Loka stuffið.

Frekar rushed þarna í endann finnst mér sjálfum en þetta er work in progress þannig að allt er opið.

* * *

The murky haze of memories surrounded Caleb again. The black bubble was no more, the memories it had guarded lay scattered about somewhere in the recesses of his mind. Caleb willed himself through the flood of memories, to the place he had been before the maelstrom had consumed him, the last time he was here.
It took only a brief search to find it. The haunting image of the battlefield from before floated in front of him, like a window to another place. Stepping through, Caleb’s vision spun and adjusted itself to a different scene. It was daytime and no swords clung against metal, no screams of agony filled the air. Yet the battlefield lay strewn with corpses of the fallen, birds circling them. The battle of Virk, was over, it seemed, yet here he stood. In front of him, Caleb saw, through the eyes of his warrior self, dozens of people, all in chains. They were all women, children, the frail, the maimed and the old, each of them staring at him with a look of utter hatred and sorrow. Caleb looked down to see his father’s sword in his hands.
“Well, what are you waiting for, Caleb,” sounded a feminine voice to his side.
Caleb looked at the woman. She was beautiful beyond anything he could remember. She was dressed in Conclave battle-vestments, bound tightly to her body. He could tell she was a woman of rank, a captain at least. An ornate black cloak drooped from her shoulders, the hood of which hid away most of her raven-black hair, but cast no shadow on her seemingly perfect face, which smiled innocently.
“Is it… really necessary?” stammered Caleb’s warrior self, looking back and forth from the beautiful woman, his commander, and the rabble.
“Yes Caleb, it is…” she responded. “If we do not kill them now, then they will simply be a problem for the future. Their young will breed a new generation of warriors, who will be fueled by the hatred from the tales of the old. Kill the threat before it emerges. Can you not see the logic in that?”
Caleb remembered the woman now. She was Kathandra and Caleb had been her favorite warrior. She was a clever, calculating woman, obsessed with strategy and cold logic. She had, through the years Caleb had served under her, imparted those gifts on him, molding him into more than just a simple grunt-warrior.
“It just seems… wrong somehow, they don’t stand a chance, where’s the honor in this?” replied the younger Caleb, wiping the innocent smile from the woman’s face.
The woman looked at a lone flower that had somehow survived the hundreds of trampling feet of the battle before.
“Caleb, do you like flowers?” she asked.
“I suppose so,” responded Caleb in surprise. “Wh-,”
“I do not!” responded Kathandra and crushed the flower beneath her heel. “They are pretty, but rather useless.” She looked up into Caleb’s eyes. “Are you going to be a flower, my pretty boy? Are you going to be… useless? I can find someone else, who isn’t then?”
“No… I will be anything but useless.” said the younger Caleb, resolute and turned slowly to face the throng of people, the heretics; the enemy. The Warden Caleb’s heart sank as he started to weakly whisper a protest to his warrior self.
But of course it was futile… he could not change the past… merely watch helplessly as the warrior Caleb raised his sword high and struck again and again. He had thought that it would get easier after the first kill, but it only became worse and worse. With each kill, each defenseless person slaughtered. Caleb and his younger self felt themselves dying a bit inside. The people in chains screamed and reeled away from their executioner, but could not flee from him with their chains pinning them down.
The last one was a child, a girl no older than Caleb when he had first entered the war. She was the only one who didn’t cry, merely looking up terrified at her executioner. Hers was the hardest kill.
It was later that night that the young Caleb exited the captain’s tent. Like many nights before, she had invited him to her, bedded him, a reward for his loyalty, but tonight there had been no true pleasure in it. In his blind loyalty, the warrior Caleb had broken inside. There had been no honor in today’s deeds. Perhaps it was better to be useless. Sword in hand, Caleb went a short distance away from the camp and stood before a rock. He stared at his mirrored image in the blade, quickly growing disgusted at it.
“You made me strong,” he said to the blade. “You made me invincible.” He raised the blade high above his head. “Perhaps, I should have just been fodder!” He brought the blade down with all his might against the rock where it shattered in two with a loud clang.
It was a brief moment of freedom.

