Child of Stone Chapter 2

[roulette_]

I reviewed the beginning of chapter 1 as I promised and added names sooner. I'll reread later today and make sure everything flows for me. It just didn't happen as soon as I promised. So while I'm downloading some yaoi manga I decided it was time to put up Chapter 2.

Child of the Stones

Chapter 2 - "And the fog will climb from Moridark and speak with the voice of the air. Pay heed to the messangers and follow them towards destiny" - The Book of Zion

***

Tiberius looked up into a sky turning golden with the Argoth's light. Trying to ignore the pain in his body and the burning of his throat he turned his head, eyes fluttering as the world spun dizzily.

Glassy empty eyes stared back at him. Their familiarity destroyed by their lifeless. Over head crows cawed loudly and picked through the carrion that had once been his countrymen. It was not until one settled close by, its hard, black beak pecking at Titus' flesh that he forced himself to rise.

Only the dead and the crows were witness to his rising and neither seemed to care. His voice came out as a croak as he tried to chase the crows from Lucas' body. Raw and unshed sorrow ground within him, but it could not seem to find its way out. And though he longed to fall to his knees and hold his fallen lover, the wind whispered over him coaxing him instead down the path.

The world spun wildly and the crows’ shrill caws pierced him as sharply as any blade and when his sight again rested on the world around him he stood before a stream. The waters churned a gory crimson. His eyes strained to see the source of this revulsion as his parched throat screamed for a drink.

He forced his tired and sore body to crest the hill he thought he had just come down only to find a green meadow. In it lay the bodies of men. A thousand upon a thousand upon a thousand men. The crows had no more regard for these poor souls than they had his own.

He stepped upon the grass and it squished soggily beneath his feet, the source of the crimson tide below found.

"This is what they have wrought. This is your legacy," a soft female voice whispered in his ear.

He spun looking for its source, but only found more sightless eyes staring accusingly at him and crows. He stepped backwards and ran into a gnarled tree. Overhead the sky was awash with an impenetrable grey and fog wound around his ankles and still the ground gave beneath his weight, dirty, crimson water bubbling over his boots.

"Where am I?" he managed to croak to the gnarled trees and dying clumps of weeds around him.

"You are in the Moridark Marshes, child." An almost motherly voice whispered.

Again he spun toward the sound, only to fall into the water as the sky spun above him. He brushed a blood stained hand over his face and using the scrub about him, managed to pull himself upright again.

Before him stood a cottage. Its door stood open, an impenetrable darkness peering back at him through its unshuttered windows.

"Will you face the destiny woven for you upon the loom of fate, or will you hide your face from it?" An old woman's raspy voice asked harshly.

He turned again searching for the source, knowing he would find nothing. But this time when his sight settled three women stood before him. One sat next to gathnar, its udder heavy with milk. She was young and pretty. Her auburn hair slid silkily over creamy shoulders to rest in her small lap. The next was plump mother of indefinable age as all mother's seemed to be. Before her sat a bowl of vegetables that she was carefully paring. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tidy bun, though several strands had managed to escape. It softened her scolding look, reminding him of the maidenhood she had parted with not so very long ago. The final woman sat before a loom. The colors varied between earthy and uninteresting shades to colors so vibrant they made his eyes ache. He pushed his knuckles against his eyes, trying to steady the dancing images that seemed to move across the weave. She was the oldest, time having stolen all but a glimmer of her beauty. Her silver hair hung in a loose braid down her back and she looked at him with runny, cataract eyes.

"Who- who are you?" he croaked through a throat that felt like fire.

"We are the Jenai, the fearsome three, the hags of Moridark." Their voices shuddered down his spine as they spoke in eerie unison.

"You have a destiny. It lay before you now." The green eyed maiden spoke softly, her smile wistful.

"But we must know that you will take it. Shall we weave it for you?" The blue eyed mother asked.

"Or shall we show you the gates to Zion's chambers so that you may start your journey again?" The white eyed crone finished.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I am the heir to Ishtar, what other destiny could I have."

He did not see them move but suddenly became aware that they stood next to him, their fingers biting into his skin.

"Is your destiny revenge?" the maiden whispered, mixing with the wind as it passed by them.

"Or is your destiny peace?" the mother added her own voice to the jumble of whispers around him.

"Will you live, child? Will you take your place within the weave?" the grandmother asked, her eyes boring into him.

He shook his head trying to shake off the grogginess that clung to him and blurred the edges of his vision.

"I-" his mind turned to Lucas' sightless eyes. "I-" Titus' words flooded through him. They had died so he could live. He did not want to. He only wished to join them in the quiet darkness of death, but could not dishonor them by doing so. "I will live. I will face my destiny whatever it is, whether it be revenge or unity."

In unison they nodded, and he again found them distant from him. Suddenly the ground gave beneath him and he sank in the mire and the blood soaked muck up to his knees.

