Fire of the Inquisitor

Chapter 2



Octavius stood on the balcony of his private residence and studied the vibrant village below. Most of its citizens were making their way to the church courtyard, where they mingled before the beginning of Mass. The few others were the sentries who guarded the outer boundaries of the village Nova Edenis and the sinners who snuck around and plotted in the shadows. Octavius felt as if he had become a mixture of both groups and wondered if the emperor ever had the same feeling looking over Ravenna. He quickly put away those thoughts. He did not like to think about the world that he would never be apart of.

It was getting late and Octavius was growing tired, not that he could tell by the light over the village. The light came from a nearby magma fountain that God willing would never cease to flow. As a young man, he would have jumped at the idea of a never-ending day, more time to get things done for the empire. However, he had not been a young man when the legion first arrived in this world called Orchid, and now he struggled to stay awake for more than eight hours a day. Below him in the garden, an old woman he had known as a girl started humming a song from the old world. He smiled to himself and closed the dark drapes that hung over his window.

Octavius laid his worn tired body in his large bed and underneath his many blankets even though he had been told many times by younger men that this world was almost always uncomfortably warm. He lied still for a long time unable to fall completely asleep. He could have easily blamed this difficulty in falling asleep at night on the effects of his extreme age, muscles that never stopped aching, bones that creaked, and open sores wouldn’t heal, but Octavius knew the real reason. He was afraid of dying.

Part of it was the matter of his succession. Octavius had outlived his own sons, his grandsons had died leading the legion in the War of Ice, and his great-grandson did not possess the mind for leadership. That left his choice to two men both cunning in the realm of politics, but untested when it came to leading a community. Octavius was terrified to leave his already depleted legion in a world so dangerous under the incompetent leadership. It was this drive to lead his men that the emperor had entrusted him with that Octavius credited with keeping him alive long after he should have died.

His spirit remained as stubborn as ever, but his body was finally giving up on him and what scared him the most was dying in this godforsaken land. He had never been a very religious man, with the amount of bloodshed he had witness he couldn’t imagine anyone could have been, but like many of his men he truly believed that they had somehow become trapped in hell. So what did it mean to die in hell?

Octavius’ body shook with that thought and he felt a coldness travel up his spine. He brought his blankets up to his chin and closed his eyes tight.

“I will not die in my sleep,” he said out loud.

Outside the gardener started to sing her song. It was so beautiful and soothing, the words painting a picture of the blue sea that he longed to see again. Octavius could feel himself start to fall into the thoughtless void of sleep. His only hope now was that small unit of men he had sent into the Fields of Shadow for some magic potion that would keep him alive. He tried to keep his thoughts on them, so maybe his dreams would show him what they saw, and maybe his thoughts could help them find their way back.


Tip: You can use left, right, A and D keyboard keys to browse between chapters.