* * *

His dreams that night had been anything but pleasant. The massacre had replayed itself over and over in his mind. The heretics looked upon him with horrid fear, looking at the monster which now sent them to their deaths. The little girl was nowhere to be found however, as if she had managed to escape his madness. Caleb was thankful for this small mercy
But he gasped in horror as he viewed the reflected image of himself in the curved blade of his father. He saw not the face of Caleb Clemens, but a gibbering worm whose mouth opened in random spasms as it flailed about chaotically, seeking prey. The nightmare had driven Caleb from the world of dream and he awoke in his tent, covered in cold sweat, breathing hard in a world which was very real. But even there, screams and the sounds of chaos were dominant. Kathandra stood over him, an unusual scowl on her otherwise smooth and pretty face.
“Get up!” she commanded, passing him a wine-red book with a leather cover as he did so.
“Take this and run, he can’t be allowed to get his hands on it!”
The mad laughter of what could only be a Lunatic pierced Caleb’s ears.
“Lunatics!? We’re under attack! How many of them?” said Caleb who reached for his weapon, stopping just short of it, realizing he had broken it just before.
“Only one,” replied the woman. “It is a war-priest… his skill is beyond any of us. Half the squadron is already dead.”
Caleb could see the sincerity in her eyes. It was no lie. Caleb exited the tent with Kathandra following him. Tents stood ablaze and the bodies of the dead lay scattered about, impaled on their own weapons, aflame or mutilated beyond comprehension. Many warriors fled in horror, terrified of some foe that was nowhere to be found. More unearthly screams mixed with the Lunatic’s laughter sounded. Caleb felt Kathandra tug firmly on his arm before she pulled him close and kissed him with tears forming in her eyes.
“´Beloved´ is a word that doesn’t exist in my world. But had it been anyone, it would have been you. You’re the only… flower I could’ve cared for, yet I tried to make you ugly… I’m sorry.” she said and smiled apologetically before pushing him away and wading out into the chaos towards the laughter. “Run, Caleb! Hide!” she commanded as he lost sight of her before she passed behind one of the many tents. Mere moments later, as Caleb took refuge in the low bushes just outside of the camp; he heard the agonized screams of a woman.
Caleb’s thoughts were racing. He had hated that woman deeply. He had found her to be merciless and cold, unloving and ruthless. She had been a testament of all that was wrong, the things which marred what little beauty life had. But he had also loved her more than anything… She had possessed determination and spirit, cunning and unending drive. She was an inspiration and source of strength. And her mask of cruelty had shattered because of him; she had shown that there was more to her… And now she was gone, taken by the heretic-witch.
Seeing the event, combined sorrow and hatred filled Warden Caleb’s thoughts both stemming from his sense of loss and from his horrible crimes. For a moment, he forgot the events which were unfolding in front of him as he stepped out of the memory. It was not until the younger Caleb was running, being hunted as the sole survivor of the camp-massacre, that he again took an interest in the dream-like vision.
At first, the survivors had been a few, but as Caleb ran and the foliage of the hills became the sparse woods he now stood in, they had fallen. One by one the heretic-witch had butchered them with his unearthly power. And now there was silence, the only audible sounds being Caleb’s heavy footsteps as he ran through the undergrowth of the forest. He kept looking back, expecting to see the witch-man hot on his trail, but all he could see where the shadows, which played tricks on his eyes. His hand clutched the wine-red book firmly.
His pace was slowing but it was not fatigue that caused it but thought. Why was he running anyway, he wondered? His unit was dead and with it, his potential lover. All for what? The small book he now held? This thing he was now trying to keep it away from the clutches of the heretic? And the innocent heretics, fresh in his memory were still screaming for vengeance. What was the point of it all; he thought and came to a complete stop. The subtle sounds of nature became dominant, with the wind sweeping through the leaves of the trees and the undergrowth. He didn’t care anymore, he realized as he let the wine-red book drop to the ground.
“I won’t run anymore! I tire of this!” he shouted into the night. “End me! Let me be at ease!” For a moment, there was silence.
“You dare think I would really grant you the favor of letting you simply die?” sounded a voice behind him. Caleb turned to face the man, who stood only a few feet away. The glowing nimbus he witnessed before had dissipated and his face was now visible to young Caleb.
It was not the fact that the heretic-witch had crept upon Caleb without as much as a sound which startled the memory-watching Caleb. It was the matter of who he was now looking at. The tall man was slim, despite his muscles, but it was no mere resemblance, he was the exact same. A scruffy, dark beard sat on his face, growing wildly in all directions and two coal black eyes resting in their sockets.
It was the Gardener.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” the Gardener asked in a growling and hateful voice. “You’d like to just run away from it all and die, escape the horror of your deeds. You’re a coward!”
“Yes…” Caleb responded weakly. “I have nothing to lose. No pride, no honor anymore.” The Gardener stepped closer and Caleb noted how wilted his body looked, as if it had been drained of its life and energy. He coughed weakly.
“I don’t have the strength to kill you, boy. I‘ve reached too far in my frenzy, wasted too much of myself already. The strength seeps from me even now.”
Caleb looked on the man, whose size seemed to be diminishing, his flesh rippling and shrinking as he spoke.
“Nor would I kill you, for that matter, that fate is too good for you! You deserve to suffer for what you have done! I watched you kill them, boy. I watched you kill all of them.” The Gardener stepped close to Caleb, and placed his atrophying hands on Caleb’s head.
“You have done a great evil, boy. You have fed the worm within you with your misdeeds. And he grows fat indeed.”
“Kill me then!” begged Caleb and fell to his knees. “I deserve it!” The Gardener merely shook his head.
“No… I’ve got something else in store for you. You’re going to forget all of this ever happened. I’m going to make you forget it. I will reshape your mind, taking your guilt and sorrow and placing them into a tiny bubble of horrid memories. You will never know happiness, true happiness from this day forth, just as you allowed your victims no happiness!” muttered the Gardener as he began to apply pressure to Caleb’s head. “But I shall be merciful… I shall leave you with your anger, your pride and your hatred. You will forever exist as a cold and uncaring monster of a man, your logic and rules dominating your life!”
The Gardener had no sooner completed his sentence than a sharp pain stabbed its way through Caleb’s head. The memories of the Gardener, the heretics Caleb had slain, Kathandra and the battle of Virk all flashed before him at great speed and faded into obscurity as the Gardener raped his mind with his heretic-magicks. Blood trickled from Caleb’s nostrils, the strain of the magick taking its toll. And as the last memory was discarded, Caleb saw the now unfamiliar man, holding his head; fall to the ground, unconscious. A second later, Caleb joined him there and the memory was no more.

