(no subject)
More nanowrimo!
Please let me know if any one finds any spelling or grammar mistakes!
Chapter 2
“Come on!” the bandit yelled over the din of the temple. He grabbed the front of Wend’s robes and pulled him into a run.
Wend followed behind, heart in his throat. They passed the mess hall just in time to see the roof collapse.
There where people all around them now, trying to escape before they were crushed by falling rocks. Everyone was streaming out the main doors, and the bandit lead Wend out passed the gardens and through the main gates. Here most people had stopped, clinging to one another for comfort. But Wend and the stranger kept moving. He led him through a maze of side alleys and streets. They kept running. Just when Wend thought they must be miles away from the temple the stranger came to an abrupt halt.
He turned sharply, dropping his bag, and grabbed the front of Wend’s robe with both hands. He pulled his face close to his, so Wend could do nothing but stare into the man’s eye.
“What the hell does that place keep in its crypts?”
Wend tried to speak, but found no words would come out.
The stranger shook him. “The crypts, man! What is kept in the crypts?!”
“Books.”
“Books?”
“Books. Artefacts. Things that are important to the temple. Things that-”
“I get it. What I’m more concerned about is the manner of these things. Why are they in the crypt?”
“Some of them are very delicate, and need to be out of the sunlight. Some of them have occult significance and the Elders don’t want them displayed. And some-”
“And some?!”
“Some are cursed.”
The bandit closed his eye and furrowed his brow. “Cursed.” He said under his breath.
Wend nodded solemnly. “Yes.”
“So if I was to, hypothetically take one of these cursed items, the temple might just collapse in around its self, wouldn’t it?”
“Um. Hypothetically.”
The bandit’s head dropped onto Wend’s shoulder. “Awesome. That’s just awesome.”
Wend’s eyes shifted around nervously. “Um, so, what comes next?”
The bandit raised his head to look Wend in the eyes. “What comes next? I go see to Vinny the Informer, and cut out his spleen. The information he is informing doesn’t quite stack up. After that I’m getting the hell out of town as fast as a horse can carry me. Then, I’m going to bring this shit,” he nudged the bag with a boot, “to someone to find out what item is the one that caused that.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the cloud of dust rising from the ruins of the temple. “Then I’m going to sell the rest.” He sighed, dropping Wend’s robe and taking a step back. “Then I’m going to get drunk, and try to forget all about this.” He picked up his bag and began to walk away. “Have a great life, kid.”
Many things began to flash though Wend’s mind. The first of which being something along the lines of “Holyshitholyshitholyshitthatwasmytempleholyshit. Though far less articulate. The second was questioning what he was going to do now, and the third was the voice of reason reminding Wend he was unhappy there any way.
“But what am I going to do?” he asked himself pathetically as his knees gave out. Sitting on the dirty, worn cobble stones Wend glanced at the heavens. “What am I going to do now, O Lord?”
In response, the heavens decided it was a good time to start raining.
----
The temple was in ruins there was not a tower standing. It had taken five hundred years to build this temple, and all of a minute and a half to knock it down again. It seemed the whole city had gathered around the rubble.
Wend pushed his way through the crowd, making his way slowly to the contingent of priests that stood on a small pile of blocks from the ruined library tower.
“Father Jere!” Wend called over the noise of the crowd. “Sir!”
The head priest looked down at the small scholar, his light hair and red robe a stark contrast to the dark, dirty colours worn by the townsfolk. “Ah, Brother. Good. We’ve been looking for you.”
Wend’s breath caught in his throat. “L-looking for m-me Father?”
“Yes. We are taking a list of those who made it out of the temple.”
“A-ah. I see.” He breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure that he could be punished for running into the bandit and not trying to stop him, but the church was a big fan of unfair punishments, and he certainly didn’t want to take the chance.
“We’ve arranged for temporary dorms in the hotels in the city.” The head priest took a paper from his secretary and glanced over it once. “You’re to go to the Finch. Here is your map.” He handed the paper back to his secretary, who gave it to Wend.
“Sir?” Wend asked, taking the map and folding it carefully.
“What is it?”
“I was just wondering about Olin, sir. Has he reported in?”
Father Jere’s gaze was fixed on the rubble. “I have no idea.”