"What? Help me!" He held out his hand to them and searched for something to hold on to. In the distance laughter like dry, brittle paper being torn and crumbled cackled. He quickly sank to his waist, his struggles futile. Over head the crows sang a ruccious tune as he clawed at the damp earth. Twigs and weak grass came away in his grasp. A scream tore out of his body as he felt himself being pulled under.

"I thought you said you wanted to live," the treacherous hag's voice hissed in his ear.

Tepid, stale water filled his mouth and his scream echoed in his head alone as the brightly spotted darkness again consumed him.

Tiberius' eyes flew open as he sputtered and coughed, his raw throat burning anew as he struggled for breath. His lungs ached by the time he was able to draw in air. Soft, high pitched words slid over him, but their meaning was beyond him. Warm fingers brushed over his brow as he heaved in deep breaths and fought to make the world stop its spinning. The vestiges of his dream swirled in the darkness of his mind. With each passing moment they became more transparent and ethereal than the moment before until nothing but a vague sense of fear smoldered in his gut.

The air was fetid and heavy. Its warm humidity seemed to cling to the inside of his lungs. He coughed, but the feeling didn't go away. Grey stone swam before his blurry eyes and he reached out to it trying to find something solid to hold onto.

Those warm hands caught him and help him sit up. The world spun dizzily again. "Lucas, where are we?" he asked, his voice gravely. He put a hand to his burning throat and couldn't stop the tears that seeped out of the corners of his eyes at the unexpected sharp pain.

"Shhh, it's okay. We're in Castle ?'s dungeon, Sir."

He turned blurry eyes to a face that was distinctly not Lucas'. It was the face of boy, oddly familiar and yet he could not place why.

He held his throat and tried to speak again. Only a hoarse croaking escaped.

A red crockery pot, chipped and abused was held to his lips. Again tepid, stale water flowed into his mouth. He forced himself to swallow it, grateful for the wetness that cooled the edges of raw ache in his throat, though the flavor itself threatened to cause it to all come back up.

Finally he managed to collect himself and pulled his wandering thoughts together. He crawled to the cells door, grimacing at the pain in his side. Beyond the cell door he could see the remnants of his army. He sank to the floor his face a mask of pain and sorrow. He looked at his hand and noted his ring was missing. It had been a very plain silver seal. Enough to mark him as a nobleman, but not of high enough birth to raise suspicions. If he were lucky, they would ransom him as they had several other nobles. His father would pay it and he would return to his family and kingdom, the Akarian King none the wiser of their ruse.

"My liege, you should eat."

His eyes, having closed again beneath his weariness and despair, snapped open. He scrambled across to the boy, heedless of the pain that pierced through him. He put his hand over the boy's mouth, shushing anything more he could say.

"Never call me that again. I am Lucas Ovias, bodyguard for the heir. That's it. Do you understand me?" He hissed his voice harsh.

The boy's light eyes were wide with fear, but Tiberius remained unmoved. He could not allow the child to give away what so many had died to protect. The boy nodded, his fear written plainly on his face. Slowly he pulled his hand away, but the child did nothing more. He moved back to his side of the cell, where he had awakened, and tried to find a comfortable position.

"You will tell me all that you know about what has happened since the battle."

The boy blinked at him. "You don't remem-..." Something on his face must have stopped the boy because he simply nodded. "After Lu-" he blinked again, "the Commander fell at the hands of the Akarian champion, the men who were still traversing the pass' walls started falling. The troops rallied under Giaus. I think it startled them. They had not expected either thing to happen. But it was not enough. There were too many of them.

"After the battle was over they began to sort out the wounded from the dead. Their own they buried or bandaged. But ours..." the boy shuddered. "the pages went out among those that remained and began killing them."

It was a common enough ritual. Why feed and house your enemy when you can simply kill them? He supposed he could thank his great grandfather for teaching the Akarian's that particular trick.

"So why are any of us alive," he asked suspiciously.

The boy shook his head. "A flock of crows so large and thick it blotted out the sun settled in the pass but instead of attacking the dead, it began pecking at those who were killing the wounded. When they left the pass, the crows would only sit and watch, but if any approached a living man bearing a weapon, they would attack him. Three of the Pages died beneath their beaks."

The boy shuddered again. Tiberius could sympathize with the child, but pressed him for more information. After another hesitation the boy started again.

"They finally just gathered up the wounded, and carried them to some wagons. You were," the child swallowed hard. "the only of the Prince's entourage left. I have never... you're eyes-" the boy was now visibly shaking. "They brought you before their Priest and the commander. They wanted confirmation that the Prince was dead. They had- they had his head in a box. When you saw it, you-" The boy broke down, tears streaming down his face as he rocked gently. "I didn't know you could do that with your hands. There was so much blood. The Priest did something to you with the glowing staff he had and you turned on him."