Vengeance

Caleb awoke in his chamber with an unmistakable feeling of rage and self hatred mixed with horrible sorrow, which caused tears to stream from his eyes. Suicide was beginning to look as the finest of options to him. The surprised look on Aldren’s face, who had watched over him the entire night, told tales of how odd he must’ve looked at that very moment. The powerful emotions of guilt and sorrow now sweeping over Caleb were barely held in check, by a veritable dam built out of self-control and integrity. Aldren dared not ask any questions. He knew that men in Caleb’s state were best left in peace. He instead answered the knock which sounded on Caleb’s door. A lone ‘hood’ stood on the other side, bowing to both Aldren and Caleb.
“Forgive me, sirs,” said the timid looking guard. “I wanted to inform you, another prisoner appears to have died during the night.”
“I see,” responded Aldren callously, “Which one of them?”
“Prisoner one… of year thirty.”
The dam burst inside Caleb.
Rising from his bed, the warden stormed over to the ‘hood’ and grabbed his clothes, lifting the man off the ground and shook him as he yelled; “What!? What did you say!?
The panicked guard mumbled and stuttered, but the same words came out of his mouth. “Prisoner one of year thirty is dead!”
“No!” roared Caleb as he threw the helpless guard down the spiral stairs which led to the warden’s chambers. He dashed down the staircase, past the disoriented and now injured man as a shocked Aldren rushed to attend the guard. “Caleb! What in the world is the matter with you? You are acting mad!” he yelled after him. But Caleb didn’t hear the words, he didn’t care.

* * *
Like an avalanche he moved through the prison. The few guards he had met on the way, despite being surprised at seeing their warden without his Iron-hood, were quick enough to get out of his way. He was nearing the Gardener’s cell; Prisoner one, year thirty’s cell. Outside stood a few guards, the one just in front of the cell was Nestor, whom the other guards were patting on the back, congratulating him. It seemed Nestor had won another death-bet. Caleb’s rage grew with each step closer to the cell.
By the time Caleb had reached the small posse all but Nestor had noticed him, who had his back turned to the warden. He was in his way, the warden thought, and with a powerful, hammering blow to the man’s shoulder, that problem was taken care of. As Nestor went flying to the side, too shocked to yelp, the other guards scurried back in fear as Caleb entered the Gardener’s cell.
Caleb stared at the man he had seen only moments ago in his dreams, the source of his hatred and sorrow, his nemesis… and perhaps the only chance at escaping it all. He stared into the man’s lifeless, black eyes as he lay there on the cold floors, where two rats had taken to gnawing his corpse with two others like them dead near the Gardener. Caleb swept one of the greedy rats into his hand and crushed hard until the rodent squeaked no more. Caleb exited the cell, shaking the gore from the rat off his hand and looked at Nestor, who cowered against the walls, his face white with fear, a trembling hand on his now dislocated shoulder.
“You two!” he said and pointed at two of the three other guards. “Take the dead body to the ‘Heart’ immediately. And you,” he pointed at the remaining guard. “Take Nestor to his quarters, see to his arm!” The men nearly tripped over one another in their haste to do the warden’s bidding.
“Enjoy your innings, Nestor.” Caleb spat out and stormed off to his own quarters.

* * *

Caleb had returned to his quarters. The rage, while still powerful had receded; perhaps do to his violent outbursts before. The bubble, he realized, had not only been a prison for memories, created by the Gardener those years ago. It had been a part of his soul. Since the time of the war, he had never truly felt guilt or sorrow over his deeds or anything else for that matter. Happiness had come to him, not as genuine, but as distorted feelings of pride and power. He had existed as the un-caring human “monster” forged that day in the war, when he had butchered the innocent and been brainwashed by the Gardener’s magick. They had trickled through, throughout the years however, echoes of those emotions. They had dangled just in front of him, taunting him, reminding him that they would never be his again.
He was ill. The anger made his body shiver and he sweated as he paced about like a trapped animal, trying to contain guilt and self-hatred. He nearly threw himself at Aldren, who had slipped in again without notice, when he spoke to him.
“Two men, shoulders dislocated on both of them, now rest in their chambers, Caleb. I’ve seen a lot of interesting reactions to what is experience in the ‘first trance’ but yours… is starting to scare me.” Aldren breathed deeply and stared at the warden in puzzlement. Bits of Caleb’s anger dissipated as he realized the truth of Aldren’s words. It had been unnecessary, to say the least… well, at least for one of the men anyway.
“I will make ‘amends’ later,” Caleb retorted. “But as for Nestor… I couldn’t really give a rat’s arse about that parasite!” The comment only made Aldren grow more curious and he drew himself closer.
“Why do you have it in for that man so?” asked Aldren and waved his hands to his sides. “Certainly, he acted poorly two days ago when he acted on his own volition but… I just don’t understand where your hatred of him stems from.”
Caleb stared at the floor as he gave his reply.
“Did you know… that they bet on the lives of the prisoners? Their very existence has become a gambling event for the amusement of our guards!” Caleb nearly slobbered as the last word exited his mouth. “In the few years I’ve been here, I’ve never seen our work as cruel or inhumane. I’ve only seen it as a necessary part of society, the guilty must be punished. Is this not vital, that we reshape them into something ‘worthy’ again?” Caleb turned and looked out his window and at the moon, set to disappear later this very night.
“I had not lost a single prisoner until two days ago and the guards… they make mockeries of it, Aldren, as they profit from their deaths. And the worst part is… it’s not against the blasted rules!” Aldren listened intently to every word.
“Well, I’ll admit that their behavior is crude… some might say ‘evil’,” the old man replied. “But you needn’t really worry about them… there’s a special place in the hells for people such as those.” Aldren grinned in a manner that brought a shiver to Caleb. So much for salvaging souls, Caleb thought.
“This might explain your disdain for Nestor, but I am curious as to your findings in the ‘first trance’. The rage you exhibited immediately afterwards goes unexplained… and the death of prisoner one of year thirty, the ‘Gardener as he was called, seemed to drive you mad,” Aldren smiled slightly and tapped a finger on his chin, obviously considering himself clever as he linked the two events together. “I want answers, Caleb,” he said sternly but immediately switched to a softer tone. “Otherwise… I cannot help you.”
“No,” Caleb stated. “It’s a personal matter, one which I will handle on my own.”
Aldren’s otherwise warm face slowly turned into a frown.
“I am a priest, Caleb. And a skilled one at that, mind you. If I want answers, all I have to do is to pry them from your frail mind.” The threat made Caleb tense and added fuel to his dwindling rage.
“Yes… you are powerful, old one. No doubt about that.” said Caleb, staring daggers at Aldren before smiling and letting his eyes again roll over to the window. “But can an old man fly, I wonder?” The veiled threat only caused Aldren to smile as he offered his arms up in surrender.
“Calm yourself, I spoke in jest. I would never use the gifts of the gods so lightly.”
“Your sense of humor escapes me at the moment. It is no laughing matter.”
“Very well, let us just put this behind us, for now. Although I must say that your willingness to handle the problem on your own is commendable. We must learn to be self-sufficient, after all,” chided Aldren who was beginning to make his way to the door. “I advise against violent outbursts against the guards, however. I think there have been quite plenty enough of those for now and while you may be their superior, they are a vengeful lot, as are all humans. You wouldn’t want to receive a poisoned meal from a disgruntled guard one of these days, now would you?” said Aldren and laughed at his own words.
“Would they really do that?” asked Caleb to which a surprised Aldren laughed an answer.
“Well, again… I was merely joking.” He switched to a more serious tone as he viewed Caleb’s serious face. “Well… I suppose they could do so. After all, they are the ones who handle the food… the quartermasters that is.”
A moment of clarity passed over Caleb.
Why hadn’t he seen it sooner? As Aldren spoke, Caleb remembered the dead rats and the half-eaten food in the Gardener’s cell. He remembered how Aldren had said that the other prisoner had been fine the day before, but had shown signs of disease after his death… and he remembered Nestor, the quartermaster; The man with the sinister grin who had profited from it all. How could he have been so oblivious to it all? Caleb spoke quickly to catch Aldren before he exited.
“Aldren! The prisoner, the dead one; do not perform his last rites. In fact, I will do it.” A surprised Aldren smiled, pleased with the warden’s decision..
“Good… very good Caleb. This will be a good chance for you to learn… Shall I meet you in the ‘heart’ later?”
“No,” said Caleb and glanced out the window at the moon, now full, remembering that in but a few hours, it would be gone. “I’d rather not perform the rites with a lunar eclipse looming over us.” Aldren looked quizzically at the warden. “…Personal matters, old man. I’d consider it an ill omen for his soul.” Aldren nodded.
“And… tell that guard, the one I threw done the staircase, that he has just been promoted to quartermaster, would you?” Caleb continued and Aldren was taken back by surprise.
“That’s… generous of you, Caleb, but do we not already have a quartermaster?” Aldren asked.
“Yes, yes we do,” stated Caleb and watched Aldren’s face slowly twist to horror.
The anger Caleb had suppressed was beginning to rise again. But it was not rage, not the uncontrolled fury and self-hatred. It was anger with a purpose and a strange sense of fulfillment.