“No one with that name has reported in.” The secretary said, leaning down towards Wend. “And what is your name and position?”
Wend blinked; shocked that no one seemed to know him. After all, the temple wasn’t that large, and he had been living there for a large part of his life.
“It’s Wend, sir,” he said in a small voice.
“What was that?”
“Wend, sir. I’m, in training to be a religious scholar.”
“Very good.” Said the secretary, his pen flashing across the notebook in his hands. “Now be a good lad and head to the inn. I expect you’re quite worn out.
“T-thank you, sir.” Turning away from the collection of priests, he headed back through the mass of people.
He passed a few students that he knew from the halls, and was suddenly very sad that he hadn’t gotten to know them better.
A few blocks away, Wend opened his paper. The inn was a far distance away, nearly on the other side of the city, and it was starting to rain harder.
Walking towards the Finch, the real horrors of the day began to sink in. People where dead. The temple was destroyed. His life was in shambles. And it was all his fault. If he’d only stood up to that bandit, this never would have happened. For as much as he wanted to, Wend could not bring himself to blame the bandit. He should have found a way to stop him. He could have yelled for help. He could have kneed him in the groin. He could have told someone as they were running from the temple.
He sighed. He could have done a thousand things to at least try to stop the bandit. But he could do none. He could do nothing. He wasn’t strong enough. In mind or in body. He needed to change something. To become stronger. To be able to stand up for himself and for others when it counted most. The change needed to start right now. He would man up and do the right thing. He would march right back to the priests and tell them what happened. And he’d tell them all about the bandit, and Vinny the informer. He’d make things right. He’d help with the rebuilding, and he’d -
What? Go back to his studies? Being stuck inside the towers and halls of the temple for the rest of his life?
Wend stopped walking. Standing in the middle of a quiet street, he looked around. He was out of the temple. He was outside. In the real world. Freedom suddenly grasped him. He could do whatever he wanted. But no. It wasn’t right to be thinking of things like that right now. Now was not the time to think of him. Now was the time to think of the temple.
He turned his head to look back the way he had come, but decided against it. He would tell them tomorrow. For now he just needed to get to his room in the Finch and sleep. A sudden wave of exhaustion came over him. He couldn’t remember being so tired.
He made his way to the inn.
---
The inn was in a rich area of town Wend had never been in before. The streets were cleaner, the houses were larger, and the air didn’t smell quite so foul. The Finch stood on a corner, it’s old wood and large door inviting. Soft light was streaming out of the windows and music was flooding out of the open door.
Wend entered the building slowly. The lower floor seemed to be a pub, the stairs to the left leading up to the inn portion. The patrons were already in full swing, singing, dancing, and gambling.
“Excuse me,” said Wend to the bar tender. “I believe I have a room reservation.”
The man gave him a once over as he filed a pint mug for a waiting customer. “You’re from the temple, then?” he asked gruffly.
“Um. Yes sir.” He handed the portly man the paper.
“All right.” He placed the mug down on the bar. “Room five is free.” He handed Wend the key from under the bar. “Up the stairs. End of the hall.”
“Thank you,” said Wend, pocketing the key. “Sir, may I ask? Do you know how long I am permitted to stay here?”
“The rooms been paid for for three days.”
“O-oh. T-thank you. Sir, is there anyone else here from the temple?”
“ ‘fraid not. You’re the only one I’ve seen since the man come in to reserve the rooms earlier.”
“I see. Thank you again.” Wend bowed his thanks and headed towards the stairs. They seemed dark and foreboding, but all Wend could think about was getting out of his wet clothes and into a nice warm bed.
Opening the door to his room he was the fire was light in the grill. “Oh God. Thank you so much for all that you give me.” He dropped his bag unceremoniously onto a chair next to the bed, and stripped out of his uniform. He felt like leaving it in the heap that it landed in on the floor, but made himself hang them up on the screen, moving it slightly further away from the flames.
He turned to face the bed and nearly cried. All he wanted to do now was sleep. Sleep and never wake up.
Pulling back the covers he slipped in, the sheets cold against his skin. But he didn’t care. He was asleep before the pillow hit his head.
The darkness pressed upon him like a dark pressing thing. His chest was tight, and he fought for breath. He fell to his knees, the pain radiating up his spine, down his arms into his fingers. He tried to scream, but found that no sound would come out. He was frozen to the spot, the darkness holding him tightly.
