The Dawn of Malice

An Army

Here stood the army that was waiting for him, standing upon the piles of rubble and soot, the needless dead milled about waiting for their vengeance picking what sharp wood or metal poles they could find amongst the rubble of the building.

“But how?” Caerus said while his eyes darted across the now horrifying scene.

“Laresians like us have certain specific traits. Powers that are unique to certain individuals. I happen to have powers likened to necromancy.”

Caerus’s eyes grew in surprise which slowly morphed into disgust and anger. “These people are dead! They at least deserve to rest.”

Lucian glared at Caerus. “And what about the living Caerus? Is now the time to debate about the morality of my deeds? Or is it the time to protect their living relatives?” Lucian began to shout, “They may rest easier when their family is safe from this coming catastrophe. They will gladly stand firm and fight the enemy, all I’m doing is allowing them to fight for their mothers, their fathers, siblings, and loved ones that still live and breathe.” Lucian placed a hand on Caerus’s shoulder.

“If you were given the same choice they are about to be given, wouldn’t you choose to live another day to ensure the safety of the people most important to you?”

Caerus went pale with the morbid thought. He knew that he would.

“How long must they suffer like this?”

“They’re not suffering,” Lucian said. “Their bodies are numb, and their minds are addled. They will follow any command I give them, and they do have free will to a certain extent.”

“How long will they be like this?” Caerus said in frustration.

“Depends on how our plans align with the situation we’re in.” Lucian said, “It might be possible to use a few of these bodies but I doubt they’ll be of much use. Look around. That man there is lacking a right arm.”

Sure enough, as Caerus looked around him, he could see that a great number of the dead around them walked with limps while several of them lacked certain appendages. A few of them looked at Caerus as they milled about. Their glazed eyes frightened Caerus as if a small fire of a soul was screaming for help. At this moment, Caerus snapped.

“Let them go, Lucian!” Caerus begged as he lunged at the older man grabbing at his collar. Lucian knew this would happen, but he let Caerus grab him. “I know I would fight but they deserve to rest Lucian! We have no right to use them like this. If their families saw us, what do you think they would say? This is exactly why you Laresians are called demons!”

Lucian stared at the young man, the hand clutching his collar trembled with rage. “First of all,” Lucian began, “YOU and I are Laresians” Lucian slapped Caerus’ hand away. “Second, take a better look at them.” Lucian reached out with both hands and grabbed Caerus’s face twisting his head toward the dead. For a moment, Caerus thought that Lucian would throw him to the ground headfirst. It took a moment for Caerus to notice what Lucian had meant.

All the undead men and women stopped their work. They stared at Caerus. Their eyes filled with a fire Caerus didn’t think he would see. They wanted to fight. No. They needed to fight. As Caerus viewed them, they slowly made their way around the two Laresians gawking at them. As if to say something to them both. It was then that the injured man whose corpse lacked an arm stumbled to the front. Caerus saw a glint of metal from the man’s other hand but could not see it. Then Caerus heard it. A guttural sound from the man’s mangled throat, the words sent chills down his spine.

“As we are, so shall you be.” The man said. “Give us a chance to prevent that from coming too early for our loved ones.”

A low cacophony of mangled guttural voices echoed their approval. Caerus was left speechless.

“As I have said before,” Lucian said, “They have free will. After I gave them a second chance at life, I asked them what they would do with it. They all answered the same, and if some did not wish to fight. I left them as they were. Dead.”

Lucian finally let go of Caerus and swept his shoulder of some dust. “I need you to follow the words that you speak Caerus. It does not matter if you were Laresian, Edwardian, or common folk, the words you follow make you a man.”

“No matter the means, it’ll justify the ends,” Caerus spoke solemnly.

Lucian nodded affirmatively, then stepped onto the road barking orders for the undead to gather more weapons and find armor from within the destroyed buildings. Caerus took slow deliberate steps forward unsure of the situation he was now put in. He felt conflicted with the matter of using the dead to justify their reasons for fighting. And it was then that the man who spoke earlier came forward. Clasped in his lone ghostly pale hand was a pair of bronze bracers.

“For you.” The man spoke. “These were your father’s.”

Caerus looked at the man, his head bowed low, hand forward, and clasped in his hands were the bracers. Caerus cautiously took the bracers from him and was astonished at the intricacy of the design. Each bracer had an eagle engraved into them. Their wings spread in flight with sharp talons open for battle.

“Where’d you get these?” Caerus said.

“I have done many shameful things in my life…” The man began. “And one of these shameful deeds was to steal your father’s belongings.” The man did not move from his position. His head was still down.