* * *

Laughter and vague sounds of conversation could be heard emanating from the room up ahead. At the end of the corridor were the guard quarters, where the guards spent what little time they had off-duty playing at cards or some other way of passing the time. But all sounds died as the warden entered the room, where four men sat at a coin-covered table. The warden swept his gaze over three of the men and then motioned towards the door, almost unnoticeably. It was a silent command for them to get up and leave. Only the fourth guard remained, whose right arm was now in a sling. It was Nestor, his face as pale as the moon as the warden walked over to him.
“Walk with me Nestor. We have things to discuss,” stated Caleb and watched as Nestor slowly arose. The two started their slow walk through the prison, Nestor slowly trudging half a step behind Caleb the entire time. No other guards were passed on the way and it seemed as if the two men were alone in the entire prison, a feeling that manifested visibly in the beads of nervous sweat on his forehead.
“Tell me Nestor, how long have you been with us?” asked Caleb non-chalantly.
“Ah… five years now, I think,” the guard replied.
“Five years? My, my… you’ve been here longer than me then. Was there a lot of death, before I arrived… prisoner deaths I mean?”
“Deaths? At least one every month or so, I believe,” responded Nestor as the pair turned at a corner, where the warden stopped briefly.
“One death each month… That’s an awful lot. It seems to me that the previous warden had no interest in keeping prisoners alive at all…” Caleb resumed walking. “Is that a wrong assumption, Nestor?” Nestor considered his answer carefully.
“No… he didn’t really care for them at all,” he replied and managed a tiny smirk. “… said they deserved to die, most of them. He made sure that the few who got out of Carnate suffered.”
“And did you share his belief?” asked Caleb.
“Perhaps a little… after all, there’s a reason I’m on this side of the bars. They’re lawbreaking scum, and deserve to suffer.” The comment caused Caleb to clench his fists in anger.
“You will have noticed, Nestor, that I am a bit different than our previous warden. For you see, I care what becomes of these prisoners. Certainly, the torture and other questionable activities that take place in here are morbid, but very vital as well. It seems pointless to me, the act of sending a man to a prison where he is doomed to die. Why not just kill him outright and save some time?” Nestor had no answer for the warden’s question, nor had Caleb expected one. “So I can only imagine that you’ve found my rule here to be less than exiting. After all, the two deaths we had recently were the first since I arrived, were they not? You must’ve been very happy… being able to collect on death-bets again. Am I right?”
Nestor looked to his bulging coin-purse and smiled. “The deaths were fortunate… for me.” Again, anger shot through Caleb as he wanted nothing more than to turn around and pummel Nestor’s face into the ground. But he had other plans for him.
“Ah, here we are,” said Caleb as the pair stepped into the large area of the workshop.
They continued to the heart of the room, where Caleb stopped in front of the large hatch in the center and it was there that he made his move at last. He spun around on Nestor, and brought his knee sharply into the man’s stomach, knocking the wind out of Nestor and felling him to the ground. Nestor, despite being having been on edge since the first encounter with the warden, was no match for the war-seasoned tower that was Caleb.
As Nestor sputtered and coughed on the floor, Caleb moved to the large hatch which led to the “bowels”, opening the massive hatch with ease. With the dark pit now uncovered, he moved to Nestor, who had begun trying to get to his feet. He grabbed Nestor by the dislocated arm and twisted violently causing Nestor to shriek in agony. He dragged the guard over to the gaping pit and turned him so that he could see what lurked beneath.
“Look hard, Nestor… look really hard at that pit. And choose your next words very wisely, for they will decide whether I throw you in there or not.” Nestor grunted and mumbled half-coherent protests in sheer terror. “I know you killed those two prisoners,” grumbled Caleb. “You poisoned them, rigging your own death-bets in your favor! I should have realized it sooner… the dead rats surrounding their food plates, dead from the same poison you slipped them, no doubt. And now, you’re going to tell me, who else is in on it, aren’t you?”
“What the hell are you talking about!” screamed Nestor, trying to break free from the warden. “I haven’t killed anyone!”
“Wrong answer!” Caleb got up and laughed as he kicked Nestor’s back, sending the man tumbling forward… and into the hole. Nestor screamed as he fell all the way down, until landing at the bottom, which knocked the wind out of him. Caleb watched as the beaten man clumsily managed to get up again, to stare at Caleb with pleading eyes.
“No! Wait… yes… I killed them,” he admitted. “But it’s only been two, I’ll stop it, I swear!”
Caleb pulled out a curved knife from his belt. Its design made it so that it could be a most lethal weapon in the right hands. While he felt no true need to walk around armed, it was a habit from the war.
“You know… they say such horrible things about that pit you’re in. Some say there are things in the dark… monsters which eat everything that doesn’t belong down there. And there’s no light to be found either, imagine that!” said Caleb and grinned. “I don’t know if any of it is true… but I tell you what. I’ll be fair, and lend you a knife if you answer the next question truthfully. Who else is in on it?” The pleading look on Nestor’s face became the look of hatred and anger as he realized the gravity of his situation. He wasn’t going to let him out again.
“No one,” said Nestor at last. “It was my plan… why would I let anyone else in on it?”
“Good answer… good to see some truth from you at last,” said Caleb and withdrew another knife from his belt, a knife made of wood that he often used to apply butter to bread. Caleb pocketed the other knife and let the wooden one fall down into Nestor’s hole. “I hope you brought a tinderbox, I keep telling the guards to have one at all times… re-light torches blown out by the wind and all that,” he said as he closed the immense hatch, drowning out Nestor’s screams of anger and pleas for mercy.

