Bleeding Seconds

“I never really thought of myself as a vindictive person." - Liam Mountebank

Liam sunk his shovel in the grave, leveraging his weight against the frozen soil. Even though he took a measure of pride in his conditioning, the work was still tasking. Perspiration would coat his forehead, and then be whisked away by the chill, prevailing winds. 

He soundlessly tossed another heap of dirt to the growing pile beside him. The ground felt almost like stone, so much so that Liam still wondered whether he had found the right spot. The tombstone had a holy symbol like the crazed doctor had said, but judging by the similar headstones scattered about, the old religion was much more popular amongst the dead.

Most of the names were difficult to read without skulking right up to the plot and squinting. He hadn't brought a torch, - to err on the side of caution - and the thin sliver of moon was barely enough to see by, let alone illuminate intricate detail. 

He didn’t have the time nor the patience to pay his respects to all the dead, - They could continue to rot in loneliness for all he cared - so he crossed his fingers, and carried on. There’d better not be another fella named Deus E. M. If I waste my time on a sack of bones, I swear I’m gon- 

“Gah!”

The shovel struck a rock, reverberating a loud *ting* through the air. Liam froze as still as the dead leaves and waited in the darkness. He held his breath, listening for any response above the ambiance. The hollow wind droned on, floating over the spacious field and rustling the underbrush of the thick, gnarled tree-line that surrounded it.

Nothing. . .

He glanced about himself, searching for any trace of movement. The forest was a mass of dark shapes, and twisted shadows. Motionless. The sight of scattered tombstones under the faint moonlight looked as still as a painting. 

He turned up toward the center of the glade, dominated by a wide, shallow hill, and the cluster of ancient tombs and tall stoneworks that sat upon it. The older, original gravesite sat atop gravel paving and was packed behind a low iron picket fence that further distinguished it from the mass scatter of graves dug thereafter.

Just as he was turning away, something caught his eye. A small flutter between two of the monuments on the hill. He stopped, and stared at the scene; A moment, and then second after second until the cold nipped at his eyes. 

Frosted leaves tumbled in his periphery. There’s nothing. He thought. There’s nothing there. A trick of the nerves. He squeezed his nearly frozen eyes shut. “I'm a paranoid fool” he grumbled under his breath. He put away his irrational fears and bent to push the rock aside

“How In the blazes did I end up here?” he muttered. “Bad luck, and more bad luck to follow it. What did I do to deserve it? . . . I coulda been something Grand,” He plowed the shovel into the ground, prying up a mound of dirt “-Like a sailor lounging on warm seas, and surrounded by pretty women, Not killing my back in some dingy graveyard.”

As if in response, Liam could almost hear the mad doctor rambling in his brain. “Semantics! My contractually obligated friend! A Cemetery is a much more apt description as graveyard heavily implies the presence of-” Liam shook his head, killing the imagined rebuttal. If the agitating book of a man hadn't had a job to offer, Liam would have been hard-pressed not to teach a lesson of his own.

He sunk his shovel in the ground again, but this time he was met with a hollow-sounding *Thud* 

“It’s about bloody time!” 

He knelt in his excavated plot and brushed away the dirt. A wooden panel, pine, stained, but not rotten, All good signs. He exhumed the rest of the coffin with the head of the shovel. An inscription on the lid read “silver and gold for the prosperity of the righteous.”

Liam smirked. Metaphorical religious crap.

He wedged the shovel under the lid and pried the coffin open, nails popping one by one. He tossed the cover aside, revealing a corpse. A tall stately man, well-muscled. Aside from a pale, bluish complexion, and a gaunt, sunken face, he was the sight of good health.

“Great to finally meet you, Mr. Deus. You and I have an appointment with. . .” He paused, spotting a handful of silver coins lying in the shrouded edges of the coffin. It came as such a shock he laughed. “You silly pious fool!” he knelt over the body, snatching up the scattered money. “Since your god doesn’t seem to want this, I’ll gladly take it off your hands.”

He funneled the coins in his coat, and happily hoisted the dead man over his shoulders. He wouldn’t bother to fill the grave. A quick tromp back to the doctor, and he’d be gone into the night with two pockets full of silver. He started climbing the shallow graveyard hill, towards the forest road at the opposite end of the glade.

As he neared closer to the center of the graveyard, he felt a slight shift in the temperature. The little city of stonework shielded him partly from the wind, but even with it taken into account, the sharp frigidness of the night felt. . . muffled. 

Drawn by minor warmth, and growing curiosity, he came to the low iron fence he had circumvented before. A single careful step put him onto the paved plateau, standing amidst tall tombs, and craftsmanship of a bygone era.

The crowded monuments gave the effect of branching gravel roads, each disappearing in turn as they wound deeper into the complex. Liam chose a path that drew him nearer to the center. Whatever was heating the air, radiated from further within. A bonfire maybe? One that doesn't make light or smoke? Does that exist?

As he walked, he wondered briefly what riches might be buried with the dead, though he quickly shook off the thought. The weighty Mr. Deus had a breach of common sense that was an extraordinary exception to the rule.

