Prophets of the Wasteland, Page 3

  Concerned with the skeletal corpses, Grayson asked, “How far is Sofia?”

  They saw a huddled mass swaying back and forth down the road. As they got closer, the attendants stopped and let the knights continue on without them. The woman did not react to the horses, and her dark hair hung forward while she breathed in shallow panic, cradling something in her arms.

  “Are you hurt?” Erelim asked her.

  She stopped rocking and raised her ashen face to the Sergeants. With sunken eyes from hunger and sorrow, her cheeks were disfigured by tears that dropped in rivers as she leaned back, accidentally uncovering the dead infant she held to her naked chest. The woman let her head tilt to one side as if she could no longer carry the weight. “I have no milk,” she sobbed, still clinging the bluish baby to her breast.

  “How long have you been here?” Grayson wondered.

  She looked towards the town. “The crops failed this year.” On the path through the forest, layers of snow had collected around the scrawny corpses. Her eyes glazed over and she looked to the constant gray of the overcast sky as if it was the source of her misery. “The Eucharist,” she muttered. “I warned them.”

  Tetricus was convinced that the scene had proven itself to be a barricade. “A starving town does not do this. People in this region are very superstitious and they don’t welcome outsiders.”

  “There are no demons that can penetrate a pure heart,” said Xenakis. “We should do whatever we can to help.”

  “I’ve seen plenty of hell, but never like this. Let’s leave this situation for someone who can heal the darkness of the lower infinite.”

  Erelim motioned for the rural brothers to bring their carts. “My bravery is not for a lack of something to live for. It may prolong her suffering, but I don’t know what else to do.”

  He took a portion of what little food they had and set it next to the grieving mother. The woman stared through him, but she reflected no malice when they left her to the same deliberate swaying. The food went untouched as she counted the seconds leading to her own vanishing.

  * * * * *

  The wind drifting off the mountains brought a chill to the knights who followed a trail of corpses among the dying trees of early winter. The sloping path led to the clearing of a village, a welcomed sight in the middle of the wilderness, even if the flimsy wooden buildings were close to collapse as weather chewed them away. At the far side of town was a stone church with vines climbing up the walls, swallowing it back into the Earth. After reaching the central courtyard, Xenakis handed their horses to the attendants.

  “Stay here,” he told them. “We’ll circle the village and look for survivors while you check those buildings for supplies.” Among the blankets and pots on one of their carts, he saw a small foot under the equipment and grabbed it. When the owner raised his head, Erelim was startled. “Jesus Christ!”

  “Don’t blaspheme!” Edmund squeezed out from under the load. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “This is the worst place you could be right now,” said Erelim, trying to sound angry.

  The child stood up on the cart so that he could be taller than the knights. “Give me a sword and I’ll follow you into battle.”

  Grayson laughed. “Boy, you could not lift my sword.”

  “Ready your bows, we’ll need to hunt later,” Xenakis told the attendants.

  The Templars left their helmets and shields behind in favor of agility, then separated cautiously towards opposite sides of town with the intention of meeting at the church. Once the rural brothers were alone, Edmund and the pages went to examine the nearest storehouse, leaving their horses to slurp rainwater from nearby puddles.

  * * * * *

  Erelim stepped through dried twigs that broke like the tiny bones of some hellish carpet. When he came upon a stone well, he peered into the darkness and could hear a scratching noise that made him think of fingernails scraping towards the light. He pulled the rope until a bucket came into view and small beetles scurried away. The wooden slats were cracked from moisture and he bent to smell the sloshing water. Though he was thirsty, he decided not to drink it.

  * * * * *

  As the breeze lifted a layer of dead leaves into the air, Grayson followed the buildings on the northern side of the village. There was terrified whimpering by the stables and he followed the peculiar noise to a lone wolf trying to dig below the front steps. It ran to him with a wagging tail, anticipating some attention. He petted the partially domesticated animal reassuringly, but his fingers touched something wet and sticky. He saw a trail of blood leading back to the stable where something large had tried to get in, raking and pounding until the panels fractured.

  By the doorknob, a human fingernail was sticking from the wood with torn and clotted skin. If it was from a person, they had forgotten how to get inside. He opened the door and a gust of stale air escaped with the stench of rotten meat and excrement. The smell was enough to keep him back until he pulled his collar above his nose and his eyes adjusted to the rising dust drifting through beams of light.

  The partitions between each horse’s stall were barely visible, with piles of dung scattered through the unswept area. He saw shadows crossing bodies that sat with their backs to the wall. The townspeople had waited for death while terror beat against the door, more afraid of whatever was outside than the poisoned sanctuary that kept them safe. Families were huddled together and fathers still grasped their children, frozen in the afterlife.

  The Templar’s eyes watered from the stench of the group that had chosen the place for a tomb. He stepped over toddlers with contorted grimaces who were staring at the roof as if their eyes were raised to God. At the far end of the stable was a mound of corpses that seemed oddly displaced, all young villagers of a ripened age, who with the darkness closing in still had the energy to roll over and have sex. As they watched each other starve to death, they ignored the horse droppings and wallowed in filth, disregarding the personalities of those around them.