* * *
Staring out from his window, the warden felt a brief moment of peace pass over him. Nestor’s punishment had given him a break from the sea of emotions the Gardener had locked up inside him. It had been seven years since the war was declared as won, though four of those Caleb had spent with others like him, hunting down the stragglers of the heretic armies. All this time, the Gardener… the witch, had waited here in Carnate, waiting perhaps for Caleb to show up, as if he knew of things not yet come to pass. And in the three years he had served as warden, the Gardener had watched him… knowing fully well who he was the entire time, playing with him through the iron bars of his cell.
But despite the Gardener’s games, he could not bring himself to hate the man. Perhaps the heretic had in fact done him a favor, by saving the despairing Caleb from his emotions, hoping to make him stronger, by allowing his emotions time to trickle through slowly, so that they would not overwhelm him. He was stronger now. Then again perhaps the heretic had merely been gathering his strength all these years, waiting for the time of vengeance to be upon him.
There were so many possibilities and so many questions that Caleb knew only the Gardener could answer. The fact that this was impossible grated on Caleb. Looking to the moon, Caleb saw that the eclipse had begun. A small tip of the moon had become black and Caleb knew that as the night passed, the rest of the moon would follow in the slow process of the eclipse. The guard towers and their fires, protruding from the prison would soon become the only source of light for miles around.
Tomorrow, he would seek council from Aldren. He would tell him everything, every detail and perhaps, if the avatars were willing, Aldren could help Caleb come to grips with himself. Perhaps they could help him be “human” again. After again trying to make sense of the vine-red book, Caleb set off to a trance-less sleep.

* * *

His feet ached and his breath was heavy. The runner had at long last succumbed to the effects of fatigue. Complete darkness reigned, for the moon had been devoured by the eclipse. Up ahead, the runner caught sight of flickering lights in the far distance… the fires of Carnate. He was almost there.
But to his dismay, the runner noticed, that the fires were being put out… one by one.

Carnate

In his dreams, all was still. It was as if he floated in a sea of darkness with no sense of depth, direction or boundaries. But somewhere in the darkness, Caleb sensed a second presence. His breath slowed and his brow tensed as he looked around, searching for this ‘other’ person. The first thing Caleb noted was the smell, that musky, earthly smell of iron. The smell, stronger in one direction than others, became Caleb’s focus as he peered through the darkness. Over the drumming sound of Caleb’s own heartbeat, came the sound of slithering. Rapid jerking and shuffling sounds grew in volume until at last; tearing through the darkness emerged a human silhouette in the likeness of Caleb.
The half-shadowed copy made its way towards Caleb, continuing to give off the strange slithering noises, its own body jerking in violent spasms. As it came closer, Caleb noted the subtle differences between himself and the copy. While both wore the warden’s helmet and the traditional conclave tunic, the copy’s tunic wore dark, soiling stains of blood and gore. It was the sight of blood that caused Caleb to realize, that the smell was not that of iron, but of thick, freely flowing blood. Looking down, Caleb discovered that the source of the smell was not the shambling mirage, but he himself. Blood trickled over Caleb’s hands, from underneath his helmet and along his body.
In the short moment of horror he had looked down, the shambling copy had made its way up to him and now stood but a few steps away. Despite wanting to turn and run away from the unnatural thing, he could not help but watch as with trembling hands, it began to tear at the straps of its helmet and slowly raising the iron-hood off its shoulders. There was no face underneath the helmet, only the slithering mass of blood-hungry maggots and worms which lashed out at him, wanting to devour Caleb where he stood. Wanting to scream, Caleb fell backwards, where the darkness consumed him.

