The Chapel or Judge Eternity Part 19 of 20

It began to rain. It was barely noticeable at first, the occasional drop that somehow avoided the millions of leaves. Very little rain actually fell directly to the ground, instead it collected on the branches and ran down the trunks to the ground. Puddles collected around the mighty trees, those puddles became small steams and the streams combined with others to become rivers. The roadway filled with water and became like a river itself.

Anthon and Martin were forced to wind their way between the trees instead of riding in the deluge that was the road.

"We're not going to make it to the hunting lodge before dark are we?" Martin asked.

"No." The giant rumbled.

"No fire either?" Martin knew the answer before he asked it.

"No."

The memory of the baleful yellows eyes, that had stared at him across the fire haunted him. The knowledge of what those eyes belonged to, threatened to unnerve him.

"What will we do?" Martin was near breaking and it carried through on his voice.

"Remain calm and be brave."

"That's easy for you to say! You're a giant, armored and immortal!" Martin Luther was very near to full panic.

"I'm not immortal, I never said that."

"You're thousands of years old, and you can't be killed."

"I can be killed, or worse."

"What could be worse than being killed?" Martin scoffed aloud.

"Being staked down, amongst others like me in a pit of rot and disease, feeling your flesh decay from your bones.

"What?" Martin was stunned by the vision the knight had summoned.

"We call them plague pits. They're caves or mines. From time to time there are diseases that sweep through the Blood, horrible diseases that reduce even the most noble of us to slavering beasts locked in the body of a rotting corpse. There have been wars between those of the Blood who were diseased and those who were not."

Martin Luther rode along quietly listening to Anthon.

"The ones you fought last night have escaped from such a pit."

"But there is only one left."

"No, there are more. I don't know how many, but there are more. They are weak now, but ravenous. A sword or a crossbow bolt should be enough, cut their heads off after combat to be sure. Do not let them touch you, stay on the horse for as long as you can."

"What will happen if they touch me?"

"They are diseased with the plague, they could give it to you." Anthon answered, thought for a moment and then continued, "I really don't know very much about the Blood. Wennal says that it can be passed deliberately by some of the most ancient and that it is not often a favor when it comes to man, because we where not meant to live so long. The mind fills up with memories until it is impossible to say the difference between what has happened and what is happening. The worse part is watching those you care for dying or turning against you when they realize that you are not like them."

"Do you drink blood or eat flesh of your fellow men as it is written?" Martin asked.

"No, I do not, not anymore. When I was young I did, I would take the flesh of anyone who crossed me. Romans mostly but Saxons and Gauls sometimes. As we get older the desire to feed lessens and we learn to control ourselves, or at least some of us do. Some of us try to re-find our humanity. Wennal thinks that if we can turn it back, that an alliance of the Blood and nobles can weed out those of the Blood and stop them from having get or making others."

"But how can you do that and live yourself?"

"Martin Luther, you need to understand that I would walk into the executioners fire if I thought it would end the Blood. I am what I am, which is a man who loves and cares, and so I am damned to watch those that I love and care for taken from me by death. I've known many of the Blood and there were few that I cared for. As a rule they are vicious and selfish. Wennal is no exception, remember always that he does not care for you. You are a means to an end. He wants only revenge against Aeratu, to thwart the arch ghouls mechanization's. It's just happen stance that destroying Aeratu is the key to ending the Blood. It's just luck that because of that Wennal fights against evil, if Aeratu were good then Wennal would fight against that. It's a base hatred that drives him, he holds Aeratu responsible for every foul thing that has happened to him and after more than ten thousand years there have been many foul things."

They had wandered far from the road while trying to avoid the flood waters. It was well past midday although there was no hint of the sun Martin Luther knew that nightfall was no more than two hours away. He felt guilty for not having said any of his prayers for the day and he knew that there would not be an opportunity tonight.

Suddenly a huge gray stone loomed out of the fog which had been rising from the pools of rainwater.

"This is good monk! There must be a cairn nearby! We could live through the night yet!"

They circled outwards from the stone until they found another one and then another. A hill rose up from the forest floor. It was covered with trees and immense cut stones.

Anthon smiled, "It's Saxon."

Martin Luther had no idea why that bit of information was important, but it seemed to mean something to Anthon who began circling the hillock. Opposite from the direction was a opening that stared blackly at nothing.

"Not so good." The giant knight sounded dejected. "It's not a cairn, it's a pit. This is where the diseased ones came from."

"How do you know?"

Anthon pointed to a line of runes. "It says 'Jotun'".

"That means giants."

"No, it means many things, it can mean giants or witches, but when it is written like this it means cursed or demons. It is better to make our stand here, at least they can only come at us from two sides, out there they can come from anywhere."
* * *
Arloch heard them before they even found the first menhir. Their smell slid into the pit and he openly salivated, the pustular liquid washed down his throat and oozed out of a dozen rotted openings in his neck. The nails that had held him in the cave where still protruding from his hands and head. Five bronze spikes had been driven through his chest and their points stuck out from his back like the spines of a fish. The flesh of his face had been gone for five hundred years and along with it his eyes, but his ears still somehow worked and he could feel the faint thuds of the horse's hooves in the bones of his feet.

He was a nightmarish apparition of animated pestilence but he was also cunning. He felt his way along the wall of the cave, to near the entrance and found a crevice that was too small and too twisted for anything man sized to fit. His joints were loose and folded easily upon themselves so that he could fit and then when he was in he drew a rock in after him and waited.

He was the worse, the oldest, the strongest of the 'jotun'. He was slowly losing the battle with decay, and the more he deteriorated the hungrier he became. But sustenance was coming to him, horses, man-flesh and one of the Blood. He would gorge himself on their living flesh.