The boy covered his ears as if blocking out a sound that Tiberius could not hear. "You just kept screaming and tearing at him and screaming and screa-" the boy's voice died off into a sob.

Tiberius watched the boy with an oddly detached gaze, as if he were listening to a story told to him about another. He reached out and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You are safe now. They are not here and I will not harm you. You are my kinsman. We are of the same blood, yes?"

The boy hiccupped and looked up. He dragged his dirty sleeve across his face wiping away tears, dirt and snot, leaving an oddly clean smear across his grungy face.

"The priest finally stopped you. I do not- I do not know how he did it, my-, My Lord Ovias. You did not awake again until just now. But I heard that even after the Priest used his magicks upon you, you would thrash and scream like a mad man. It frightened the Akarian's and they began to speak of you in hushed whispers. They do not understand why you were able to fight against their priests' magic when none other before you has been able to. They fear that the crows are your doing and that you are not a man but a demon from the marshes.

"The Priest insisted that you are just a man. But it was good we arrived at the Castle when we did. After the death of the Commander, his control over them was tenuous and there were whispers of a mutiny to kill the both of you."

He leaned closer, scooting so that whatever words he would say next could only be heard by the two of them.

"There is a prophecy, they believe you are-,"

His voice was cut off as the sound of heavy boots upon the stone.

"Lie down. Pretend you are asleep. Now that they are safe within their walls and the crows that followed them on their long journey are gone, they intend to kill you. Please, my lord. Lie down."

Tiberius hurriedly did as the boy indicated, flopping back on the floor, limbs sprawled out limply as the boy scrambled across the floor to his spot amongst the musty, dank straw gathered in the corner.

The heavy wooden door scraped open and someone entered. He heard a brief scuffle ensue, but it was over quickly. "You're feisty tonight, boy. That should please the Captain."

He heard the boy whimper, but to his credit he said nothing more. For a moment there was silence and he could feel the guard’s eyes upon him. Finally with a grunt, he turned and left. The thick door swung shut on stiff hinges and he was alone.

Slowly he opened his eyes, his small cell coming into view. Carefully he inspected the tiny room, searching for anything that would give him an advantage. But besides the small bowl and the straw, there was nothing.

He lay back in his spot, despair overwhelming him. Dark visions of blood, death and the continued whispering of the hags tormented him whenever he closed his eyes and yet sleep found him again and pulled him unwillingly back into its darkly pulsing womb. Trapped within it, he could not tell if it were a blessing or a curse as he revisited the faces of those he had lost. His body thrashed and he wept, crying out into the silence around him, stealing any restorative powers his sleep might have provided him.

Beneath his blanket of exhausted sleep, he heard a door open and a presence not of friend or countryman prickled under his skin. The whispered words that continued to plague him buzzed loudly in his head driving out the dark images along with all other thoughts. Their words a mystery, but their warning ever so clear. Somewhere just within the edges of his hearing, a crow cried, his voice sharp, piercing the heavy weight of his tormented dreaming.

In a single movement he rose, with the grace of a cat and the fluidity of the fog the swirled silently about a man's feet he struck. The clay bowl in his hand shattered upon impact, the sharp shard left in his hand burying itself deep into the soft flesh of the guard's throat.

The crow's raspy voice faded from his mind and his pale blue eyes opened. Their golden center's glowing dully in the dungeon's gloom. He stood a moment, watching as the guard fell to the floor, soft gurgling flowing from his lips as his essence spilled crimson on the ground beneath him.

He lifted the keys from the man's belt and threw them at the boy who was staring at him with round, frightened eyes.

Ignore the fresh bruises, broken lip and puffy eyes, he ordered. "Let the others out. We will be free men or we will die warriors," his voice was rough, little more than a hoarse whisper itself..

The boy stared at him, unmoving, his lips working but no sound made its way past his lips.

"Now! Every moment you dally here is a moment lost."

The boy nodded and scurried from the cell, the heavy metal keys clanking noisily as the boy ran to do as he had been commanded.

Tiberius dragged the body into the cell and pulled the remainder of useful things from the man's corpse. It revealed a short, dull knife, a sling shot and a short club of sorts. The knife probably most often used for eating, but it was in good condition and with proper use could still be deadly. He found the small bag of sharp, pointed bullets for the sling. He'd never used one before, but they still might come in handy. He slid the bag, knife and club into the waist band of his pants and stepped out into the hall.

Behind him he heard the movements of the men the boy had released. He tossed the knife to one of them and started up the stairs the heavy leather of the well cared for sling in his hands.

At the top of the stairs was another door. It was easily opened with the keys he'd liberated from the guard now lying face first in the filth. The door swung open, creaking loudly in the silence around him.