* * *

With a thud, Caleb awoke in a different darkness. Touching his bare skin was something cold and hard, raspy… the floor of his room, but something felt odd, the smell of blood being thick in the air. But where was the light, he wondered as he looked towards his window, where he would normally view the light of the sun. Only the faintest hint of light emanated through the window. The eclipse was still holding true, he had barely slept a few hours. It was then that Caleb heard the first scream. Though distant, Caleb could hear that it was the scream of pure horror and agony. The strength fled from Caleb as old fears resurfaced. Almost trembling, he stumbled over to his desk, fumbling for the second drawer where he kept a tinderbox and lamp. Another distant scream sounded from the main facility and Caleb hurried to kindle the fire of his lamp. His heart jumped as the light fell on his surroundings.
From the piled, stone walls oozed a thick and syrupy liquid, slowly trickling downwards, covering all it touched with a black smear. The floor was no better, covered in dried blood stains and other liquids. Dashing to his window, he looked over what would have been the prison Carnate, but there were no flames in the watchtowers, no hints of torches burning in its halls. Caleb looked to his Iron-hood and considered donning it before rushing out, but the thing was covered in the black liquid and his recent nightmare made the thing seem repulsive. Unnerved by the ever growing mass of putrid liquid, Caleb fled his room.
Caleb ran through his domain, passing the initial detainment areas, the place where the longest sentenced criminals were kept. The phenomenon was everywhere. The walls bled and the sickly sweet smell of rot and blood permeated the area. Almost unconsciously, he had taken the route which led past the Gardener’s old cell. He stopped as he saw the remains of one of his hoods, his body jammed onto a bent bar of the Gardener’s old cell. Blood-red flowers protruded from his body and from them oozed the occasional drop of blood. Caleb had no words for this horror as he moved rigidly onward, towards the continuing screams… the roars.
He passed the corpses of many more guards as he moved onward, the same sickly blood-flowers sprouting most of them. The prisoners in their cells were an equally twisted sight as many of them paced about frantically, yelling and roaring at Caleb as he passed. Others smiled sadistically, a look in their eyes as if they knew something Caleb did not. Others still lay huddled in a corner, whimpering in fear. Looking behind himself, Caleb noted the ever growing amalgamation of the black liquid and pus which covered the prison. And unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, it was chasing him, creeping slowly forward in his direction. Again, Caleb fled.
More of the carnage on the way, dead guards and even prisoners lay torn to shreds here and there as he entered the workshop areas. The memories of his first encounter with the Gardener flashed in front of him. No mere man could have committed these atrocities. Caleb hurried onward, again passing rows of bewildered prisoners before reaching the last interval room before the exit… the heart.
No blood stained the floors, no vile essences lay splattered about nor were there any corpses to find. While the scene should have brought Caleb a moment of peace, it did not, for one thing was horribly, horribly wrong with the room, a fact that made Caleb’s hairs stand up.
The Gardener’s body was gone
Up ahead, in the last stretch before the mouth, Caleb heard again the horrid screams. But almost drowning out the screams was the familiar, haunting cackle…
* * *