The folks here instead opted to be buried under their wealth, where, in a way, it could immortalize some sort of legacy. Shame then that their memories were relegated to the mostly forgotten edge of a backwater river town. 

That's life.

As he rounded a corner, and then another. The heat settled into a deadlock, like a warm summer's day fighting to keep above the cold. Where is it bloody coming from?

A voice made Liam stop in his tracks. It was faint, wafting like a scent so subtle it could blend into nothing. It sounded feminine. 

What’s a gal doing in a place like this in the middle of the night? She wasn’t likely a town guard, Liam thought, and she certainly wasn’t visiting family. Anyone directly related to the dust and bones under these rocks were probably dust and bones themselves.

As he stood, stuck between the increasingly curious notion, and the fear of being caught with a fresh corpse over his shoulders, he heard a select handful of very faint, but very intriguing words. 

“No one knows, and not a soul will learn of it. Arkas, My lord, my love. There is no greater time than this.”

Liam thought he heard a reply, but it was too unclear to make out. Then she spoke again, “You have my heart, and so much more.” The words oozed with admiration.

Suddenly, one of the oddities made sense, and Liam couldn’t help but smile. Respectable folks who can't help but indulge a lustful vice. A dirty little secret they can't afford to share with anyone but the dead. . . AND ME.

A juicy affair between an educated-sounding lady, and a Lord, was a secret that Liam thought too profitable to let alone. The imagined gains via a smidgen of blackmail tipped the scale of caution and pushed him to investigate.

He carefully set down Mr. Deus and crept closer to the conversation. After a bend in the path, and a tight corner, he saw it. At the center of a small clearing stood a tall blackstone mausoleum with jagged obsidian pillars. In front of the imposing structure, a woman standing alone.

She had a long padded tunic, slightly bulged by layers beneath it, but bundled tight to retain her striking figure. A fur hat and tall boots made for proper winter attire, but the sight felt strange considering the mysteriously warm atmosphere. The heat doesn't seem to bother her.

Liam crouched behind the corner of a sarcophagus and watched over a speckle of extravagant headstones. 

The woman was staring at the mausoleum, - which oddly enough didn’t have any doors - but the “Lord Arkas” was nowhere in sight.

“Morana,” a hoarse voice whispered. “My faithful Flame. . . You have awakened me to a new world, but you are rash.” 

Liam squinted his eyes. He couldn’t see the man to save his life, but the woman, Morana, carried on like it was natural.

“It will be like it was before my lord.”

“You flatter, Morana, but of all my flowers, you are one steeped in Overconfidence.”

“Forgive me, but I know surely you can overcome this world.”

“In time, my flame, but first I must regain my strength. If the lords of this land learn of my ambition, we shall be weeded out by the mortals.”

Liam watched, befuddled. Are these lovers hooped up on mushrooms?

“We must gather our subjects” Mr invisible continued, “Once the preparations are. . .” He stopped, leaving a moment of eerie silence. Liam felt an inexplicable chill on his neck, and Arkas spoke again, “You. are. being. watched. Morana.”

Morana spun, looking wildly about herself. She drew a long dagger from within her tunic and held it as if ready to stab someone. Liam ducked, His heart skipping a beat in frazzled confusion.

What in the blazes is going on!? 

When he peeked over the sarcophagus. The woman was gone. He turned to leave from the madhouse he’d stumbled into, only to find Morana standing behind him with a dangerous gaze that was so clearly meant for him.

“Whatever do you think you are doing, Mortal.”

“W- What?” Liam stuttered, paralyzed.

“You dare spy upon your betters like a rat?”

He took a step back, bumping into the sarcophagus. “Woah, hold on, I just got here, I didn’t hear a thing.”

The air grew hot and Morana drew closer.

“Ok! You know, I can keep a secret! You don't like Lords? Screw the lords, and the King! I don’t pay taxes!”

She closed half the distance, with clear killing intent.

“Work with me here! Mr. Arkas wants servants!? I can be a servant, What’s the pay like?”

She raised the dagger. “You sully his name by speaking it, for that you DI-”

Liam punched her in the face.

Her head cracked back and she stumbled. For a horrifying moment, he thought he’d killed her. Then, starting at her neck, thin cracks appeared on her skin, glowing red with an internal fire. Her arms fell slack, un-naturally extending at the joints.

Scared and confused, Liam bolted past the walking nightmare. He got a couple of paces before the fire lady’s head snapped back into place, and she dashed after him with frightening speed. He screamed.

He got halfway down the path when out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dagger arcing towards his head. The moment before it struck, he tripped over the body of Mr. Deus, missing the blade by a hair.

He fell to the ground, turning just in time to find the fiery woman staking him with the knife. The stab penetrated his ruffled coat, but something stopped it just short of his heart. Then, she lurched again, and Liam had the air knocked out of him. It felt like a forceful punch to the stomach. A glance down showed the long knife sprouting from his gut. There was intense pain, and heat, before it felt like his insides were being tugged,

The dagger was pulled out. Liam fell to the ground. Motionless.

