Chapter 2: Behind the Circular Door

Jokun awoke several hours later, still slightly concussed and dazed, and not entirely sure why, or even what was going on.  He felt a sharp pulsating throbbing from the back of his head that was so painful he was terrified that he might have been impaled.  He reached his hand around hesitantly to feel for the source of the pain, fearing he would feel something lodged in his head.  Nothing there, no hole, but a massive bump and a cut; he withdrew a bloodied hand.  He saw his sword lying on the leaves in front of him, there was blood on the hand guard and what looked like a few strands of his hair caught in the metal folds of the design.  Stunned and still in a haze, he reached forward from where he was laying on the ground and pulled the blade towards him.  The memories came flooding back.

    That b*****d!   How could he do this?  Jokun’s thoughts were his only company in that dark wood.  His friends lay lifeless and cold, he was cold, he was exhausted and his mind was ready to break.  Clumsily making to his feet, pushing himself up against a tree, he saw all the bodies, all the blood.  His stomach turned violently, causing him to throw up heavily, having not eaten in well over 24 hours made the sensation all the worse.   He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, only to be sick again several dizzy steps later.  After a moment, he had managed to gather himself.  He slowly bent over (wanting to avoid upsetting his stomach again) and grabbed his sword and placed it in its scabbard.  With the spasms in his gut now settled, and his breathing calm and resolute, he walked over to the shattered doors of the keep, and stepped inside.

    Again looking upon the ruined hall, he navigated his way around the bodies, trying to avoid looking at any of them.  He had to be sure that when he left, he hadn’t left anyone that may be alive, that may need help.  He made his way down the eastern corridor, to the council chambers where the Crimson Court gathered to discuss matters of security, battle strategy and other things that he needn’t ever concern himself with.  He approached the great crimson steel doors of the chamber, and gently pushed through them, fearing what he may find inside.

    Empty, no bodies, not a drop of blood, not a chair out of place or a torn tapestry.   He was puzzled at first, and thought about it hard...  Of course!   The council was away on their annual travel around Triggual, visiting the cities and meeting with their rulers.  He had no idea what these trips were for, why they were so important, but he didn’t care; he didn’t need to know to be grateful, this meant they may still be alive!   He wasn’t the only one left, well, aside from Nathaniel he thought.  He didn’t even want to think of Nathaniel.  This gave him a new sense of hope, his spirit was lifted slightly as he felt a small tremor of relief within him, only to make his way back to the Great Hall, to the bodies he had passed in entering.  His relief dissipated, once again that feeling of sickness taking strong hold of his gut, and again spilling out of him, this time mingling with the blood soaked stone. 

    Right, he thought to himself, feeling reluctant to open his mouth to voice his thought so none of the smell could force its way in, I have to be sure there is no one else before I can leave. 

Trying desperately to avoid eye contact with the mangled bodies as he navigated the halls, he would frequently have to study them in order to find a place where he could place his foot in walking around them.  Eventually he came to his room, Sam's dead body still atop his bed.  The room felt cold now, but not a physical cold that one could shield himself from with a cloak, but one that would penetrate any amount of warm furs and burrow deep within the bones and torment the soul.  How Jokun wished he could just turn over in his covers, and wake up to find this all had been just a terrible dream.  He walked over to his clothes chest, not looking at Sam's lifeless body, and opened it up slowly; trying his hardest to remain quiet in the small chance that some of those creatures were still lurking about the stony halls of the keep.  From inside the chest he took a dagger, a journal, a quill, a bottle of ink, some soft clothes, and a sheepskin cover and placed them all in a leather bag that he found next to the chest.  He put them aside, intending on returning to them later and left the room without another glance over at Sam. 

    He walked back into the hall, the torchlight flickering still, unaffected by the massacre, unaffected completely as if nothing had happened.  Jokun thought, for a moment, how it would be to be as the flames that lit these halls, unchanging, and unaware...  Feeling sadness filling his heavy eyes again, he pressed on.  He walked down the hallway to two sets of stairs, one leading up, and the other leading down.  Up, would take him to the officers’ chambers where the knights’ barracks were situated, even higher still, to the private chambers of the council masters themselves.  The stairwell leading down, would take him to the under levels, the bowels of the keep where the storage rooms where kept, where the servants resided, and the pantry...  The pantry!  Jokun had just remembers that he hadn’t eaten in well over a day, though he could not bear the thought of eating, nor lacked the ability to stomach anything just now he knew that he would soon need to eat.  Without a second thought he descended the stairs down into the lower levels.

