a battle on multiple fronts, and she knew that she could not fail - not even once, not a single slip-up.
Harian’s help was enormous. His calm voice drowned all the sounds around her, his deep, beautiful dark eyes locked her in reality, his strong grip made her feel safe and she knew that she could focus completely on her own battle and not be distracted by the world around her.
Second by second, the projector flailed slower and slower, until it came to a complete stop. Auria - drenched in sweat, breathing heavily and shaking from exhaustion - smiled. She hugged-collapsed into Harian’s embrace, barely staying awake.
“Thank you…” She whispered softly.
Harian smiled. “Always, Auria.”
***
“Iarvahr!” Suranihr shouted towards him and pointed into the crowd. Iarvahr followed the finger, and saw a Citadel guard holding a white-haired girl in his arms. A long, metallic arm that rose from her back lashed wildly to sides, trying to hit the closest people from the crowd.
“Isn’t that… projector?” Iarvahr asked loudly.
“Isn’t that your daughter?!” Suranihr asked instead of answering. Mere moments later, both of them were hurrying through the crowd.
“Auria!” Iarvahr screamed over the crowd, and after a second, her face turned towards him.
***
Naira walked through the long corridor, the steps of her firm boots with slightly heightened heels echoing from the stone walls. Dead eyes watched her from the paintings of former Triarchs, judging her every step. Naira stopped in front of a large wooden door inlaid with elegant metalwork reminding her of thorny branches. “I need to see the Triarch.” she told two Citadel guards keeping vigil.
Both guardsmen looked at her from top to the bottom, and one disappeared behind the large door. After a few moments, the door opened, inviting her in. She entered the room, and a cheerful voice of her old mentor greeted her.
“Naira, to what do I…”
“We need to speak alone.” She cut his words off, her own words followed by a slight nod of her head towards the guard that stayed inside the room. Argyl’s cheerful expression faded quickly as he sent the guard away with a small gesture of hand.
“Well, then, speak.” Argyl said after they were alone.
She moved towards the window and looked outside. A grand square dotted by green crowns of trees and colored bushes in flower did not ease the dark mood that held her mind. “That thing of yours already killed someone. Maybe more than one person.”
“How? When?”
“Before it embedded itself in Auria’s back, a young historian found it in archives. He fell unconscious, screamed when he woke up. He burned down the surgical suite in the hospital where Auria works. The thing burned down the suite. And it dried him up, made him older instantly.”
Triarch thought for a minute silently. “And that… rapid aging. That killed him?”
“Auria killed him, when he attacked her. She said that he wanted to feed… on her.”
“How did she kill him?”
“She ripped the thing out of his weakened body.”
Triarch took a few steps towards the cabinet with dark liquid filled bottles. He closed his eyes and took one randomly. He poured the liquid into two glasses and handed one to Naira. She took it while still looking out of the window.
“And the other death?” Argyl asked after taking a sip from the liquid. It burned slightly and a warm sensation spread through his body.
“A man bumped into Auria while she ran from the suite, the thing already in her back. She said a thought occurred to her, of that man rotting from the inside. She felt a strange sensation through the thing, which she attributes to infesting that man with some disease.”
Larais told him of a man dying from some inner rot. It was the day he offered her the rank of Triarch. The day before the council session happened. This all happened three days ago.
“Why didn’t you mention this when we last spoke?”
Naira shrugged slightly. “Auria was afraid of how you would react.”
“I understand. Why did you come now to tell me all this?”
“I need your help. Guidance, advice. Can the thing take control? Can it control Auria? If so, how do I stop it? How do I battle the unseen, the disease brought by a mere thought?”
Argyl downed the rest of the liquid in one giant gulp. “I don’t think you can do such a thing, Naira. I don’t think you can stop it.”
She remained silent, but a question hung in the air nevertheless.
“Sphinx, whomever she was, hated herself for having such a power. She wrote of hundreds dying by her mere thoughts, and the only thing stopping her was the exhaustion brought by the projector itself.”
Naira turned away from the window for the first time and looked straight through Argyl. “So if Auria goes mad, and a plague is unleashed upon the world, one can only hope that it will exhaust her enough so that she would die?”
“Maybe there is another way. Sphinx did not write anything as such in her journal, but she was just a single person. People that created the projectors must have thought of some protection against it.” Argyl opened the bottle again, but instead of pouring himself another glass, he took three big swigs straight from the bottle.
“Keep her sane, Naira.” He continued. “Having such power vested upon her shoulders might be too much to bear. Please, be there for her, support her, in any way you can think of.”
Naira nodded and went for an exit. Argyl’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. “Can she really create diseases inside of anyone?”
“She healed her own broken and burnt arm. Why couldn’t she infect someone else?”
Argyl exhaled deeply, his head hidden in his cupped hands. “Be there for her, Naira, and support her. And if everything fails… We cannot leave someone able to manifest plagues and rots and fuck knows what diseases from a simple thought to walk around without control.”
Naira stared at him defiantly. “If you want to say something, say it. Give an order, Triarch of war.”
“If everything you try fails, kill her.”