Viewer Discretion is Advised.
Some Scenes Contain Violence.
First Tale
...
Atticus
Atticus stood hunched over in a cramped mine. A chisel in one hand and a hammer in the other. He struck the stone wall with his tools. Brows furrowed and lips pursed. His eyes flickered from his hands to the wall.
He worked in a simple pattern:
Strike.
Adjust.
Repeat.
He moved instinctively. His mind drifted into a state of meditation.
Six men worked alongside Atticus whom he ignored. Each one stood head and shoulders shorter than him. An advantage they held in a room with a low hun ceiling.
The tight space and body heat raised the temperature. Their sweat thickened the humidity which only made them sweat more. Each breath was labored. And each strike of their tools deafened their ears.
No one spoke.
No one dared speak a word. An unwritten rule of the mine for as far as Atticus could remember. Not that he minded. It was pleasant in an odd sort of way.
Shards flew past his face with each strike. Atticus moved from side to side, dodging the debris. Although stray shards still pelted him.
Atticus struck the wall. A piece of debris pierced his side. Atticus brought his hand to the wound. The tips of his fingers grazed his paper-thin skin until they found the injury between his protruded ribs. He dug his nails into the wound and pulled out the pebble. Then he lifted his hand to his face. The tips of his finger were stained red.
Atticus rubbed his hand against his pants then swung his hammer onto the chisel. He squinted at the wall. The forever lights, a never fading crystal that illuminates a light blue light, did extraordinarily little to brighten up the room. In fact, it darkened the shadows Atticus cast on his work area.
Would he even be able to find a precious stone? They hadn’t found one for days. Why would he be lucky? Weren’t they just wasting their time? But wasn’t this the best shot he had to eat? Where else would he be able to get food?
The corners of his mouth twitched as he slammed the hammer against the chisel. Specks of debris flew past him haphazardly. The sharp edges of stray debris scratched the surface of his skin.
A glint of light caught the corner of Atticus’s eye. He froze. His heart beat wildly in his chest.
He leaned back then glanced over his shoulder.
The man to his left was consumed with his own work and the man to his right was very much the same way.
No one noticed.
His hands trembled as he chipped around the stone. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as the stone loosened from the wall.
Atticus chewed his lip. Sweat gathered on his brow, and his hands shook uncontrollably. Atticus breathed in deeply. Eyes closed as he pulled his hands back. He had to get control of himself. It would only harm him if the others realized what he was up to.
Atticus brought the tools back to the stone then chiseled around it. The stone was about to give. His nails gripped the outer edges as he jammed the chisel into the gap, prying it from the wall until it detached.
The stone sat heavy in his hand. Atticus stood, frozen in awe and wide eyed. His thumbs dislodged loose pebbles from the surface.
He lifted it ever so slightly to the light. The light grazed the stone, revealing a pure white rock that Atticus had never seen before.
Atticus’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. His face crestfallen.
Whatever this was didn’t matter. It was useless.
Atticus resisted the urge to toss the stone. Even though it was useless, the sight of a stone, especially one that has the appearance of preciousness, would cause a negative reaction within the room. The men would see it. See the reflection from the light and assume that it was something of value. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that the men would fight for it if they thought it was worth something.
To discard the stone so recklessly is a terrible mistake that could result in an all-out-war between all seven of them. And Atticus wasn’t willing to risk it.
In one smooth motion, Atticus slipped the stone into his pocket as he brought his hands back to the wall. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck as he glanced around the room before continuing his work.
Time moved while Atticus worked, albeit slowly. As he worked, he heard a pair of men talk behind him. He frowned and turned his head ever so slightly, casting a weary glance to the men.
“What do you have there?” One man asked.
“Nothing! Get off my back and go back to your own space.” The second said.
“You have one! I know it. Give it to me!”
Atticus faced the noise just as the two men dissolved from words into fists.
One man, who had a long scar down his back, used a right jab to bring down the other clear off his feet, knocking over an innocent bystander in the process.
The bystander pushed the man off him, a look of confusion on his face. The long scarred-man man fell to his hands and knees, scouring the ground.
A man next to Atticus cursed. Spittle flew out of the corners of his mouth as he too dove to the floor.
