Memories, Part I of 4

Lord Altius' backstory. Follows Cursed.

Memories Part I

 

In ancient times…

 

The night was cold and a chilly wind gusted from the west.  The land had been covered in a perpetual layer of clouds for several weeks now as winter approached.  In recent days, an icy rain would, on occasion, fall to earth.  The result was a perpetual thin layer of frost that would build up on the ground each night.  As he looked out over the plain before him, the evening frost had already begun to form as the wind chill took the temperatures closer to the freezing point.

 

A week from now a new storm front would move across the land and winter would truly begin, but tonight was cold and dry.  Aside from a few campfires in the valley below there was little in the way of light.  Occasionally the moon would show through the thin layers of clouds, but it was waning and gave off little light.  Tomorrow night would be a new moon.  It was a dangerous time for most men.

 

Atop the knoll on which he rested, the cloaked stranger looked out over the wind whipped fields and sighed.  He stood up and rubbed his knee.  He was too young to feel this old.  A nearby sheep took no notice of him as it continued to graze on the hilltop.  Truly, it should not be able to sense him at any rate if he had crafted the glyphs correctly. 

 

He began to descend the small hill onto the plain below, leaning heavily on his walking staff.  It’s gnarled shape looked like it had just been found on the ground, yet the unique carvings covering it’s length and blue crystal on top gave it away as something much more.  As he walked down the hillside, the tall grass whipped about him.  Had anyone been able to see him, they would not have seen him leave any footprints in the soft earth.

 

He moved silently through the encampment of warriors below.  It was not an army so much as a conglomeration of clansmen.  The tents were crude and hastily erected.  The camp itself had little structure or order and signs of women and children were around.  Even so, there were no lavatories or accommodations of any kind.  The leaders of this rabble obviously did not intend on staying long.  There was a good reason why.

 

After having passed a few dozen tents and hundreds of sleeping people, the stranger came to a campfire that was slowly fading in the wee hours of the morning.  Around it, three very large clansmen were trying to stay warm in the blistery air, obviously only awake to provide watch for the nearby tents.  Behind them, a large cage sat on the ground.  It had poles sticking out of each side, allowing men to stand in front and behind to carry it.  Inside the cage was a horrifying sight.

 

As still as a stump, a corpse sat upright and held the bars tightly.  Had it not been for the slow movement of the yellow eyes, it would surely pass for some sick toymaker’s doll.  As it was, it simply stared at the men sitting around the fire without blinking.  Although the stranger could not make out its facial features, he could sense a feeling of hatred emanating from the abomination.

 

The hooded stranger moved closer to it and the corpse turned its putrid head towards him.  Skin was hanging from its bones and most of its hair was gone, having fallen out quite some time ago.  Its spine was twisted and although it squarely faced the men, its legs limply faced the other direction.  Whatever chiropractic nightmare it was experiencing didn’t seem to phase it in the least. 

 

As he reached the cage he carefully stepped over a line of candles on the ground.  Although most had gone out, or burnt to a nub, it was obvious they served one purpose.  They sweetened the air.  As he passed them, he understood why.  The stench was horrific.  He covered his nose with his cowl as he got nearer the cage.  The creatures hands were smoldering as it tightly gripped the bars of the cage, but it paid the pain no mind.  Burning flesh filled the air. Although the wind and candles had kept the stench at bay farther away, up close was another story. 

 

Nobody should be able to see him at all, the stranger thought to himself.  The glyphs of invisibility and silence on his staff should avert the attention of all living creatures… he stopped himself.  That was the key and the flaw in his glyphs.  The undead monstrosity stared at him without a sound.  Is that why she summoned him here tonight?

 

“Well, it appears that I’m not quite so immune to detection after all.”  The stranger began to slowly circle the cage.  The undead followed him with its eyes, eerily allowing its head to complete a full turn around its neck as it did so.  Its hands never left the cage. 

 

“It’s a good thing that I found out now rather than in some other fashion.”  He studied the bars of the cage and found tiny carvings along their lengths.  They were expertly crafted to the finest detail.  As he watched, they seemed to move of their own accord, a magic he had not quite mastered in its entirety and, undoubtedly, the reason that the undead abomination was unable to break out of its confines.  Even in its broken form, he could tell that the enchantment keeping it bound to this mortal coil was very strong.  He knew the architect of this cage.  It was confirmation that he had found the right camp, as if there was another camp like this anywhere on the isle.  Truly, there were few people left on the isle, more or less an armed encampment such as this.

 

The sound of an argument behind him caught the stranger’s attention and he turned away from the cage.  A larger tent, some 40 or 50 feet away, was glowing from within.  Made mostly of conjoined animal hides, a plume of smoke rose from a hole in the roof.  Men could be heard arguing inside.  The stranger moved closer, stepping over a pile of weapons neatly stacked on the ground at the entrance, and peering in through the flap.

