The pain subsided and slowly, very slowly, Martin regained his ability to move his body. He pulled in a deep breath slowly, feeling his lungs inflate and his chest expand. The pain didnt change and he let the breath out, more in relief than anything else.
He let his eyes open and blinked rapidly as they regained their focus and sent everything they were seeing back to the brain which was very reluctant to process it. But, as the pain subsided and the idea that he were near death drifted away, Martins brain told him he was still where he was. He had not made it home as he had been promised.
“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling himself to his knees.
He was still at The Pit. The gaping maw that stretched down beyond his sight was still there and still open. From it, silence emanated. It wasnt the lack of sound of anything in there, it was more like the hole itself was pulling all sound into it. A black hole for noise. The noises Martin made as he stood didnt echo around the room as they had before. It was eerie. But it was something familiar to Martin. He had experienced something like that before. Somewhere else, but right now he couldnt think about it. He was too busy trying to find the energy to get out of this place.
“Anikka?” he called, but as with all the other noises he had been making since he had regained consciousness, his shout was pulled into The Pit and could barely be heard beyond a meter or so around him, where she clearly wasnt.
He got to his feet and stood as strong as he could, pulling in another deep breath. “ANIKKA!” he screamed, to the same effect.
He looked up, expecting to see the roof of the cathedral, the brightly coloured frescoes that even Anikka could not understand. But there was nothing. The cathedral roof had been destroyed. He looked around and saw bits of ceramic and whatever else the roof had been made of, but not a lot.
He remembered a flash, a glowing light that came from an impossible depth within The Pit. He remembered a light, blinding and everywhere. It engulfed him and Anikka. He remembered the voice. He remembered his Prophecy.
“Anikka,” he whispered.
The sun crept up over the ruins of the cathedral and shone down on him. It had taken until now for him to realise it was dawn. They had arrived here in the middle of the afternoon. He had been unconscious for a while. The Pit stayed the deepest black even as the sun shone directly onto it. Martin winced at the sight and, leaning on the walls, made his way out of the cathedral and into the forest that surrounded it.
He was alone again, with no idea on how to get out of the forest much less how to get home. He rifled through his options in his head: he could try for where Farn and Lilika had gone, but he would have to retrace his steps half way back to where he started. Never mind trying to figure out where they had gone after leaving the convoy.
He could rejoin the convoy, head back to the city they spoke of, the capital. Find something there. Anikka had spoken of her family there and Farn had said they were rather well off. But that still left the problem of getting out of the forest and also travelling nearly half way across the nation. And if he showed up to Anikkas family with no Anikka and no real answer as to what happened to her…
Even so, the capital was probably the best bet, if nothing else he might be able to find some information about where Farn and Lil had gone. He would try to find them. They were going to see a Sage eventually and it was clear that they had their own agenda going on and it wasnt to help him get home.
The sun was going down and the shadows were lengthening around him as he struggled through the forest, looking for the path that would take him back to civilisation. His exhaustion and the pain that still pulsed randomly through his body as he made his way from tree trunk to tree trunk made him overlook the fact that he had gone in a full circle and was heading back to the cathedral until the structure was under his feet.
But this time, he was not the only one here. Three horses were tied to one of the pillars that held up the entrance archway. Two of them were empty of riders, and the third held a rather well armoured soldier, a spear across his back. The army, the one they had been hoping to outrun, the one led by this chosen prophecied general, had caught up and despite everything, he had been caught.
“General,” the mounted soldier called as he saw Martin at the same time as Martin saw him. As had happened to Martin earlier, the sound was dragged into the cathedral and Martin heard nothing. In fact, Martin still had not realised he had been spotted. He was about to try and surprise the soldier when two other soldiers, one of whom was dressed similarly to the mounted, ran out of the building, weapons drawn. Martin saw their mouths move, but no sound made it to him. The soldier who was dressed differently from the others waved his hand, and the other ran over and pushed Martin close enough to the three of them so they could hear each other.
“What did you do?” Martin heard, but could not say who said, as he got close.
Martin looked at each of them in turn and shook his head. “I dont know what happened.” It was mostly true. He would let them tell him how much they knew.
“Who are you?” this came from the one who was dressed differently. His voice was deep, although it was still under the effects of The Pit and it sounded slightly slurred as a result.
“A traveller,” Martin said, standing straight and looking the man in the eyes. They were the same height, but that was the only thing the two of them had in common. The man before him was well built, barrel chested. He had dark hair that waved lightly in the breeze yet never had a hair out of place. His eyes shone blue and, right now, had a look of cold calculation about them. Martin could imagine a warmth in them under other circumstances. The mans face was showing the signs of a day without shaving and it made him look even more distinguished and handsome.
He wore a plain white shirt under a silver breastplate. Brown leather pants with more silver armour finished the look and Martin was surprised there wasnt any more decoration to his uniform. If this, indeed, was the general he had been avoiding, he was not the bombastic man of story.
“Answer the general,” one of the other soldiers said. They were both wearing black shirts with red detailing under their tarnished steel armour. They each had a golden helmet on with a red plume of feathers. The look was almost of a Roman centurion. They were both young, late teens if Martin was any judge of age. He wondered how they had become the personal guards of someone so important.
“Its alright,” the general said. “We dont need him to answer now. We can question him properly back at camp. Our other friend will be more helpful in uncovering any lies this one comes up with. Mount him up and lets head out.”
“Sir,” the two said immediately and Martin felt the thick end of a club crack him on the skull before the world went black for the second time in a day.
Martin’s head throbbed as the bright sun finally broke through his eyelids. He tried to reach up and rub his head where one of the soldiers had hit him, but found his hands tied up. He looked around and saw that he was in a small tent. He was tied to the center pole and could only move around the pole itself. The tent flaps were closed and he could hear people talking quietly outside.
“Hey!” he called. “Let me out of here.”
The voices outside abruptly stopped talking and one of them left, only to return shortly with the general. The tent flaps opened as the general walked in and dismissed the others who were outside.
“You’re awake then,” he said. He didnt say it too Martin. But it was for Martin. It was a cue for Martin to answer the questions the general had.
“Where am I?”
“At my camp. On the fringes of the forest we found you in. Where is your camp?” he asked. He asked in such an offhand way that Martin was almost convinced that he had a camp and it was just a matter of telling the general and he would be returned.
“Will you return me to it if I tell you?” he said after a moments thought.
“No,” the general said, turning to Martin with a calculating smile on his face. In each hand he held a mug of water and he offered one to Martin. “Oh,” he said, genuinely surprised. “Im sorry, I am not used to having guests in my camp who we have to accommodate in such ways. He put the water back on the small table and undid Martins bindings. “Dont make me regret that,” he said, picking the water up again and offering one to Martin who looked at it sceptically. “Its water,” the general said, taking a sip of his own. “I dont know anything about what youre doing here, who you are. There would be no point in poisoning you right now. Especially…” he trailed off.
“Especially why?” Martin said draining the mug empty.
“Especially since I think you did what I was supposed to do. You killed the Bound God, didnt you?”