     The halls in the lower levels were, in layout, nearly identical to the ones above, the only major difference being the amount of light and visibility.  So far, there were no bodies down here, why would there be?  He thought to himself, after all when great halls were violated every armed man in the keep would have flooded to the  upper levels to try and hold back whatever force had invaded...  all but those guarding the vault.  He stopped for a moment, looking down the corridor to his left as he approached the joining of several other passageways.  His curiosity was pulling him down to the vaults, but his stomach was pulling also.  There was in inner battle for a moment, as he stood there indecisive of weather to go left or right.  Eventually his stomach gave way to his curiosity, he would go back later for something to eat he told himself.  He walked down the halls of his previous post with trepidation, he could feel his heart beat in thick pulses within his throat, and hear it pound deeply in his ears, leaving a ringing sensation in the pauses that transitioned the booms.  If the guard on duty had kept his oath, and remained at his station during the assault, then Jokun would surely have to face another body as he approached the circular iron door.  The guard that stands post at this particular door must vow that no matter what happens; they will not leave their post until dismissed by a commanding officer, or being ordered to do so, even at the tip of a sword they must remain. 

    He was nearly at the bend in the corridor that would lead him straight to the vault, his heartbeat was so loud and heavy that it actually caused him pain, and if he weren’t alone, if someone had been speaking to him it would have been no use, the ringing in his ears, the echoing of his heart within his head was so immense that he could hear nothing but.  He came to the corner, it no longer felt like he was walking, if he had been he could have just stopped and turned the other way, instead it was as though the hall were moving around him, and he was fixed to the spot without the choice of turning back as the corner was now over taking him, coming closer...  and..  gone!   He was passed the corner, the vault door now a straight line ahead of him, and he could see it now...  but there was something missing...  someone...?  The guard!   The post was empty, there was no body, there had been no one guarding it, Jokun realised.  He could feel his heart rate lessen now, and the ringing in his ears was subsiding.  He walked over to the vault, standing in the same spot he had been in only hours ago, before this had all happened, where Nathaniel had relieved him of his pos- NATHANIEL!  It was HIS post tonight, this was all his doing!  

    That desperate feeling of fear, and sickness now boiled in his stomach into anger.  He kicked the iron door hard, denting his steel sabatron slightly and cursing Nathaniel under his breath.  He was momentarily distracted from his anger when he realised that he had kicked...  the door...  open...  He had KICKED open a door, that has never, in all the years he could recount, been opened, never been talked about being opened, let alone FOUND open!   And here he was, kicking it open.  Maybe...  he started to wonder, this is what it was all about...  But how could it be, everyone in the keep knew that this room was only for storing old documents, and other things none of them ever needed to concern themselves with.

    Again, he found himself curious...  that is only what they had been told, but even documents need reading, and he himself had even witnessed on occasion the general pouring his attention all over a few, but how had he gotten them, because he certainly didn’t go through this door.  What was behind it?  Jokun found himself thinking, what did Nathaniel want so gravely that he would sacrifice the lives of his brother for?  He remembered, Nathaniel had said something about breaking free from the ties that bound him to mediocrity...  Jokun paused, and then looked to the slightly open vault door.  Could what he had wanted have been in there, could some device or article of knowledge lie within that would lead him to this greatness he so desired?  Before he could stop himself, or even think, his hands had flown to the door subconsciously and pushed forward. 