A voice called out, "Laise, get him put up?" Tiberius hurried to the sound, pressing his body against the wall he waited for his prey. The approaching guard chuckled. "The Captain rode him hard toni- The man's voice cut off as he rounded the corner and found the boy in question stepping out of the door. The guard drew his sword and made to move towards the surprised teen.

"Wha-" His exclamation died in a strangled gasp as the sling Tiberius was holding wrapped around his throat and cinched tight. He struggled trying to get his fingers between leather and skin as Tiberius used the heavy thong to control his quarries movements. The man with the knife topped the stairs.

"Through the heart," he hissed as he continued to struggle to keep the guard under control and quiet. The soldier reacted almost instantly and plunged the blade down. The first strike was ineffective, the guard's heavy leather protecting him. He soldier struck again, this time piercing into the man's body as the weakened leather gave beneath the blade. With a vicious swing the solider struck again, the knife burying itself to the hilt in the guard's chest.

With a grunt the coppery haired soldier pulled the blade free. With a final shudder the Guard quit struggling and Tiberius lowered the man to the floor, making as little sound as possible.

"Captain, we feared they'd killed you," the red haired soldier said.

Tiberius shook his head, his throat aching from use. He removed this guard's items as well. A knife, another sling and bullets and another club. There were only five of them, so the remaining items were distributed to the other two soldiers and the pale faced boy.

Tiberius pressed his club into the boy's hand. "Do not be afraid. Death is only another beginning," he quoted their god Zion's words. Tiberius couldn't be ure, but he'd wondered if that particular phrase had been added to Zion's works after the war with Akar had started. Men afraid of death made poor religious zealots and even worse soldiers. He would never accuse the temples of manipulating the minds and wills of men, but that didn't keep him from being very cautious of believing all that was said.

He turned hard eyes to the remaining men. "Long live Ishtar." His voice was little more than a gravelly croak, but he knew they understood.

At the corner he turned and looked at the Page and pointed down the hall, his eyes questioning. The boy nodded and Tiberius made his way to the next junction again asking the boy silently which way they must go. They contined this way until they reached the point he'd been dreading. When he asked, the boy shrugged. He knew the direction they didn't want to go, but not what the other direction held.

Tiberius wasn't even sure if they were heading father out as they needed or deeper into the castles bowels.

Carefully, he turned the knob for the next door barring his path, only to have it jerk suddenly out of his hand. The door swung away from him and standing in the door before him was a large, barrel chested man.

It was easy to see the man before him was as surprised to see him as he was to see the stocky guard. Behind him the boy made a high pitched sound of terror. It was enough to break the shock that had settled over him.

He quickly drew the knife he'd taken from the second guard and slashed at the man's face, hoping to silence him before he could warn others of their presence. However the sound must have effected the Captain of the Guard as much as it had effected Tiberius. The guard jerked backwards and the blade sliced down the side of the man's face instead of hitting anything critical.

With a lunge he bulled his way into the room, hoping that even with smaller weapons, with their numbers they would be able to overcome the guard. But whatever luck they had had getting them to this point had fled. For the room was larger than he had first assumed and the Captain was not alone within it.

He cursed, ancient words that held little meaning falling from his lips. The guard drew his sword and pressed a hand to his cheek, pulling away damp, red fingers.

"The prisoners are trying to escape. Get them." The man bellowed, his voice ringing through the room and down the hall.The sound of more weapons being bared filtered through his senses. But it was too late to care about it now. Escape was impossible. Now death only remained for them. He thought in the distance he heard a woman cackling with devilish glee.

"For Ishtar!" he screamed as he lunged forward, thrusting his blade into the man's gut, only to have the point skitter across the tough leather. Drawing up the skills Titus had pounded into him, he managed to duck the guard's blow. Behind him the sound of steel meeting still told him the Captain's reinforcements had finally rallied to meet their attack.

Parrying with the tiny weapon was only asking to loose his hand and so he found himself twisting and dodging his foes sharp blade. He released his hold on one end of the sling and as the guard slashed downward, he cast out with the sling, the long, heavy thong wrapped around the guard's arm and he first pulled towards himself, throwing the man off balance and temporarily holding his opponent's sword arm out before him. He smashed the hilt of his knife onto the man's thumb, the sword clattering to the ground with a cry of pain.

Tiberius smiled, his victory before him. He stepped behind the guard, twisting his arm so that the man's hand now resided between his shoulder blades.

"Now you will die, Akarian pig," he said through clenched teeth. He brought his other arm around the man's neck and pressed the blade against the man's throat.

"Not today he won't," a deep voice too terribly near said.

He turned in time to catch a glimpse of a silver pommel coming towards his head and a flash of oddly familiar green eyes before the pain and darkness crashed around him. With a grunt, his knife fell from his hand and he slumped to the floor. Ishtar's heir again overwhelmed by the Akarian Champion's unwavering skill.