  Their orgy had commenced despite the hopelessness or because of it, and Tetricus wondered if they had continued in their perversion after some of them died. He walked from the stables and doubled over, heaving to rid himself of infected disgust with the wolf licking his hand.

  * * * * *

  After leaving the well, Xenakis continued towards the church and heard a muffled knocking inside the last building down the row. At the living quarters for priests who maintained the faith of their community, the door was open and light drumming continued with a constancy that seemed deliberate. He stepped in with a hand on his dagger and saw smeared blood from something dragged inside. He followed the sound to the center of the room, where a frail and dainty form disregarded his presence.

  He assumed that the petite female might be delirious from hunger as one of the last survivors, knocking utensils against the floor with nothing else to fill her time. He lifted his metal scabbard and the sunlight caught her crow-black hair. Beside the crouching woman sat polished skulls that were obviously human. She was raking thigh bones over a row of fingers before taking each into her mouth and stripping the remaining flesh. Erelim was already backing out the door when his sheath lit two miniature skeletons. They had been carefully laid out, both infants from their size.

  As if reminded of her actions by the knight, the woman became full of rage. When he tripped into the open and fell on a pile of leaves, she followed and scratched at his face with overgrown fingernails. The daylight revealed human eyes but she was entirely feral, biting her tongue and letting mouthfuls of blood splash over him. She straddled him with her hips locked tight, hindering his ability to draw his sword.

  She grew intoxicated by the feeling of the knight struggling beneath her. As if it were an acceptable substitution to love-making, she reached for the sky and tore at her dress, saying, “The boys give me all of their attention.”

  She was
suddenly distracted by the sight of the well, and scrambled to it as the new obsession consumed her as absolutely as the bones. Xenakis wiped her blood from his face and watched her lean over the bucket, stunned by her reflection and transfixed by the delicate curvature of her cheeks as she pawed at the water’s surface like a kitten.

  Her kindness abated with her frustration of not being able to grasp her own image. She dropped the bucket into the well and seemed happy to hear it tumble. Staring into the impenetrable black, she stretched to touch her reflection and in the darkness saw herself as clearly as the beautiful face shining in the water. She reached forward until her feet came off the ground and she fell into the silence of the Earth.

  * * * * *

  While leaving the stable, Grayson waited until the convulsions in his knotted stomach relented before stepping to the corner. In the alley between buildings was a man lying face down. The wolf kept its distance, and with no sign of visible wounds, the rise and fall of the body’s breathing goaded the knight to pull his sword.

  The man’s nails were broken and his fleshy fingertips were bloody, likely rubbed to the bone when he tried to get into the stable. The villager looked up and appeared glad to see them. From his red-stained teeth, it seemed that he had been scratching at his gums.

  “I offered to share it with them, I’m not as selfish as they say!”

  As he crawled on his belly and grasped for the wolf, he started vomiting pieces of half-digested bread. Tetricus slammed the blunt side of his sword against the villager’s skull, dropping him to the ground where his shallow breathing commenced. The wolf stayed close to the Templar when they continued forward.

  * * * * *

  Erelim was trying to forget the woman lost in the well and was near the ornate chapel when something caught his attention on the opposite side. With sword drawn, he held his weapon like his faith and walked behind the church. In an orthodox robe, a priest was dragging a dead clergyman through the grass, working out some kind of deliberate ritual. The body had a hole in the stomach, hollowed out and steaming in the cold.

  Near them was a bulging sack with lumps too round to be precious metals looted from the church. Xenakis moved to it slowly while keeping an eye on the strange activity. As he opened the coarse fabric, the priest stopped walking and sank his teeth into the dead body, apparently ending every circle with a feast of his former colleague. Captivated by the man’s voracity, Erelim opened the sack and found loaves of bread from a Eucharist that had gone moldy in the chapel.

  “You can have some,” said the cannibal with torn skin hanging from his beard. “There’s plenty for all of us, I keep telling the others.” As the priest mumbled something between bites and closed his eyes with moans of satiated hunger, Xenakis wasn’t sure which meal he wanted to share.

  * * * * *

  Grayson reached the church and told the wolf to wait at the elaborate entrance. The doors were already open and the place reeked of incense meant to override an unwashed congregation. The windows were clogged from years of disrepair, but the candles along the pews were lit. The Templar made his way up the middle aisle and saw a body stretched across the altar with an arrow sticking from his chest. Blood had dripped steadily before the man’s death, collecting in a river across the floor near two sacks full of gold.

  When he reached the front pews, he heard rummaging in the storeroom and the laughter of men. One of the thieves came into the open carrying more loot. He was dressed in stolen clothes for warmth in Bulgaria and his beard hung like an unkempt animal. After the armed mercenary saw the knight and called for his friends, two more ransackers walked around the statue of Yeshua’s sacrifice. One was short like the others but with a stocky frame, and the third man had a fresh injury that made him limp.