    The room was enormous!   Much bigger than he had ever thought in those long hours he spent guarding it, wondering what was behind him all that time; never in his wildest dreams would he have arrived to this conclusion.  The room was, much like the rest of the keep, built in red stone, but with an obsidian floor, not the polished marble floor throughout the rest of the keep.  The ceiling was so high he couldn’t see it, lost in the shadows giving the feeling that it could be ever extending, continuing on forever.  The room was filled with rows of bookshelves, this much he had expected, and they were lined with tomes that were so deep in dust it looked like they hadn’t been opened over a hundred years.  There were dusty tables, covered in strange looking golden tools, glass orbs on pedestals, intricate looking ticking devices, that, despite the years of obvious neglect, still ticked away just as their creators would have left them.  There were rows of shelves with nothing but glass bottles, and vials, each one still bubbling within their dust engrossed containers as if by magic.  Weapon racks thick in dust, suits of armour the likes of which Jokun had never seen before, they too were adorned with their own collection of dust.  Dust, dust, dust and more dust.  In fact, everything was covered in dust, apart from a trail leading back into the shadows of the room.  Jokun felt his heart sink, whoever had done this, who ever had stormed the keep, who ever had killed Sam, had been in here, Nathaniel!   He may not have killed Sam, after all Sam had not even mentioned Nathaniel, but either way, Jokun knew this was his doing.  The dust was so thick in the room that the assailant had left foot prints on the floor, back into the room, and as he stood aside and looked...  another trail led out.  This detail confused him though, of all the bodies that decorated the halls; it would have taken an offensive force of impressive size to dispatch the entirety of the Crimson Guard, and the Knights as well.  Though...  there were only two trails of prints in the room, one going in, and the other out.

    Again that overwhelming since of trepidation returning as he found himself seeming automated towards the back of the room where the dust trail led.  The shelves of dusty objects and bubbling bottles started decrease in number, and were replaced by an emptiness in the room, one that gave chill to his bones and froze his blood so intensely he thought he just might solidify from the inside out, becoming just another feature of the room, in time, accumulating his own collection of dust.

    As he neared the back of the room, a faint light could be seen in the distance, illuminating the shadows (to his relief) and giving form to the rear wall.  The light was coming from torches, two of them that hung on opposite ends of the back wall.  Between them stood a tall thin stone pedestal, nothing intricate about it.  Jokun, still feeling that looming sense of fear, walked over and looked at it more closely.  The dust on the pedestal, like the rest of the room, was so thick that it traced a silhouette of what seemed to be the only thing missing from the vault, the thing that whoever broke into the vault, and killed all these people to get to, was after.  The missing shape in the dust outlined a dagger.  Judging by the silhouette, the blade wasn’t very long, and the shape resembled nothing impressive.  Just a dagger...  Jokun heard a voice in his head speak up in anger, if that’s all these b******s came for, it had better be damn special!   Obviously nothing would have justified this blood bath, no matter they were after, but seeing that it was of all things...  a knife?  This thought just made him more uneasy, and if at all possible, the sadness and anger were even greater now.

    Jokun had fallen to his knees, keeping himself off the cold stone floor by supporting himself on the pedestal, his handprints now accompanying the shape of the dagger.  He felt dizzy, he needed sleep, he needed food and a bath, and he needed to tell somebody!   Jokun stood up so quickly that he knocked over the pedestal, sending the dust airborne.  He remembered overhearing (unintentional of course, as he just happened to be walking past the slightly ajar door of the council chambers) Lord Travon, Highfather to the Order, detailing their annual trip across Triggual.  He thought back, Lord Travon had mentioned something about gathering the Stonecourt of Teppa, or the Stonecourt of Teppa gathering...?  That was it!  The Stonecourt of Teppa would be gathering in two months’ time upon their arrival!  The Fathers of the Crimson Court would be in Teppa within the next two months!   Jokun, forgetting his fear, and his anger, and his sadness ran out of the vault, not glancing at a thing he passed as he sped through the door and through that bending hallway and up the stairs. 

    He stopped at his room and grabbed the bag he had left earlier, forgetting not to look at his bed; his eyes fell upon the body of Sam.  He couldn’t just leave him, nor could he feel right about leaving any of them.  He wished now he was a priest, or even someone with the right to bless the bodies of the fallen, in their transition to the next world.  Perhaps he could move all the bodies outside, and...  bury them all?  No, that would take untold hours, days in fact.  Perhaps he could build a funeral pyre?  No, that wouldn’t work he realised, for he didn’t know many of them by name, and he wouldn’t be able to record their deaths...  and they after all...  had families.  Not lovers of course, that was forbidden by the Order, but mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters...  Who would tell them all, how would they come to hear of their child’s passing, to come or grieve?  The thought brought Jokun again to his knees, weeping.      