He felt a presence above him, and he struggled to bring his eyes to focus on the apparition. A monk stood above him, his robes brown and rough. The cross slung around his neck seemed to glow in the light, though there was no light to be found. It cast shadows upon his face, and all Wend could see was his mouth and nose. His eyes where completely covered in shadows. Then it struck Wend. No. They weren’t hidden in shadow. Because there was nothing to hide.
Holes dug into the monk’s face where his eyes should have been. Not just empty eye sockets, but holes. And even though the monk had no way of knowing what he was looking at, Wend knew he was staring straight at him. Not just at him. Into him. Judging him. Knowing him. Wend felt that all of his darkest secrets were now an open book to this man.
Wend’s heart was racing in his chest. He needed to escape. He tried to stand, but two heavy hands came down on his shoulders. Wend knew he shouldn’t look at them, but his head began turning on its own.
The hands holding him down were little more than ragged bits of flesh. Whole fingers were missing, the skin burned and melted. The hot, sticky urge to vomit suddenly over whelmed him. He retched onto the floor. And although the monk had disappeared from in front of him he could still feel the hard pressure of hands on his shoulders. Wiping his mouth he stood slowly. Every muscle in his body aching with the effort. The hands slipped away from him, and a chilling cold settled over him.
WEND
The young scholar looked around in a panic. There was nothing but blackness all around him again. Except the door to his left. He walked towards it, his feet echoing louder than any sound he has ever heard, and opened the door. And then shut it again quickly.
He collapsed to the floor in a boneless heap, his eyes wide with terror and shock. His veins were ice. The heard a knocking from behind the door. Gathering all the strength he could he crawled on his hands and knees away from the door. The knocking grew louder - it felt like it was coming from inside his head, and he wanted nothing more than for it to stop.
Then it stopped. And he wanted nothing more than for it to start again, for when he looked behind him, it was gone. A new surge of panic swept over him.
He didn’t want to face forward again. He knew the door was going to be there. And yet he felt himself turning slowly. The door opened, and a hundred broken, decomposing corpses toppled onto him.
Please let me know if any one finds any spelling or grammar mistakes!
Chapter 2
“Come on!” the bandit yelled over the din of the temple. He grabbed the front of Wend’s robes and pulled him into a run.
Wend followed behind, heart in his throat. They passed the mess hall just in time to see the roof collapse.
There where people all around them now, trying to escape before they were crushed by falling rocks. Everyone was streaming out the main doors, and the bandit lead Wend out passed the gardens and through the main gates. Here most people had stopped, clinging to one another for comfort. But Wend and the stranger kept moving. He led him through a maze of side alleys and streets. They kept running. Just when Wend thought they must be miles away from the temple the stranger came to an abrupt halt.
He turned sharply, dropping his bag, and grabbed the front of Wend’s robe with both hands. He pulled his face close to his, so Wend could do nothing but stare into the man’s eye.
“What the hell does that place keep in its crypts?”
Wend tried to speak, but found no words would come out.
The stranger shook him. “The crypts, man! What is kept in the crypts?!”
“Books.”
“Books?”
“Books. Artefacts. Things that are important to the temple. Things that-”
“I get it. What I’m more concerned about is the manner of these things. Why are they in the crypt?”
“Some of them are very delicate, and need to be out of the sunlight. Some of them have occult significance and the Elders don’t want them displayed. And some-”
“And some?!”
“Some are cursed.”
The bandit closed his eye and furrowed his brow. “Cursed.” He said under his breath.
Wend nodded solemnly. “Yes.”
“So if I was to, hypothetically take one of these cursed items, the temple might just collapse in around its self, wouldn’t it?”
“Um. Hypothetically.”
The bandit’s head dropped onto Wend’s shoulder. “Awesome. That’s just awesome.”
Wend’s eyes shifted around nervously. “Um, so, what comes next?”
The bandit raised his head to look Wend in the eyes. “What comes next? I go see to Vinny the Informer, and cut out his spleen. The information he is informing doesn’t quite stack up. After that I’m getting the hell out of town as fast as a horse can carry me. Then, I’m going to bring this shit,” he nudged the bag with a boot, “to someone to find out what item is the one that caused that.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the cloud of dust rising from the ruins of the temple. “Then I’m going to sell the rest.” He sighed, dropping Wend’s robe and taking a step back. “Then I’m going to get drunk, and try to forget all about this.” He picked up his bag and began to walk away. “Have a great life, kid.”