 

“I tell you, we need to strike NOW while there is still time!”  A large, burly man was pacing the room in a thick northern Celtic accent.  “We should not run like cowards but fight like men!”  He was obviously a warrior, very strong and proud.  His flaming red hair was curly and he sported a long, tangled beard.  As many of his brothers had begun doing, he had begun to collect the eye teeth of the abominations he had slain.  He had at least thirty affixed to his leathery belt.  “We are acting like rats, or birds that flee at the slightest hint of danger.  Is this how we are to live our days?” 

 

The room erupted in arguments at this point.  There were about two dozen men in here.  Several looked alike enough to be related.  A voice came from the room near the entrance and out of the stranger’s field of vision.  It was the voice of a young woman and it rang with power.  At the sound of it, the room quieted down.

 

“We will wait four more days.  The time is not right.  To attack the demon now would be suicide, wouldn’t you agree Altius?”

 

The room went silent.  A large man pushed the flap of the entry aside and looked directly at the stranger.  Altius pushed back his hood and slowly entered the tent slightly miffed that he would be a stranger no longer.  As he did, his staff lit up and all of the runes and glyphs came to life with tiny blue flames.  He turned to his right to face Caledonia, the source of the voice.  She was leaning back against a cask that smelled of ale.  Her eyes were emerald green and her hair was a flowing auburn in this light.  She showed no signs of the years of imprisonment to which she had just been subjected.

 

“I thought you’d never come!”  Her teasing voice was almost mocking.  He knew that she was one of the only powers that could see through his own concealment magic, a thought that annoyed him to no end.  Caledonia, the demi-goddess who called the isle her home was the only person the demon feared and the one he was hunting for so badly.  Only a week ago this rabble staged an assault on the demon, stealing her away and saveing her from a sure death.

 

He rolled his eyes and turned to the assembled warriors.  “She’s right.  The forces you face are too formidable for you tonight.”  Standing at his full height, he was much shorter than the average man in the room.  His features were chiseled and his skin was smooth and dark, showing no signs of work in the sun.  Indeed, he hadn’t labored outdoors since he was a slave to the Pharaoh all those years ago in Egypt.  Ever since then he had worked hard to keep it that way and over the years the calluses on his hands and feet had finally healed.  It did, of course, have the usual effect of turning the opinions of the hardened Celtic folk against him.  ‘A man earns his manhood by the sweat of his brow…’ was the usual argument he heard and the Celtic women raised their young with that mentality.  Why he bothered to help them was a mystery to him sometimes, but his order had ordained it so and he was bound to obey.

 

As he pulled back his hood, he revealed long, pointed ears and a thin golden coronet.  On the front of it was emblazoned the symbol of Set, a deity from a land far away and the source of much of his power.  It stood out like a beacon on his bald crown.  It was unlikely anyone in the room save Caledonia would recognize it.  He preferred it that way.  Had they known the true intentions of his Order, it might turn out disastrously for him.  All they need know was that he would help them survive to live through another dreary winter.

 

The corneas of his eyes were pink, bordering on red, a gift of his powers.  His affect on the native peoples was so alien that even these hardened warriors shifted uncomfortably in his presence.  He allowed his voice to hold authority as he spoke and the room attended. 

 

Not all of the warriors were cowed though… “Why should we listen to this clanless haggis?”  The very large man with red hair faced him squarely from across the chamber.  Altius didn’t need any special powers to know he was being challenged.  He walked into the room and slowly paced around the fire towards the warrior, allowing his staff to softly and noiselessly touch the floor with each step.

 

“The force facing you is made of the dead come back from Gehenna if you haven’t already noticed.  Not even the mighty Beowulf would be able to defeat them during the darkest night.”  At that, a man in the back of the room, a hulking figure, sat upright.  Altius looked at the impressive warrior, “No offense brother…”  He had almost forgotten how easily these men could be riled when challenged, even indirectly.

 

Altius stopped in front of the tall, red-haired man.  Looking up at him, he stared intently into his eyes.  “You might hear the demon chewing your bones, but you surely won’t see it happening.  What will you do to protect your children when you are one of the walking dead hunting them down?”

 

The red haired warrior looked nervously around the room and finally took a step back.

 

Caledonia stepped forward, “I summoned Altius.  He is one of my oldest and closest allies and holds one of the keys to our victory.  He is a Spellbinder, an ancient race of sorcerers responsible for bringing me to this world and the one that will help us defeat the demon.  He’s also the one who alerted you to my execution and the reason we were able to escape with our heads so show him the respect he deserves.”  Not one soul in the room disagreed.

 

Turning to a younger warrior, she pulled him close, “Gunter, it’s time you called together the tribal elders.  Bring them to Stonehenge.  We will all meet there in five days time.  Tell them the war is about to end.”