  Their leader smiled through blackened teeth and didn’t seem far from pulling his weapon. “We’re almost done here, pilgrim, then you can have your run of the place.”

  “This town has been cursed by God,” Tetricus lamented.

  “Northern winters are killing our crops as well, but these villagers were dead before we got here. We needed sanctuary after falling into an ambush by Hungarian knights. As you can see, our friend was killed during the escape.” He regarded the arrow-pierced corpse, whom they weren’t exactly mourning. “All we found were ghosts, so we decided to help ourselves.”

  “We were further west, near Serbian territory,” said the Bulgar with the injury. “We looked for rest in Macedonia, but they apparently bear egos that rival Alexander. Since Hungarians fancy themselves the sons of Attila, we lost hope of finding solace until returning home. You must be a Crusader.”

  Grayson wore no emblems of the Order and looked upon the men with clear apprehension.

  “Last of a dying breed. Men of God find no arrogance in their loyalty,” said the leader. “That’s how you can tell a Crusader from other knights, they know they’re beholden to no king. You would have gotten a fine welcome here had this village not been swallowed by hell.”

  “So where does a disbanded soldier hide?” asked the limping Bulgar.

  “This desecration...” Tetricus studied the sacks of stolen property. “I cannot let you do this.”

  The ransackers assumed that he was joking. “We thought crop failures were isolated in the north,” said their leader. “But we’ve seen starvation crawling south with the cold and constant rain. People are losing faith in the Church and this monument to God did nothing to allay their suffering. We would be glad to share our wealth if you’ll provide us with safe passage. Do you have a procession, or are you a solitary Templar?”

  Grayson frowned. “Are you asking if I value honor more than life?”

  “You should be angry with whatever God you worship. This is the course of life, bursting populations and too many mouths born onto land that cannot feed them. To the scourge of nature’s destruction, the people will rise up and revolt. This loss must be accounted for with the blood of lesser tyrants, but if it angers you to have the freshly departed bleeding over your altar, by all means –”

  “I cannot let you do this,” Tetricus repeated.

  The thieves stepped closer. “Enough sadness has occurred here, it does no wrong to steal what no longer applies to the dead. They are spirits while we have hungry mouths.”

  The Templar raised his sword. “That gold can go to hungry mouths that don’t rape and burn their way through life.”

  The leader checked his men to make sure that they knew what was about to happen, then he responded, “Either help us take the gold to our horses north of here, or we’ll kill you and take the treasure anyway. We are riders without a procession of carts, so it would help us greatly if you could supply us for a fee. Isn’t that the Templar Code, privilege of autonomy to all but payment? You still haven’t answered my question though, are you alone or with others?”

  A low growl turned their eyes to the entrance, where the wolf stood with his ears back. “I wondered why this knight showed such bravery. Turns out that it wasn’t his faith at all, just a dog.”

  “From where I stand, that wolf smells better than you do,” said Grayson. “And you ask if I have more protection than a will of iron?”

  The thief rubbed his chin, scraping off layers of filth. “We shall test your armor.”

  The stocky Bulgar swung a mace at the end of a long chain, knocking over prayer candles that had melted into formlessness. When Tetricus dodged his attack, the wooden pews were split to pieces. The wolf ran down the center aisle and locked its jaw on the leader’s forearm, pulling him off-balance as he tried to draw his weapon. The heavyset man tried again, but the spiked metal ricocheted off a stone pillar and landed in his wrist, distracting him long enough for Grayson to stab him through the chest.

  Responding to the noise, Erelim arrived at the entrance with his sword ready. The Bulgar struggled with the wolf gripping his sleeve until he used his free hand
to shove a dagger between the animal’s ribs. Xenakis closed the distance and hacked his arm off at the elbow, cutting him to the floor. The limping merc tried to escape into the back, but they overpowered him easily and slit his throat.

  Erelim finally noticed the gold-filled sacks and said, “Well, that explains a lot.”

  * * * * *

  They walked outside, where Grayson informed Xenakis about the horses tied to the north. “So they offered you gold?” he asked with a grin.

  “After seeing this place, I would not tempt the wrath of God.” He looked for the wolf that had defended him, but the injured creature was wandering into the woods. “We should help.”

  “Let him have peace,” Erelim suggested.

  “But he’s going to die alone.”

  “Then give him mercy and quicken his release.”

  “I would say so for all mankind, but that is not peace!”

  “Let’s take the gold to those who can use it, that’s why the animal died.”

  Grayson watched the wolf move out of sight. “There’s no purpose in death any longer.”

  * * * * *

  The rural brothers were firing arrows into makeshift targets when the knights crossed the courtyard. “What happened? Did you find anyone?” Edmund wondered.

  “The people here were starving to death,” said Erelim. “They broke into the storage of Eucharist bread as a last resort and the ergot mold caused those who ate it to go mad.”

  “Others locked themselves in the stables,” Tetricus continued. “The rest tried escaping up the road that brought us here. I need one of you to help me fetch some horses while the rest of you pull the carts to the church. We found something you should see.”