Many things began to flash though Wend’s mind. The first of which being something along the lines of “Holyshitholyshitholyshitthatwasmytempleholyshit. Though far less articulate. The second was questioning what he was going to do now, and the third was the voice of reason reminding Wend he was unhappy there any way.
“But what am I going to do?” he asked himself pathetically as his knees gave out. Sitting on the dirty, worn cobble stones Wend glanced at the heavens. “What am I going to do now, O Lord?”
In response, the heavens decided it was a good time to start raining.
----
The temple was in ruins there was not a tower standing. It had taken five hundred years to build this temple, and all of a minute and a half to knock it down again. It seemed the whole city had gathered around the rubble.
Wend pushed his way through the crowd, making his way slowly to the contingent of priests that stood on a small pile of blocks from the ruined library tower.
“Father Jere!” Wend called over the noise of the crowd. “Sir!”
The head priest looked down at the small scholar, his light hair and red robe a stark contrast to the dark, dirty colours worn by the townsfolk. “Ah, Brother. Good. We’ve been looking for you.”
Wend’s breath caught in his throat. “L-looking for m-me Father?”
“Yes. We are taking a list of those who made it out of the temple.”
“A-ah. I see.” He breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure that he could be punished for running into the bandit and not trying to stop him, but the church was a big fan of unfair punishments, and he certainly didn’t want to take the chance.
“We’ve arranged for temporary dorms in the hotels in the city.” The head priest took a paper from his secretary and glanced over it once. “You’re to go to the Finch. Here is your map.” He handed the paper back to his secretary, who gave it to Wend.
“Sir?” Wend asked, taking the map and folding it carefully.
“What is it?”
“I was just wondering about Olin, sir. Has he reported in?”
Father Jere’s gaze was fixed on the rubble. “I have no idea.”
“No one with that name has reported in.” The secretary said, leaning down towards Wend. “And what is your name and position?”
Wend blinked; shocked that no one seemed to know him. After all, the temple wasn’t that large, and he had been living there for a large part of his life.
“It’s Wend, sir,” he said in a small voice.
“What was that?”
“Wend, sir. I’m, in training to be a religious scholar.”
“Very good.” Said the secretary, his pen flashing across the notebook in his hands. “Now be a good lad and head to the inn. I expect you’re quite worn out.
“T-thank you, sir.” Turning away from the collection of priests, he headed back through the mass of people.
He passed a few students that he knew from the halls, and was suddenly very sad that he hadn’t gotten to know them better.
A few blocks away, Wend opened his paper. The inn was a far distance away, nearly on the other side of the city, and it was starting to rain harder.
Walking towards the Finch, the real horrors of the day began to sink in. People where dead. The temple was destroyed. His life was in shambles. And it was all his fault. If he’d only stood up to that bandit, this never would have happened. For as much as he wanted to, Wend could not bring himself to blame the bandit. He should have found a way to stop him. He could have yelled for help. He could have kneed him in the groin. He could have told someone as they were running from the temple.
He sighed. He could have done a thousand things to at least try to stop the bandit. But he could do none. He could do nothing. He wasn’t strong enough. In mind or in body. He needed to change something. To become stronger. To be able to stand up for himself and for others when it counted most. The change needed to start right now. He would man up and do the right thing. He would march right back to the priests and tell them what happened. And he’d tell them all about the bandit, and Vinny the informer. He’d make things right. He’d help with the rebuilding, and he’d -
What? Go back to his studies? Being stuck inside the towers and halls of the temple for the rest of his life?
Wend stopped walking. Standing in the middle of a quiet street, he looked around. He was out of the temple. He was outside. In the real world. Freedom suddenly grasped him. He could do whatever he wanted. But no. It wasn’t right to be thinking of things like that right now. Now was not the time to think of him. Now was the time to think of the temple.
He turned his head to look back the way he had come, but decided against it. He would tell them tomorrow. For now he just needed to get to his room in the Finch and sleep. A sudden wave of exhaustion came over him. He couldn’t remember being so tired.
