Chapter 6 - Aftermath

Shaniddia was numb with pain. Endia was dead; killed for a reason she couldn’t possibly understand. And now Paul was outside the city walls. She tried not to think of the horrors the masters had planned for him, until she heard the cries of the flesh-worms. Then she knew. She knew but wouldn’t accept it. Her own will forced her mind to deny the inevitable: Paul wasn’t coming back.

The masters had all gathered at the front of the city to witness, no... to enjoy watching her lover die. Each time she heard them pound their pointed sticks onto the walkways, a little more of her soul died along with him. She just as well could have been standing in the fields next to him. And to make matters worse, neither her death, nor Paul’s, came quickly: as the calls of the flesh-worms and wave after wave of pounding sticks echoed through the empty streets.

The remainder of the herd began to sing a hymn of passing. So soft and quiet that the slave master didn’t even notice.

‘Forgive me Paul,’ she quietly prayed, ‘I will sing of your passing later... and they may sing for mine.’

A palace guard came stumbling into the slave quarters. It was missing two right arms, and the right eye. A long gash had split the plates of the underbelly. It would be dead by morning. The slave master jumped as if it had been thrown off its mat, and the entire herd stood motionless. The two made a commotion of clicks with their clawed mouths, then the wounded guard left. The slave master first looked at her, then the doorway, then back at her. It turned and went into the private room adjacent to the slave quarters.

A few seconds later, it returned with its own sharp stick, and motioned her to stand. She looked at the herd one last time, knowing the curse would hide the look of fear on her face.

“Sing well of my passing,” she whispered, almost relieved that her final day was almost over.

Several members of the herd tried in vain to block the slave master from leaving, and even though the wood of the slave quarters was old, it held firm. The slave master clanged the metal bell at the doorway with the metal tip of the sharp stick, and three guards entered the quarters. A few cracks of the whips, and the herd fell into silence.

Shaniddia was led down the street towards the front of the city. It would be a long walk; the slave master was getting slower with each passing season. The streets were, for the most part, deserted; and what few masters she saw were running towards, then past them. Several masters were being carried up the street. Others were being dragged. Still others were left in the streets dieing.

As they rounded the palace, she could see why so many masters had been injured; the walkway at the top of the city wall had collapsed. There was also a gaping hole near the top of one section. But why bring her here? Did they think she would heal them? The thought made her stomach churn. She would never heal a master. Let the Goddess herself have mercy on them, because she wouldn’t.

By the time the slave master had led her to the front gates, she could see the bodies of dozens of masters in their death throws. The wooden decking of the walkway lay nearly intact at the base of the wall. A swarm of masters was carrying the remains of their leader; a long sharp-stick impaled through its head and emerging from the back of its body.

‘I will sing of your passing too.’ Shaniddia though as its massive carcass was hauled towards the palace, ‘May the Goddess herself reveal the evil of your soul.’

The massive doors of the city-state were opened, and a new wave of fear swept over the centauress. Impaled on the outer doors were five flesh-worms. And as far out into the fields as she could see, there were the bloodied remains of hundreds more. She balked when the slave master tried to lead her out of the gates. It motioned for two guards to assist, but neither of them would approach. The slave master slapped her on the rump with the side of the sharp-stick, and she slowly stepped forward past the gate.

The smell was horrendous. The fields were covered in blood. A season of rain wouldn’t be enough to wash this away. The bodies of the flesh-worms were everywhere. The larger ones had sharp-sticks embedded in them. The smaller ones were either torn in half, or crushed. Even the smallest ones had not been spared. Poles and sharp-sticks were scattered around the field; many of them still in their holders. The sight overwhelmed her, and she gagged on the meager meal she had eaten earlier.

The slave master surveyed the scene while Shaniddia tried to compose herself. The other master that had come out with them led them towards a huge pile of flesh-worms that was heaped higher than Shaniddia herself. Whatever fate the masters had decreed for her, it was far worse than she had ever imagined. Both the slave master and the other kept looking up as if they were expecting rain. She could not smell any rain coming; in fact she was breathing through her mouth to keep the odor from making her wretch again.

As the masters led her around to the far side of this pile of flesh-worms, the height decreased significantly. The entire pile was slanted. The moment she could see over the top, she realized that it was not a solid mound of worms, but a crescent-shaped ring. And in the middle of the ring was...

