078 – Steven Goes Exploring

Steven felt the world spin around him, then stabilize. As he regained his equilibrium, he took stock of where he was. He stood in the middle of a disused road at the edge of a forest. Before him stood the ruins of a city wall and gates, with a ruined city visible beyond.

The city ruins were sun bleached stone, much of it still standing, with debris scattered around. Though ruined, much was intact, and even usable and rebuildable. The most disconcerting thing was the lack of any vegetation. There was not any on the buildings, none on the ground, none where it would be expected. More so, nothing smelled as expected.

The surrounding area looked like a lush forest. Applying what he had learned of how the people on this planet built their cities, Steven guessed that this city had been in ruins for some time, not having listened fully to the conversation between Caspian and Verigan. He had landed on a road in the farmlands outside the city. But the forest went right up to the edge of the urban structures. Trees as thick around as Steven was stood about, with some of the outer structures showing the scaring of small seasonal forest fires. The forest itself smelled as a forest. Once he crossed into the line into the city, the smell changed. It was almost sour, not the rich rottenness of a swamp, for there was no excessive moisture here. It was not dry like a desert, for this climate felt like Nebraska did in the early summer, when they went for summer vacation to Rox’s grandparents. But the smell was not fresh, not living. Nor was it rotten of death and the decay prior to starting the cycle of life over. It was a stale smell, of stasis.

As Steven walked through the ruined city, he could come to no conclusion whether the city was ruined by both war and time. There were dried bones here and there, but anything of worth had long gone to dust or scavengers.

He looked at the sky and noticed that the sun was farther west across the sky, and higher from the southern horizon than it had been in the elf city. So he was some distance east and south of Shalaia, and had less daylight to work with for the moment. As he scanned the sky Steven noticed the moons for the first time in a while. One of the Twins was in the first half of its cycle, and on its downward arc to the western horizon, so the other would probably be rising on the eastern horizon in the waning half of its cycle, shortly after lunch time. The largest moon waning past full, and smallest one a waxing crescent, were also past their zenith, and due to set in the early afternoon. One thing this told Steven was that he would have a comparatively dark evening, and the moons would rise about and past the middle of the night.

Steven walked along the road from outside the city through the walls. The gates were missing their doors, even the hinges had been prized from the stone. The road Steven traveled continued more or less straight to the fortress castle in the center.

“Find The King. Take his sword as your own.”

Simple enough instructions, Steven thought to himself, ruefully. First: Size up the Fortress. Second: Find a place to camp.

Steven figured The King to be in one of three places: in a tomb; in the throne room; or in his chambers. Barring those it would take a methodical search of the whole place that might be better done by an archaeologist. All of which meant searching the whole castle. Steven figured he was most probably in the tomb, most likely somewhere under the fortress. But he had no idea how to get in. He did not relish the idea of searching a catacomb for a dead body, no matter how old.

After looking the area over, Steven decided that this dead city had been besieged and destroyed, and remembered Verigan saying something along those lines. But the fortress near the center had withstood the siege, and then surrendered. The city was in general ruins; the walls of the fortress were scarred but were hardly breached. Also the doors were again missing down to the hardware. While it marked the work of an army looting and prizing a city, it could be the work of scavengers.

After walking the circumference of the fortress, picking his way through the rubble of the city and fording the rivers that fed and drained the mote, Steven decided that other than the dead inhabitants of the city and assorted bugs he was alone here.

Skeletons were strewn about the area where they had been stacked ages ago. The victors had removed their dead and stripped the losers of anything valuable. Women and children were mixed with the men, families fighting and dying side by side.

After spending the remaining sunlight exploring the ruined city, Steven set up camp in a building facing the largest fortress gate. He built a fire using old dry rotted timbers, and broken up furniture and watched the night gather around him. When sleep finally came it was uneasy, as dreams of battle filled his rest.

