Happy New Year Everyone!
From a new marriage to a new daughter, this year promises lots of exciting and wonderful things for me. I am also holding a sweepstakes in honor of my novel, "Tyrants, Torments and the Tiara"! I encourage everyone to check it out!
Also, in honor of the sweepstakes, this week's story is a prequel/background story based upon the novel. This one was recently rewritten for a rather unique short story challenge, where the contestants were provided a selection of quotes and had to build a story which used them. (Which is kind of tricky to do without sounding unnatural).
Let me know what you think!
James Meadows
Death of a Cemetery
by James J Meadows III
The perfect night for a moonlight stroll was one with no moonlight. That was Caleb’s opinion, at least. Tonight was one of those nights. A thick mist clung to the ground, as the dark clouds slithered down from their lofty posts, masking the world from heaven’s prying eyes. The swirling haze, caressing the young man’s skin like ghostly hands stretching from the graves beneath his feet, provided the perfect cover for a discreet rendezvous among the tombs.
“Are we supposed to be here?” Xana asked, trepidation evident in her voice. Caleb gave her a mischievous smile.
In stark contrast to the unfortified city around it, Buried Grove cemetery was practically impregnable. It’s gloomy and forbidding fortifications loomed over the countryside admonishing all who might approach to abandon the foolhardy trek and flee before the mighty stone bulwarks. A legion of battle-hardened sentries dressed in dark armor patrolled miles of spiked parapets and arrow holes, clutching their readied blades tight in hand. Anyone their beady eyes caught lurking inside the battlements was unlikely to set foot outside.
Caleb studied his red-haired teenage companion with a smug indifference to the risks they faced. His eyes ran up and down, scanning her lithe shapely body wrapped inside the black traveling cloak. He studied the outline of her chest inside the low cut gown, visualizing the tender breasts beneath. Lust burned inside him like the flames of the sentries’ torches as he took in her soft white skin and thin red lips.
She did not share his ease. Her gaze remained fixed upon the nearby fortifications. Caleb felt a pang of amusement as she shrank away from the lights of each passing sentinel. He knew no one could spot them through a fog this thick.
“Maybe not,” Caleb acknowledged, finally addressing her question. “But when one’s mother is high priestess, and father is captain of the world’s oldest knightly order, there are benefits.”
This was true. No one reveled in these benefits more than Caleb. Spoiled and rich, he enjoyed the high rank his father’s order bestowed upon him, more for nepotistic reasons than true skill. Sharing his mother’s good lucks and charisma, he further savored the pleasures of the numerous young pilgrim ladies he so often lured and seduced inside the seclusion of the fortified walls.
Caleb squeezed the young woman’s hand, pulling her close as they strode toward the heart of the cemetery. She made no effort to resist, though her body trembled as they moved deeper into the realm of the dead. Caleb watched her gaze around the graveyard with wary eyes, his own fixed upon her with greedy desire.
He had spotted her that morning. She arrived in town with a group of travelers completing a pilgrimage to the sacred site. He always monitored groups of visitors, seeking beautiful women to fulfill his carnal cravings. With her tantalizing beauty and alluring physique, Xana was just the type of prey he craved. Caleb turned all his charms upon the desired prize and, after a full day of crafty courting, the spider had lured the fly into his sanctum.
Xana came to a sudden stop staring upward with a look of horror and disgust.
“What’s that?” she asked pointing to the sky.
Caleb followed her gaze and smiled. A white marble statue glittered in the dim glow of the distant lights, its bust stretching more than twenty feet into the air. It showed a powerful paladin adorned in the regalia of the Knightly Order of Buried Grove. In its hands it hoisted a severed head complete with dangling entrails running down a bloody sword.
The sculptor was clearly not content with the grotesque display on top, however, for he had further embellished the bottom with even more gory details. The knight’s right leg rose in an arrogant posture, propped on top of a skeleton’s head while his left leg stood on the body of his headless victim. The artist carved massive amounts of blood oozing from the gaping wound, staining the victim’s long robes, and trailing down the statue into a pool on the ground.
Xana stared, clearly appalled by the horrific image molded into the glimmering canvas. Caleb smiled, fighting to suppress a laugh at her mortified expression. Most women were disgusted by the grotesque scene, which was part of the reason he made a point of leading them past it. It played a crucial role in his intrigue.
“This is the Monument of the Undying Order,” Caleb said. He hoisted his body upright, thrusting out his chest and using the fake awestruck voice he always employed during this phase of his routine.