The men left standing looked at each other. Understanding fell between them.
Chaos erupted in the mine. Every man in the room, including Atticus, leapt at one another.
A hand grabbed a fistful of Atticus’s hair, yanking his head back. Atticus reached for the first limb he could catch and bent it the wrong way until someone cried out in pain and went limp. A set of teeth bit into Atticus’s thigh. He slammed his fist against the skull until the man released him but not without a chunk of his flesh going with.
Atticus threw himself to the ground, his hands flailing about until a coarse, cold object hit his palm. His fingers wrapped around the object tightly. Knees and fists beat against his back and sides, trying to force him up and away. Atticus pulled his hand to his chest, pressing it hard against his flesh.
Atticus leapt into the air then dashed toward the exit. The men ran after him as they yelled and clawed at whatever they could grab.
A single, narrow tunnel led to the exit. Atticus crouched as he ran through it. His arms, back and the sides of his legs scrapped against the ceiling and walls. Jagged edges of the tunnel cut his skin.
Atticus grit his teeth. A whimper escaping him.
The tunnel continued to narrow, squeezing Atticus’s torso while it cut deeper into his skin. Blood trailed down his body and stained the ground and walls.
A hand of one man managed to grasp the waist of Atticus’s pants.
Atticus didn’t look behind him but struck where he thought the face was. The palm of his hand landed on the bridge of a nose.
The nose collapsed at the strength of Atticus’s strike, but the man didn’t let go. It took several more hits before the hand finally loosened enough for Atticus to escape.
Atticus darted through the last bit of the tunnel, emerging into a large cave. Covered in dirt, sweat and blood. His hands shook as he stumbled over to a male elf who stood with his back toward him.
The elf had long black hair and massive pointed ears. He was also dressed in armor and armed with a spear.
A soldier.
With an outstretched hand, Atticus gripped the elfs shoulder. The soldier leapt back, aiming the spear a few inches from Atticus’s face.
“Wait!” Atticus lifted both hands in the air. “I have a gem! I have come to collect my reward.”
The soldier relaxed his stance. His eyes darted to the stone. “Bring it to me, boy.” The soldier gestured to the empty spot at his side.
Atticus inched forward. The soldier peered down his nose, his spear hovering in the air, inches from Atticus’s face.
Atticus turned his hand, palm upward and opened his stiff fingers. Imprints of the stone marred on his flesh.
The soldier picked up the stone, rotating it as his eyes examined the surface. He picked away loose debris. Rays of the forever light bounced off the edges exposing a deep green layer.
After a few moments of silence, the soldier nodded. “Follow me.” He said.
Atticus followed the soldier out of the cave and into the city. The two marched down a long ramp, descending to the ground floor.
The walls were no longer ugly, barren rock, but beautifully designed murals of bearded men and proportioned women. The ceiling was now higher than what anyone could reach, decorated with massive trees that grew overhead. An ever-pleasant smell fell from them. In between the trees forever lights glistened, illuminating the city in soft blue light.
From where the two stood the entire city of Terrenus was easily seen.
Terrenus was split down the middle by an ever-flowing river. A singular, intact bridge connected the two sections of the city. The buildings that were still unbroken stood several stories high, organized on a gridded system. The streets were massive and open water canals ran through the walls, streets and buildings.
The heart of the city stood over the Abyss. The Abyss was a monstrous black hole that swallowed the river. Where it led no one knew. However, above the Abyss was the temple of Ora.
A set of steep stairs led up to the temple that housed a protruding balcony. On the balcony was a marble sculpture of Ora’an. The namesake of the temple.
Ora’an was a proportional man that overlooked the city. His face was fierce. A frown could be seen behind his thick beard and his hand held a sword that was pointed toward the fields.
The fields.
Once it had been beautiful. Once there were crops and cattle and food aplenty. What remained of the fields was scorched earth and ash. Left overs of the Harvest.
“Boy, this way.” The soldier said.
Atticus followed the elf as he led him to the ground, guiding him to a small building called The Pantry, located near the base of the ramp.
The Pantry was a shack. Made with broken pieces of other buildings and concrete. Several soldiers made up of elves and humans stood watch. Their weary eyes aimed at Atticus.