 

After he left, riding the fastest horse the collective men yet had, the rest of the warriors spent the night making plans for the upcoming conflict.  Before sunrise, the camp was already breaking and all the men in the tent moved with purpose.  Altius stepped out into the crisp morning air.  His eyes were burning from the smoke to which he had been exposed all night, blurring his vision.  A lack of sleep didn’t help matters any.  Men, women and youth were all quietly preparing to move out.  Staying mobile was the only reason they had not been caught so far. 

 

In the pre-dawn hours Altius walked back to the knoll he was on earlier that night to find solace and a place to meditate.  He stared eastward towards the rising sun and closed his eyes.  He took a deep breath and inhaled the wind to clear his mind of the smoke and discussion of the evening.  He was fully aware that a few days from now he would smell nothing but blood but today he enjoyed the sweet smell of the grass and tried not to think of the coming storm.

 

The wind picked up, filling his ears as it roared across the plain and through the few trees surrounding the breaking camp.  At least today it would be at their backs as they traveled.

 

Present Day…

 

Altius opened his eyes as a medical helicopter flew by not far over his head.  He was standing on the roof of the office building wherein the TARDIS base lay.  The sun had not yet risen on the horizon and the cityscape around him was lit as far as the eye could see with incandescent and neon lights in all directions.  From the top of their building he could see several blocks away very clearly and an elevated highway was coming to life in the distance with commuters destined for their places of work.  A chilly breeze blew at him from behind, but he didn’t notice all that much.

 

He couldn’t remember why he liked the pre-morning hours, but he didn’t remember everything about his own history before his accident when he was found unconscious by some hikers on a rocky beach in England.  It really didn’t matter all that much.  He loved the morning air and let the cool breeze wash over him.  If he got up early enough, he could listen to the city sleep before the morning rush washed the silence away.

 

He heard a stirring from behind and started when he turned to find Curse standing not too far away.  His skeletal form was enshrouded in his burial wrappings still and the large, skeletal wings were pulled in tight behind him.  Altius was damned if he knew how his teammate could possibly move so silently.  What irritated him even more was the knowledge that Curse had intentionally made a noise to alert Altius to his presence. 

 

“Still can’t remember?”  Curse’s voice was hollow.  It was truly unearthly and ran a shiver along Altius’ spine.  Curse stepped up and looked over the edge of the building at the people in cars scurrying about eight stories below.

 

“No.  It comes in snippets.” 

 

“Look at them.” Curse motioned below. “It’s amazing what the leadership of this nation has done.  They have not only created a slave class to increase their own wealth, but they have managed to give them each the lives of kings.  They are so content in their trials and tribulations because of the extravagancies they possess that they will work themselves to death and happily teach their children to do the same.”  Altius stood in awe.  He’d hardly heard Curse utter a word since he met him weeks ago. 

 

“What’s more, anyone challenging the leadership is looked upon as an insurrectionist and shunned by the remainder of the society, sometimes even being put to death themselves for the act.”  Curse turned and looked at Altius. “When was the last time you killed a man?”

 

Altius was stunned to silence.  He didn’t know what to say.  Finally, he managed a weak “I don’t remember.” 

 

“Well, keep working on it.  What’s life if you can’t remember it?”  Curse turned and looked at the rising sun through empty eye sockets.  The pink and orange rays did little to add color to his otherwise ivory appearance other than to highlight his faded bandages.  As the sun rose, it overshadowed the ever present violet glow coming from inside his skull which was so visible in the darkness.

 

“Curse, do you ever plan to do something about your appearance?”  Altius was frankly unnerved by it.  The fact that his teammate would choose such a horrifying visage when there were so many ways to conceal it brought questions to his mind he would rather not think about.  He realized that as powerful as this monster was, how nobody else on the team was on an even power level at this point, Curse was no match for the true powers in the city and in a small way Altius was thankful for that.  He never quite knew where Curse stood on any issue and the ‘heroics’ he had performed since they had met each other seemed oddly self serving to a degree. It was really hard to read him.

 

At the moment, however, Curse stood motionless, either considering or ignoring Altius’ question.  Eventually, he turned to face his ally, “Yes, yes I do.  I’m just waiting for the right moment so that it will mean something when I do it.”  He turned and began towards the door leading back into the building.

 

Altius called after him, “when will you know?”

 

Curse responded without turning as he continuing inside, “I will know when you do.” 

 

That was cryptic.  Why were conversations with him always so frustrating?  Altius turned to see that the sun was peeking over the horizon.  The sky was turning a light shade of blue.  A thin line of storm clouds sat over the mountains on the western horizon opposite the rising sun and an occasional bolt of lightning could be seen even from this distance. 

 

The “magic moment” of pre-dawn was over and appeared that a storm front was moving in.  Today might prove to be eventful.