He made his way to the inn.
---
The inn was in a rich area of town Wend had never been in before. The streets were cleaner, the houses were larger, and the air didn’t smell quite so foul. The Finch stood on a corner, it’s old wood and large door inviting. Soft light was streaming out of the windows and music was flooding out of the open door.
Wend entered the building slowly. The lower floor seemed to be a pub, the stairs to the left leading up to the inn portion. The patrons were already in full swing, singing, dancing, and gambling.
“Excuse me,” said Wend to the bar tender. “I believe I have a room reservation.”
The man gave him a once over as he filed a pint mug for a waiting customer. “You’re from the temple, then?” he asked gruffly.
“Um. Yes sir.” He handed the portly man the paper.
“All right.” He placed the mug down on the bar. “Room five is free.” He handed Wend the key from under the bar. “Up the stairs. End of the hall.”
“Thank you,” said Wend, pocketing the key. “Sir, may I ask? Do you know how long I am permitted to stay here?”
“The rooms been paid for for three days.”
“O-oh. T-thank you. Sir, is there anyone else here from the temple?”
“ ‘fraid not. You’re the only one I’ve seen since the man come in to reserve the rooms earlier.”
“I see. Thank you again.” Wend bowed his thanks and headed towards the stairs. They seemed dark and foreboding, but all Wend could think about was getting out of his wet clothes and into a nice warm bed.
Opening the door to his room he was the fire was light in the grill. “Oh God. Thank you so much for all that you give me.” He dropped his bag unceremoniously onto a chair next to the bed, and stripped out of his uniform. He felt like leaving it in the heap that it landed in on the floor, but made himself hang them up on the screen, moving it slightly further away from the flames.
He turned to face the bed and nearly cried. All he wanted to do now was sleep. Sleep and never wake up.
Pulling back the covers he slipped in, the sheets cold against his skin. But he didn’t care. He was asleep before the pillow hit his head.
The darkness pressed upon him like a dark pressing thing. His chest was tight, and he fought for breath. He fell to his knees, the pain radiating up his spine, down his arms into his fingers. He tried to scream, but found that no sound would come out. He was frozen to the spot, the darkness holding him tightly.
He felt a presence above him, and he struggled to bring his eyes to focus on the apparition. A monk stood above him, his robes brown and rough. The cross slung around his neck seemed to glow in the light, though there was no light to be found. It cast shadows upon his face, and all Wend could see was his mouth and nose. His eyes where completely covered in shadows. Then it struck Wend. No. They weren’t hidden in shadow. Because there was nothing to hide.
Holes dug into the monk’s face where his eyes should have been. Not just empty eye sockets, but holes. And even though the monk had no way of knowing what he was looking at, Wend knew he was staring straight at him. Not just at him. Into him. Judging him. Knowing him. Wend felt that all of his darkest secrets were now an open book to this man.
Wend’s heart was racing in his chest. He needed to escape. He tried to stand, but two heavy hands came down on his shoulders. Wend knew he shouldn’t look at them, but his head began turning on its own.
The hands holding him down were little more than ragged bits of flesh. Whole fingers were missing, the skin burned and melted. The hot, sticky urge to vomit suddenly over whelmed him. He retched onto the floor. And although the monk had disappeared from in front of him he could still feel the hard pressure of hands on his shoulders. Wiping his mouth he stood slowly. Every muscle in his body aching with the effort. The hands slipped away from him, and a chilling cold settled over him.
WEND
The young scholar looked around in a panic. There was nothing but blackness all around him again. Except the door to his left. He walked towards it, his feet echoing louder than any sound he has ever heard, and opened the door. And then shut it again quickly.
He collapsed to the floor in a boneless heap, his eyes wide with terror and shock. His veins were ice. The heard a knocking from behind the door. Gathering all the strength he could he crawled on his hands and knees away from the door. The knocking grew louder - it felt like it was coming from inside his head, and he wanted nothing more than for it to stop.
Then it stopped. And he wanted nothing more than for it to start again, for when he looked behind him, it was gone. A new surge of panic swept over him.
He didn’t want to face forward again. He knew the door was going to be there. And yet he felt himself turning slowly. The door opened, and a hundred broken, decomposing corpses toppled onto him.