A burning, seething anger started to well up inside of Caerus. Almost blindingly so. He felt his hand reach for the blades he’d recently strapped onto his waist. He took another look at the man in front of him. His head remained down and as Caerus looked at him, he felt the anger dissipate. He remembered his mother and how she spoke of forgiveness. How pain only finds its way back to you when forgiveness is not an option you take. This man was already dead, in more ways than one.

“Lift your head,” Caerus said.

The man slowly raised his head at Caerus’ command, it was then that Caerus felt he recognized the man. His skin was pale from the resurrection and a good chunk of his cheek was gone, exposing several of his back teeth and gums. A realization quickly struck him, the man’s face was familiar for a reason.

The man in front of him, pale and deceased, was the man who took his father’s corpse home. Not only was he the drunk that had thrown him a bottle at the plaza but the funeral director for St. Aurelius Cathedral. He advocated strongly for the removal of burial rites for Caerus’ father. He denied his father a funeral plot and the right for his mother to grieve. The first person to start all the misfortune that followed his family for years to come. His mother was forced to cremate her husband outside the city limits. Carrying his cadaver with her frail, grieving body and a small child swaddled in her arms.

“You!” Caerus spoke stifling a yell. The man quickly shrunk back knowing full well the anger and hatred Caerus had for the old funeral director. Caerus’ hands shook reaching for his father’s blades.

Lucian stood on the street opposite them, watching the scene unfold. The gentleman’s hand rested on his sword pommel, ready to intercept Caerus’ blade in the event he raised his weapon against the dead. But to his surprise, Caerus let go of his weapon. The young man’s hands still quivered but he was still able to hold back.

“Go,” Caerus said. “And stay away from me. I pray that you’ve atoned for all your sins when all of this is over.”

“Yes…” The dead man spoke, he clutched at the stump of his arm and shuffled away. It was then that Lucian walked to Caerus just as his legs gave way. Lucian grabbed the young man by the arm and lifted him.

“Try not to lose face young man.” Lucian said, “You did well.”

A smile crossed Lucian’s face. Caerus felt strange having the warmth of approval from a man he’d only just met.

“I want to rip him limb from limb, Lucian,” Caerus said softly. “Uncle Marseille told me of how mother carried father on her back. My father was not a small man, but my mother was a small woman. She had no strength but managed to carry him atop the hill, all while carrying me in her arms after she had given birth to me a few days prior. Uncle Marseille wanted – needed – to help my mother. But you know what that man did?”

“What did he do?” Lucian asked.

“He gathered a lynch mob. He wanted my mother to leave the city saying that we were a scourge. A grieving widow and a newborn child were a scourge to a city of thousands. He stopped Uncle Marseille from leaving, threatening to hurt a pregnant Aunt Phoebe. When my mother and I came back from my father’s cremation a mob of a hundred men and countless bystanders stood by the gate.”

Lucian stood there looking at the young man, aghast. He was without a doubt at a loss for words. Even his normally stoic face began to sour. Caerus looked at him meekly, his whole body now shaking, his heartbeat so loud even Lucian could hear it.

“They tried to… to violate her,” Caerus said, his voice trembling with sadness and rage. “If it wasn’t for a drifter that came along to stop them…”

As Caerus’ voice faded away, Lucian reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a red napkin which he handed to the young man. Caerus took it confusedly for there were no tears in his eyes. He looked at the older gentleman, but Lucian looked away. It was then that he noticed the embroidery at the edge of the cloth. A gracefully embroidered ‘P.K.’ the initials of his mother. Caerus jolted, staring closely at the old gentleman.

“I knew your mother,” Lucian said solemnly. “I was the one who saved her.”

Caerus’s eyes wrinkled as he fought back the tears forming at the corner of his eyes. Caerus looked at Lucian in a new light and back at the napkin in his hands. He gripped the napkin tighter and tighter until the whites of his knuckles showed. His heart pumped faster and faster.

“Your mother asked me to look after you before she passed. I did a mighty good job, didn’t I?” Lucian sighed. “I would have come for you the moment she died, but I was delayed for longer than I’d hoped. As the years went on, I thought you were old enough to handle yourself. That your mother had told you the truth. I had a false sense of hope that everything would be all right for you. For that, I am truly sorry.”

Lucian gave the younger man a soft tap on his shoulder and walked away. The old gentleman had a forlorn look on his face as he turned back at the unmoving Caerus. The young man felt something tighten in his chest. Anger? Condemnation? Gratitude? Caerus was not sure what he felt. All he knew was that it was becoming too much to bear. At that moment Caerus looked up at the sky, his emotions had reached a point where he could not contain them any longer. The tears fell from his face as the dark sky above let loose its torrent of cold rain.