One of the soldiers, an elderly elf with white hair and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth stepped forward.
“What do we have here?” Elder Elf asked.
The soldier that guided Atticus tossed Elder Elf the stone. “This boy found a gem.”
Elder Elf examined the stone then nodded. “You’re lucky,” He said, gesturing to one of his human men. “This is the last portion of rations we have for the day."
When the human soldier disappeared, the Elder Elf looked at Atticus up and down with disgust. He reached behind his back and tossed Atticus a gauze wrap.
“Clean yourself up, boy.” Elder Elf said. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”
Atticus caught the wrap in midair. “I’m not a boy.” He said. He tore a strip then tied it tightly around the bite located on his leg.
The Elder Elf scoffed. “What are you, twelve?”
“Nineteen.”
“A boy.”
Before Atticus finished the human soldier strode up to them with a small leather sack. The soldier squeaked. Atticus glanced at the man, catching sight of his mutilated tongue. Or what was left of it. Atticus took the bag, wasting no time to open it and examine its contents.
A handful of rice.
Several slices of dried fruit.
And a single stick of jerky.
Atticus stared at the bag, mouth agape and brows raised. There was no way this was it? There had to be more. This couldn’t even feed him for the day. There wasn’t enough to count as a full meal. Were they lying to him? Why bother offering food to those that found precious stones if this was all they offered?
“Is this it?” Atticus lifted the bag and shook it. A sneer tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Elder Elf shook his head. His eyes looked completely void of empathy. “This is all we have, boy.” He stated.
“What happened to the reserves? The supplies?”
Elder Elf let out a short, sharp, bitter laugh. “Reserves? You mean the very thing you’re holding in your hand?” He said, pointing to the little sack.
Blood rushed to Atticus’s head. His ears rang. “Are you kidding me? That’s it? How are we supposed to survive off this? We sweat and bleed and kill for what? Your scraps?” Atticus shook the bag of food in the elf’s face, the veins in his neck popping out.
The soldiers stepped closer to Atticus; their weapons drawn. The Elder Elf raised his hand, signaling for them to stop.
Elder Elf leaned down, getting eye to eye with Atticus. “Maybe when the gods show up you can ask them for more food, yeah? Until then this is all you get. So, you better leave before I lose my patience and generosity. Understand?” Elder Elf said with a smile.
Atticus gritted his teeth. He could ram his thumb into the elf’s eye before the soldiers could reach him. Would he be fast enough to kill the elf? Probably not. Would it do any good? Also, probably not.
Atticus glanced at the men that stood ready to fight him. Spears and swords pointed towards him. Whips at the ready. Then he looked to the Elder Elf who stood with his arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows raised.
“Got it.” Atticus spat. He stuffed the bag of food in his pocket and limped away.
Atticus replayed the scene over and over in his head as he wandered through the city. There had to be more food than what they gave him. There had to be. Why wasn’t there more food in storage? How could they be running so low so soon? Didn’t they know people were dying?
They had to know. They just didn’t care.
So, were they hiding it for themselves?
Atticus slammed his fist against the wall. Blood rushed to his cheeks, burning his face. He stormed toward the temple, climbing the long flight of stairs.
When Atticus had reached the top of the staircase, he entered the temple.
Inside the temple were very few things. To the left was the balcony where the statue of Ora’an stood. To the right were three statues that led to three separate locations.
The first statue was a man with the head of a strange creature. Its face was long and its nose even longer as it extended to a point. The hall where the statue stood led to a furnace room where the walls were covered in ash. It was a place no one entered unless they wanted to get sick.
The second statue was a woman who stood with both arms extended but one arm had broken off long ago. This statue had a hall that led to a room filled with caskets. Some were completed while others were never finished and covered in a thick layer of dust.
The third statue was a hooded figure. Atticus could never tell if it was a man or a woman. Even when he got close enough to see the face it never gave any hints. This statue had a hall that led to where Atticus needed to go.
At the end of this hall, two statues guarded the doorway of a room. Inside the room were dozens upon dozens of shelves that housed caskets.
This was the first section of the catacombs.
End of Chapter 1 (Part 1)
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