Dimming his light, Caleb stepped through the door to the last stretch. Up ahead, a softly glowing nimbus of light surrounded a tall and muscular, but slim man. A wild beard rested on his face, not swaying in the least as the man hacked with his bear hands into the many hoods surrounding him, an equal number of them strewn about, murdered in a messy manner.
“You’re dead…” whispered Caleb as he watched his hoods get torn to pieces, the terrifying, unearthly strength of the Gardener breaking the men as if they were twigs.
Caleb felt a hand clasp his shoulder. “No, he’s not,” said Aldren, stepping out of the shadows, nearly receiving Caleb’s fist in his face.
“Where the hell have you been!?” spat Caleb. “I went through the entire prison to get to… to this! And you were nowhere to be found!” The castigator seemed to ignore his question, his eyes focused on the Gardener as he worked his way through the guards.
“What is going on Aldren!? This is madness!” The old man started to answer, but was interrupted by the Gardener’s booming voice.
“Yes castigator! What is going on, indeed!? Why do you not enlighten poor Caleb!? For how long are you going to keep him in the dark!?” The Gardener’s voice echoed through the now silent hallways, the last of the hoods dead at his feet and the few surviving prisoners having quieted down to mewling. Aldren raised his nose at the Gardener and cleared his throat as he looked at Caleb.
“You were right, Caleb. Eclipses are not a natural phenomenon. They are a… period of time when Myrki, the god of darkness, rules supreme, letting his madness and hatred of all life seep through, birthing horrors and nightmares beyond human ken. It is Ey-Yohlun-eh-kal, the moon which keeps this madness at bay…
“With the help of Zul, of course,” interrupted the Gardener. “Without her light, Yohlun strays and forgets his burden.”
“It is a birthing time of demons and other horrors, which feed on the misery of humankind, I simply did not realize it would manifest here. I received no word, no warning.” continued Aldren. “It is why we fight to destroy the old gods, so that we may be free of such evils!” His remark drew a smile from the Gardener.
“Evil is a relative term, Conclaver. After the things I’ve witnessed you and your ilk perform, least of all the horrors I’ve seen in here, you are a bold one to call my faith wicked and evil!” Caleb saw the faces of those he had butchered as the Gardener spoke, the truth of his words sinking deep into Caleb’s soul.
“Caleb”, he heard in his mind. He looked to Aldren, who continued to stare at the Gardener with contempt. His lips were not moving, but his voice continued
“Do not be alarmed. It is through the gifts of the avatars that I speak. I need time, Caleb, time! I am well versed in the second trances. I can draw forth incredible strength to combat my foes, I can become a living weapon. But you must distract him for me, he is a powerful foe…I need time.” Caleb took a few hesitant steps towards the Gardener, his steps splashing in the pool of blood forming on the floor.
“You should be dead…”
“You will find that killing a servant of the god of death, is no simple task.” The Gardener replied, as if returning from death was the simplest task in the world. “I will live as long as He permits me… I will die when He commands and no sooner.”
“You killed my guards…” said Caleb and motioned the many dead on the floor.
“I was doing them a favor, believe me.” Caleb looked skeptically at the heretic. “The abomination already had his hooks in them, Caleb. Their souls were lost. They aren’t like you or I or the castigator there. They aren’t strong enough…” Caleb looked back at the castigator, who stood silent, his eyes half closed. He was focusing. Already Caleb could notice the difference in the castigator’s body, it was as if muscles were doubling in size as the man grew in girth.
“You destroyed my soul!” Caleb yelled, his voice trembling with rage.
“You murdered the innocent, I merely punished you!” the Gardener responded.
“You made me into an uncaring monster!”
“You were already a monster, Caleb! I gave you strength to live… to learn, adapt.” The Gardener raised his arm high and stepped close. “Do you still wish to die for your crimes, dear Caleb?” Around his arm, glowing light coursed at an ever escalating speed until it hummed with energy. “I can end you… now, if you still want to run away.”
The offer was tempting. He could escape his guilt in the sweet embrace of death, he could be saved from despair and if the gods were willing, know happiness again. All for the simple price of running away.
“No.”
“Hmmm?” inquired the Gardener. “What was that? I didn’t quite get it.”
“Running away from my sins… It’s getting tiresome. I know what I did… it was foolish of me, but I did it anyway and there’s nothing that can be done to change it. Killing people had never bothered me before, it was just a matter of survival. The greater warrior walked away, proud and with honor. There was no honor in my butchering back then, however.” Caleb heaved himself up, standing firmer than before. “Those people won’t live again… I will never forgive myself fully. But I’m tired of running. I’m stronger than that now.” The Gardener smiled broadly as he lowered his raised arm. He moved his arm forward towards Caleb in an offering. Caleb stared into the Gardener’s eyes. It was like they swallowed him whole.
“Caleb Clemens, warden of Carnate, your sins were great. As a servant of Yohlun, seeker of vengeance and keeper of the dead, I forgive you for your crimes. They forgive you. I’ve kept them with me for years, and now, it’s time to send them onward.” The Gardener moved his head closer, locking stares with Caleb. “Look at them, and reclaim what I stole from you!”
Inside the Gardener’s eyes, Caleb saw murky silhouettes bound in chains, they were the people he had butchered. But they did not scowl at him, grimace or even furrow their brows. They merely nodded. The little girl, the hardest kill stood out. She gave a weak smile before running away, joining the remaining specters. The Gardener stepped back and Caleb felt as if he had just fallen out of the heretic’s mind, having reclaimed a long forgotten part of himself.
“Let us run away one last time however, Caleb. The influence of Myrki will overrun this wretched place soon an ur-demon will be born. We don’t want to witness that. Join me, Caleb travel my path and I will show you the moonlit way of Yohlun.”
“No! He will do no such thing, heretic!” Caleb and the Gardener both looked at Aldren, who had completed his preparations, standing at the edge of the shadows. Aldren rippled with power, the meager old man that had been there a moment ago, was now replaced with this juggernaut of a priest. “He is chosen of Vaka! He will lead great armies against your ilk and bring us closer to eternal peace in a world shall be free of your foul magicks!” Aldren continued as he took a few slow, stomping steps towards the pair. The normally silent and stealthy Aldren now finally caused the floors to tremble. “Step away from him, heretic! Together, he and I will cleanse this prison of Myrki’s influence and then forge his path to glory!”
Caleb’s mind was racing, thinking seemed so difficult. The undying man who had turned him into the uncaring and soulless Warden Caleb had forgiven his evils, as had the spirits of his victims. He now offered friendship and insight into the teachings of Ey-yohlun-eh-kal, the god of Lunatics and madmen. And a few steps away was another man, his mentor and trustee, who had led him on the first steps of priesthood and righteousness, claiming Caleb as his own, for some greater destiny.
As he searched for options, Caleb spied the creeping, black liquid entering the illuminated area around the Gardener. It was following him! It encircled Aldren as it drank up the blood on the floor. “Go to your moon-god heret-!” Aldren stopped, his body jolting forward slightly. “Heret- ic!” he barely managed to gurgle out as an unseen force pulled him backwards into the shadows, leaving only a small portion of his face visible. Caleb noted the black essence retreat, following Aldren.
“Aldren!” called Caleb and began to step towards the castigator, but stopped briefly as the cold hand of the Gardener fell on his shoulder. Caleb jerked his shoulder free from the Gardener, and advanced towards his mentor. Aldren’s face was quickly twisting into pain as blood sprayed from his mouth and nostrils, the life in his wise old eyes disappeared and his head drooped, limp.
Caleb stopped immediately as the old man raised his head again, the whites of his eyes now gone, replaced with a depthless black. As Aldren spoke, it was no longer the voice of a man but the overpowering choir of a hundred tortured souls crying out, each a different aspect of anger, madness, agony, horror and hatred.
“The Warden is mine, necromancer! Mine! My latest demon, my latest general! The warden shall be my aspect of regret and sorrow!”
It was as if the words of the monster had knocked Caleb senseless. He stood, unable to move, think or even breathe as his mind fractured under the horror he saw before him. The firm grip of the Gardener, tossed him backwards, knocking sense into the warden. “Change of plans!” called the resolute Gardener, who again started his cackling, entering his fighting frenzy. He pointed his hand to the corpses of the now-dead prison guards, and from them, Caleb saw a faintly glowing essence rise.
“Destroy!” commanded the Gardener, moving his hand towards Aldren as the ghostly essences took on human shapes, flying at it with wailing screams. As the spirits collided with the monster, it groaned in agony, but it quickly turned to laughter as shadowy tendrils shot forth from the darkness, entwining the Gardener where he stood. The tendrils lifted the still-cackling man off the ground and began moving him towards Aldren. Aldren’s entire body began twitching and contorting as his lower jaw sank and widened, quickly forming a gaping maw. Horrid teeth lined the entire interior, each seeming to move of their own accord, living saws, seeking something to sever.
The Gardener’s cackle was quickly silenced, as the two tendrils glided him slowly into the abominable mouth of the monster, beginning to cut and chew his legs as they went down. Still drawing spirits from the surrounding corpses, the Gardener’s body wilted from the corrupting touch of the shadowy tendrils. The spirits continued colliding with the monster, dissipating into nothingness as they did. But the abomination showed no signs of wearing down, its strength seemed limitless to the astonished Caleb that still lay on the ground, who scarcely believed his eyes.
With a jerking motion, the Gardener managed to turn himself around in the beast’s maw, looking to Caleb with pleading eyes as the glowing nimbus around him faded.
“Caleb! Run! Escape from him! There is no worse fate—“ he coughed up wretches of blood as the beast continued to grind on him. “—f ate than as Myrki’s servant!.”
The Gardener hammered at the distorted body of Aldren as he went down, screaming in pain. Caleb mustered his courage and got to his feet, instantly turning away from the horror and ran as he listened to the Gardener’s screams. His last words almost caused Caleb to stop.
“The girl! The woman! I did not kill her, she lives still!” Caleb ran through the darkness, to what he knew to be the exit, the mouth.