“Oh,” Xana said. “Our guide mentioned the statue. He said we wouldn’t get to see it.”
He could hear Xana’s forced attempts to sound unbothered, yet her face betrayed the revulsion she felt.
“They won’t,” Caleb said. “Visitors are not allowed inside these sacred grounds. Only you will.”
He tried to make it sound like a great honor, which to some people it probably was, though any such magnificence was lost on Caleb. To him, it was simply part of his act. Caleb lifted his hand to Xana’s cheek, turning her face away from the monolith and toward his own; his eyes staring deeply into hers.
“I’m sorry if the statue upsets you,” he said. “I know you traveled far to get here. I just wanted you to have the full experience of this sacred site. I want your time here to be special, because you’re special to me.”
Xana looked down as though hiding a blush and pushed her hair behind her ear with a flirtatious smile. The two pressed close together as they glided down the path.
“Why did they have to make it so gruesome?” Xana asked, taking one last look at the monument.
“It’s a warning,” he answered, injecting a false pride and fearlessness into his voice. “A threat. A declaration to our enemies that we, who’ve sworn to defend this holy site, will triumph over all foes.”
“I don’t understand,” she replied, “The holy texts say the site is blessed by the gods. All buried here will live in eternal splendor in the afterlife. Who would want to defile such a hallowed place?”
“Necromancers,” Caleb said grimly. “For over a thousand years people from across the land have brought their relatives and friends here, paying great wealth for the opportunity to inter them in our sacred soil. Many vile and evil creatures who profit from the theft or animation of corpses would love to gain access to the tombs.”
“That’s horrible,” Xana said.
They were far from the lights of the towers now, hidden from all eyes within a curtain of darkness. Caleb knew the grounds well enough to find his way, even in pitch black. He guided Xana to a small garden surrounded by tall bushes commissioned many years ago by an ancient nobleman and his family. The secluded area provided the perfect spot for Caleb’s devious plans. He slowed pace, coming to a stop inside the heart of the enclosure.
“You don’t have to fear such things,” he answered. “Not with me around. For over eight hundred years our order has lived here in Buried Grove protecting the land. No necromancer will ever profane our shrine. The walls are enchanted so no one can scale them and no army can defeat our soldiers. Even the great Arch-Lich Allidian, who once led a thousand undead to siege the fortress, never planted a foot inside the divine sanctuary before his fall. Like our ancestors, my men and I devote our lives to protect this ground.”
“You’re so brave,” Xana said, turning and looking at him.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him. He had worked all day for this moment. Every move, every sentence was carefully rehearsed, the tricks of a master artist, working his charms and skills to create a carefully planned climax. Now, he would savor the fruits of his labor.
“I believe a person should be fearless when it comes to defending the things they love,” he replied. He gave a small pause, gazing into her eyes, allowing the tension to build.
“And, who they love,” he said.
She leaned into him, pressing her lips against his. They embraced, kissing passionately. First one kiss followed by another. The man raised his hand to her cheek as her breathing grew heavier. She placed her hands on his waist, running them slowly up to his chest. She lifted her head, her eyes closed, a smile crossing her lips, as his lips ran down her neck. Then her eyes popped open, her head lowered and the smile vanished.
“Desecria,” she cried, her voice assuming a cruel, icy tone.
Strands of black lightning burst from Xana’s hands, their tendrils whirling through the air, sucking the surrounding light like miniature black holes intent upon consuming every trace of joy and hope. Their energy surged into Caleb’s body, ripping through flesh, blood and bones with the ferocity of a hundred obsidians arrows, decimating everything they touched. Caleb gasped, his eyes widening in terror and his body twitching in agony as deadly magic coursed through his veins. The spell faded, Caleb ceased twitching and his body slumped into a lifeless mass on the ground. There he laid unmoving, wisps of smoke rising from charred flesh.
Xana smiled coldly, gazing at his corpse. After a moment, she sat down, reclining leisurely upon the cold grass. She sat there for several moments, reflecting upon her achievement. She remembered the young man’s words, “we, who’ve sworn to defend this holy site, will triumph over all foes.”
“Words from a bygone era, belonging to a bygone era,” she said. “A new era awaits a new voice!”
That which force of arms and magic had kept safe for a thousand years, human weakness had collapsed in one night. She grinned. A millennium of corpses lay at her mercy, just waiting to be transformed into an army her contemporaries could only dream of controlling and a force that all men would soon fear. Buried Grove had fallen, at last.
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