Morana knelt beside him, her long arm slack on her knee. She wiped the bloody blade on his coat and smiled. “You had the un-earned honor of hearing the great lord Arkas, of witnessing the majesty of his voice. Be thankful for this death."

*******************

Liam Staggered to the front of the hut, slamming against it with a *thunk*. He kept one hand on his wound, and banged the door, leaving a smear of dark color, “Open the door Doc!”

A distant voice responded. “Yes yes. I’ll be right with you.” Muddled shuffling sounded from within, Papers ruffling, and a chair screeching on a hardwood floor.

“Now Doc! Open the Bloody door NOW!”

Footsteps tapped at a leisurely pace. “Let's exercise some patience shall we?” The lock clicked and the heavy door swung inward “It’s not as though someone is dying. . .” The wiry bespectacled man got a good look at Liam and paused. “Oh! you’re covered in-”

Liam pushed into the room, - bleeding on the rug - and staggered to the closest chair. He collapsed onto it, struggling to catch his breath.

“My good fellow! I asked you to bring me a fresh cadaver, not become one! I heavily implied the dead surly fellow, but had I known you had such a poor understanding of social cues, I wo-"

“Close the door, Lock it.” Liam spat through labored breaths.

The doctor did so, turning back to Liam with slightly more concern. 

“How did this happen to you?”

“I was stabbed!”

“That much is very plain to see, but How did it happen?

With difficulty, Liam briefly relayed the events in the cemetery while the doctor collected tools from cluttered tables.

“Keep pressure on it. . . Right, Like that,” he said as he ruffled through a box of stained bandages, “However, did you manage to escape this 'Tall Broad'?"

“I played dead, bleeding till she left.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow “And she didn’t make sure you were dead? She didn’t slit your throat to assure the secret of this Akus fellow?”

Liam gave the man a flat look. “What does it look like genius? Do I look like a corpse?”

“Only somewha-”

“And the guy’s name was Arkas." Liam interrupted. "The lady, SHE, was a killer Harpie or something. ”

The doctor paused. “Did she have wings?”

“What? No! She had bloody fire arms!”

“Mhmm. . .”

He knelt at Liam’s side and pulled up the bundled, bloodied tunic. It revealed an ugly chasm and blackened tissue surrounding it. He stared at it for a moment, his expression dropping.

“What?”

“When was this?” The doctor asked, taking a bowl and mortar from his collection of tools.

“An hour ago, Is it bad?”

He spoke slowly, mashing a concoction of roots and leaves into a paste.

“You’re. . . Somewhat remarkably lucky. You’ve been stabbed in just such a way that it missed any major bloodlines, though, that’s obvious since you haven’t bled out. . . based on the placement, It’s also a safe distance away from most of your vital organs.

“Most?”

He handed Liam a dowel. 

“Bite on this” 

Liam did so, then the doctor took the paste from the bowl and mashed it into the wound. It felt like getting stabbed again. 

Liam spat the stick out “What are you doing?”

“What I can. . . Anyhow, the wound is in the vicinity of your intestines.”

“Are those important?”

The doctor coughed out a chuckle.

“All of your vital organs are Important. A small rupture there in particular could give you sepsis, which is a definite concern, but what’s immediately concerning is This." he gestured to the blackened flesh around the wound, tiny droplets of blood squeezing out like sweat.

“What is it?”

"Does that look normal to you?"

"I don't get stabbed very often. What's wrong?"

The doctor paused. “It’s necrotic tissue, but it’s porous, and slowly expanding. Quite unnatural. Some would call it magic. . . or better, a curse."

“Ok, What do we do about it?"

“For now, all we can do is wrap it firmly and hope it stops."

 "And if it doesn't?"

The doctor took a long roll of bandage, looping it around Liam’s stomach and pulling tight. Red slowly bled through the white, giving a dripping outline of the blackened flesh underneath.

“At this rate, you’ll be losing blood faster than you can make it.”

“And?”

The doctor wrapped another set of bandages, pulling so tightly it made it hard to breathe.

"Fairly soon, the river will feel like a warm bath."

“. . . You can fix it, right? Bloodletting, or some procedure?”

For some reason, the doctor looked insulted. “If you want mysticism, find a wizard”

“Right! Where do I find one?”

“What? You mean a real wizard? You think spell slingers grow on trees? When was the last time you met one besides, presumably, the lady who stabbed you?”

“. . . Never.”

“Exactly. Maybe in the capital, you could find someone, but here? those are slim odds.”

“How slim?”

“Let me put it this way. Most men account their lives in weeks, months, and years. For you. . . well, unless the gods are feeling especially generous, I’d suggest you make the most of every second.”

Liam paused as the realization sunk in.

“You’re saying I'm sitting here, still breathing, and my life is over? that I’m a dead man walking?”

". . ."

“That’s bloody it? All because I was in the wrong place? Because I heard something I shouldn’t have? That’s what my life amounts to?”

“I’ll help you any way I can, but, Is there anyone you know? something, anything you want to do before you. . . die?”

“How long do I have?”

“Hours, maybe days.”

Long enough to spill a secret.

“Fine . . . If I'm going to die, then those two scum are coming with me.”