* * *
The ground beneath his feet changed in texture, he no longer heard the close echoes of his own footsteps. He was outside, but all was dark, not slowing his pace, Caleb kept running until his face collided with something firm, but yielding. Knocked backwards and on his bottom, Caleb looked up to note two circular, red eyes. He remembered his lantern from before, and raised its hood, letting the light from within it seep out. Great, I ran from one monster to another! He thought as he viewed the behemoth he had run into.
It was easily a head taller than Caleb, even had he been standing. Its bare chest glistened with sweat as it heaved up and down. In all aspects, it appeared as nothing more than a large human, with glowing eyes… and those cloven feet, which Caleb eyed in amazement. The runner stepped closer to Caleb and spoke, its voice sounding as if two people were speaking at once.
“Warden Caleb Clemens… the look on your face… the screams… we are too late, are we not? The dark one has struck…” Its face offered a meager smile as it bent down to better face the frightened warden. “Ah… but you live still and the dark one is not with you… this pleases us. The astronomers read many different outcomes, many different fates, through many visions.” Caleb noticed a small symbol, a badge pinned to the man’s pants. Three dots with lines connecting each… it was the symbol of the conclave.
“That thing is still inside…it murdered my entire prison… they’re all dead!” said Caleb and pointed towards where he had come from. “It wanted me! It wanted me t—“
“Yes, we know,” interrupted the runner and raised himself and Caleb from the ground. “Your position as warden of Carnate, is hereby terminated by order of the Conclave. But fear not, the Conclave treasures its loyal followers and your efforts in the war have not been forgotten. You will report to Virk, where you will be provided for.”
“What about that monster in there!” Caleb asked ecstatically.
“We shall deal with it.” The runner pulled a small bag from his belt and threw it to Caleb. “This is food for your travels. Half a day away, you will find a caravan headed to this place. Join with them and instruct them to turn away from this place.”
Caleb rummaged through the contents of the small pouch, keeping one nervous eye on the direction of the prison. “What about my training?” The runner eyed him curiously.
“You are warden no more. Your training will cease, as far as we know.” The runner paused, noting Caleb’s scowl, having heard this. “Perhaps you may still partake of such trainings, but that will be of your own accord. Such an honor will have to be re-earned.” The runner took a few steps towards Carnate and then stopped, casting his glance back at Caleb. “Now go! Forget what you have seen here tonight. It did not happen.” Without further questions or any pressing desire to stay in the accursed place, Caleb left for the caravan, moving as quickly as he could.

* * *
Years later, the prison Carnate still sees use. New prisoners come to the prison every month, joining with the few who remained; the half-mad inmates who survived the incident that came to be known as the Carnate massacre.
Many rumors circulated amongst the prison’s new staff as to the cause of the massacre. Accusations such as heretic attacks became common and widely acknowledged, but amongst the prison staff, rumors existed stating that the previous warden, Caleb Clemens had gone mad, butchered all he could find, and then taken off into the night. Those who made inquiries into the man known as Caleb would find that he was last seen in the city of Virk, where he briefly held the position of captain in the city’s watch, but vanished one day almost without a trace. Witnesses claimed to last have seen the imposing man wander off into the wilderness during a full moon, never to return.
The Gardener’s cell stands empty, an uneasy feeling surrounding it at all times, the cell of the unknown man. Strange, blood-red weeds grow from its corners each night.