    "What can I do!  " he cried, a solid lump forming in his throat, gagging him as he spurted through his tears.

    "I cannot leave them!   They had souls, they still have them!   I cannot abandon you...”  his words were lost to his cries.

    He sat upright, forcing himself stable with his hands, forgetting that the floor where he sat had Sam's blood trailed across it.  He would have felt sickened, but then guilt had taken hold of him, after all it wasn’t Sam’s fault, nor was it any of their faults.  To feel sickened now, he felt was rude, he was past that.  He was past feeling tired, he was over feeling sad, he was no longer hungry or disgusted and he had forgotten his pain.  There was only one emotion, one feeling left within him as everything else had burned up in its presence, anger.  And there WAS someone he could lay the fault on, Nathaniel.  He would find him, corner him, he would learn the names of all their fallen comrades and recite them to him as he held his still beating blackened heart in his clenched grasp.

    Jokun stood up, glancing one last time at Sam’s body, whispering something to him as he picked up and put on the rest of his armour.  He threw his bag over his shoulder and walked out of his room.

    Outside the keep, in the bushes next to the now empty stables Jokun could hear whimpering. As he approached the bushes began to shake and the whimpering grew louder. Jokun’s nerves were already on edge, but surely the enemy wouldn’t whimper in fear at his approach. This small assurance led him to reach out and part the bushes slightly...

    “Ahhhh!” squealed a loud and high pitched voice that sent Jokun backwards onto his back!

    “What the... Grub?” cried Jokun in disbelief. “Grub!” again he shouted, this time in relief.

    The short creature crawled out of the bushes and threw itself at Jokun’s leg and clung to him. Grub was a grump, a small creature with an anatomy quite similar to that of a human. He was only three feet in height. He had greyish blue reptilian like skin, the face of a newt with a wide snake-like mouth that followed the curvature of his head, large circular green eyes and a small tuft of red hair that grew upward from his head just between his pointy ears. He wore an old worn child’s woollen jerkin, makeshift trousers from bed covers sashed to his waist with a length of rope and little black boots with holes.

    Most grumps looked roughly the same, though they had different colour skin and hair. For the most part they were wild creatures of mild intelligence, but Grub had been found abandoned by his fleet (as their groups are called) by the order. They took him in and fed him; they will eat absolutely anything. They allowed him to live on the grounds if he agreed to help around with menial tasks. Much of the order despised his presence there and found pleasure in tormenting him. Jokun however had found a soft spot for the creature, and spent much of his spare time visiting him.

    “Grub! Are you injured?!” Jokun asked, lifting the creature up eye level by his underarms.

    “I flee away when shadowy creatures come! I safe, but I not see anything!” he replied, his voice squeaking a bit more than usual in fear.

    “I cannot tell you how glad I am that you’re alright.” Jokun said as he sat the creature back down on the ground. Jokun stood back to his full height. “Come with me Grub, I have to go and I don’t want to see you left here.”

    The creature looked back up at him with gazing eyes. “I cannot go, I promised not to leave if I be feeded here.” His voice was sad.

    “I’m sorry to have to tell you, but there is no one left here, there is nothing left for either of us here.”

    “Even Sam be gone?” whimpered the creature. Jokun didn't need to answer, his face said it all. Grub cried out and fell to the floor; Sam was another of the few that had actually cared for Grub.

    “Come Grub, we must leave at once. We don’t want to be here if or when those things come back.

    Grub looked up at him, tears filling his large eyes. He straightened out his little jerkin and brushed of his trousers and refastened the laces on his miniature boots. He looked over at the keep one last time before trotting on after Jokun.

    The two of them walked into the moonlit forest and disappeared into the tangle of ancient trees.

Author's Note

This is my FIRST novel, so please forgive the grammar mistakes. Thank you all! :D