“Paul!”

She bolted from the slave masters grasp. Her chambrist, hooves, underbelly, and tail became soaked in blood as she thundered over to his still form. A large sharp-stick was imbedded in his lower ribs, and he was covered in blood. She checked for a lifebeat, and found it was still there. Even more amazing, he was still conscious. Had he fallen asleep on his side, he would be with the Goddess by now.

“My beloved,” he choked, pulling her rotting corpse-like hand in his. He knew the curse was simply a trick on the eyes; her hand felt warm and smooth.

“My soul shines at your touch,” she replied, kneeling in the blood-soaked grass, “But the masters will see me if I brighten you now, even for a moment.”

“Point... behind you,” he coughed, “When they... turn away...”

Paul’s eyes rolled back and his head slumped into the mass of blood.

Grabbing the sharp-stick with both hands, she wrenched it out from between his ribs and tossed it aside. Twisting her torso around, she pointed into the darkness, “Look!”

Paul had been right. Both masters spun around with the end of their sharp-sticks pointing where she had indicated. Reaching down, she laid her hands on Paul, and concentrated. There was a brief glow... she could only do this for a moment before the masters turned back around. But the moment was enough. Paul gasped and coughed and his lungs filled with air. The majority of blood that had filled them was now back in his arteries. The whip marks were nothing more than deep cuts. He opened his eyes. He would live.

The wave of Paul’s memories flooded Shaniddia’s senses. She saw Endia. She felt the panic as he frantically tried to escape the same fate. She knew he had been whipped mercilessly, and then bound to the posts. Then someone...something , had taken the bindings off his eyes. She saw what Paul saw: It had a mans face, with a white mane and blue eyes. Its arms and chest were nearly as big as Paul’s. It had only two legs, but huge strong hands; easily ripping the bonds that were holding Paul. There were two strange things on it’s upper back: completely white and covered with hair. It spoke in a language totally unfamiliar. The only word that made any sense was ‘Rhunn’. It wanted Paul to leave. But the hypnotic song of the flesh-worms overwhelmed him, and Paul blacked out. When he came to, he was dieing from the strike of a sharp-stick.

Paul marshaled his renewed strength and forced himself to his hooves. He gasped at the carnage that surrounded them. The slave master grabbed Shaniddia’s restraining straps, and motioned them both back into the city-state. It was obvious that neither master wanted to be out here. By the time they entered the gateway, there wasn’t a single living master in view. Only the dead... and the dieing. The second master scrambled to close the gates behind them.

The masters walked briskly back to the slave quarters, always huddling against the sides of buildings and using the two centaurs as cover. By the time they made it back, Paul was getting weak. He still needed a strong brightening to get him back to health.

As the party of four entered the quarters, there was a collective gasp as they saw Paul enter. The guards that had been posted to keep the herd at bay give him a wide berth as he entered; and left the moment the centaurs cleared the doorway. Only the slave master remained, who promptly went into his personal room and closed the flap. He had even neglected to bind the two centaurs to their stalls.

Shaniddia guided Paul to the far side of the quarters; farthest away from the slave master’s room. When she was sure the slave master could not see them, she flooded him with the brightening. Again she was overwhelmed with the images of the day’s events. The death of Endia playing over and over in her head; as it was in Paul’s. The strange creature that freed him. The sea of dead flesh-worms on the fields outside the city. The healing touch of his beloved Shinny.

He looked down into her eyeless sockets and rotting flesh. The curse had made her repulsive beyond measure, but he had grown to know this healer. He had learned to look beyond the curse, to use his hands to feel the gentle curves of her face, and the softness of her mane. He closed his eyes and kissed her in both gratitude and love.

Breaking the kiss, she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung tightly to him. “I though I had lost you,” she whispered in his ear, “I thought my soul would follow you to the Goddess herself.”

Paul was lost for words. He didn’t need any. He knew the brightening had passed all his feelings for her. He simply stood there, embracing the healer.

Surprisingly, the slave master did not resume his post. Shaniddia quietly slipped over to the water trough and drew a bucket of water. Making her way back to the far corner, they washed themselves off as quietly as they could. By the time they were done, the trough was empty.

Paul spent most of the night relating the day’s events to the herd; then they sang a hymn of passing for Endia until dawn.