He was a shopkeeper, recently married with an infant daughter. His wife came down from the rooms upstairs, carrying their daughter bundled in a sling inside her coat. The invaders were very close, but there was nowhere to run. Why had not The King surrendered, or done anything to fight the siege? That was not for answering now. There were some invaders outside on the road now, with their bloody weapons and armor. They went into the shops across the street. He grabbed the short sword the constable had given him, and started to follow his wife out the back. But it was too late. She did not have time to try to fight the soldiers coming in that way, and it was too small an area. Then a spear was protruding through his wife’s back, on the side with the baby. He screamed, and moved around her to get at her attacker as she fell lifeless. He blocked the spear aside, and drove the man back, pushing him into his companions. He shoved his sword through the shield, running the soldier through. Then they were out the back door. There were other dead and dying back here. He tried to pull his sword out of the soldier but was too late, as another spear pierced his side, right through his chest. The pain was momentary, and followed by dark.

The dream ceased.

He was a soldier, having been at siege and war for a long time. He was sick of it: sick of killing; sick of fighting. They had been promised that once this city fell, they could go home. He hoped she had not married by the time he got back home to her. For now his orders were to ‘kill anyone armed.’ That had turned into ‘kill everyone.’ They did not even spare the children, much as they wished to. The defenses had collapsed and his platoon was marauding toward the fortress. They were working the back alleys, to support the groups that were using the main streets. The wooden parts of many of the structures were on fire, but his group was not bothering to burn anything, as most structures in this area were stone work, and perhaps worth looting. He kicked in the back door of a shop of some kind. There was a woman with a sword. He lunged with the spear, using his shield to block her sword. But there was something under her wrap that was alive moments before he plunged his spear through it and her. The woman tried to hold the spear as she collapsed. A man yelled and charged around her. He raised his shield and the man ran into it, pushing him and his friends’ back outside. The man rammed a sword through his shield, and into his stomach. The pain was incredible, but somehow he kept on his feet. The man tried to pull it out, but the shield would not let go of the sword. The movement of it hurt, and as it slid back and forth it did mortal damage, and its blade was covered in his blood. He collapsed, not knowing why the man had suddenly disappeared. His last regret was he would never see home again.

The dream ceased.

Steven woke with a start. It took him several moments to remember where he was.

Now he understood the bodies that were everywhere. They were the city locals, as he figured. Slaughtered as the invaders moved in. None of the bodies were where they had died, having been looted.

Thoughts of his Marine buddies filled his memory. Steven went back to sleep, and dreamed again.

He stood on the fortress wall watching the carnage impassively. He knew he should be mad, but was really just sad. The Fortress had used up everything they had to fight with. All in senseless waste. The city folk that surrendered were tied up and put aside. Those that fought were given no mercy. The invaders were to the innermost parts of the city. To the mote itself. It was almost nightfall, the siege ending almost as fast as the day. Which was just as well. Troops went into building after building, sometimes coming out wounded. Sometimes not coming out. All because The King lay on his bed and in his senility was content to let the city die with him. As a guard it was his duty to protect The King. But wasn’t it also his duty to protect the people? Many of his fellow guards were asking the same thing. He looked around. It was time to do something. He looked up at the flags above the fortress. Then back at his fellow guards. The only things to do to end this were unthinkable: Kill the King, or lower the flags.

The dream faded.

Steven slept dreamless the rest of the night.

He awoke as the sun came over the horizon, the light bubbling across the ruins, as if hesitant to look on the scene of destruction yet again. Steven made himself some breakfast, and set about fashioning a torch from a long table leg, with oil soaked cloth he had brought with wrapped around the end. He finished the torch and went to the fortress. As he went his mind was consumed with what he had dreamed, remembering the ideas clearly even if he did not remember the images.

He crossed the bridge over the empty moat, careful to avoid the rotten timbers. Compared to the rubble of the city, the fortress was fairly clean. No bodies anywhere. No major structural damage. No rubble, save by collapse from neglect. The layout of the structure was straight forward, from a simple time and mode of thought. The front entry was a hub for the halls that led off to the left and right, and straight ahead. Stairs went up to the second and third floors of the wings. The building flowed with the hills it sat on, and a few wings had levels higher than the others.

Unlike the other places he had been to in this world, the ceilings were closer to the height he was used to. Though the place breathed well the stale smell still permeated, Steven soon acclimated to it and no longer noticed it. Digging a piece of chalk from a spare pocket, Steven started down the hall to his left, intending to conduct a ‘left hand search’ and methodically work his way around.