The men that had followed Atticus and Io were not only still there when he stepped outside but had multiplied. Their attention was locked on him as they approached before the door had fully closed.
Atticus wasted no time but turned and fled. The strangers giving in chase.
With his exceptionally long legs he covered a fair amount of ground. Every so often Atticus would look behind him to see if they were still in pursuit. Some managed to keep up while others had fallen behind.
The city was built in such a way that it was easy to maneuver through it if you walked it once. Atticus used the knowledge he had to dip and dodge into alleyways and narrow openings that were laid out.
The unfortunate thing about the city was that the people who were following Atticus knew the same thing or even more.
Despite pushing his body to the limit, the stalkers kept on his tail with no sign of tiring. While Atticus could feel the little bit of energy in his body quickly flee. He was weak, he was injured, he was hungry. With these things combined it slowed his momentum down considerably.
Atticus searched wildly for an escape as he ran. Nothing caught his eye. Each alley led to an open road which led to the river where there were more open spaces. The buildings that he ran past were either fallen or had closed doors.
Would he be able to escape these men? Would he be able to keep going at this rate? Would he be caught? What would they do to him if he was caught? Whatever it was he didn’t want to find out.
Atticus made a sharp turn into a very narrow alleyway, escaping the view of his pursuers. He had nearly gotten to the road when a hole in the wall caught his eye.
The hole was small but large enough that if he squeezed himself in, Atticus could get through.
Instinct took over his body, Atticus lowered himself to the ground, thrusting himself into the hole legs first. The sides of the hole scraped his thighs, the sharp edges of the stone dug into his skin. He pushed forward, quickly shifting his body in until he disappeared into the building.
Once inside Atticus got to his feet, now able to get a good look of what was around him.
A few broken forever lights were scattered around the floor, dimly glowing in the darkness. Like many buildings in Terrenus there were no windows. The only other source of light came from the hole.
Pieces of broken furniture lay scattered on the ground. Damaged chairs and an overturned table sat far from each other. Bits of a vase now existed in shards. Water flowed down the walls freely, creating massive puddles that warped the ground into deep, natural bowls.
A few furs were on the ground, near the water. Portions of the fur were soaked and covered with mildew. A musty, earthy scent filled the air. Across the room, mostly hidden by the dark, were a set of stone stairs.
Atticus made his way to the stairs, ascending until he reached the very top.
The top of the building was a large open room with small square windows evenly spaced apart. There was barely anything there in terms of objects, however, the first thing Atticus noticed were the two people in the center of the room.
The sight of them made his heart leap out of his chest.
However, they didn’t notice Atticus.
One of the people was lying down on a cot and from the looks of it barely clinging to life. A youngblood who could be no older than Cornelius. He laid very still with his eyes closed, his skin terribly pale.
The second person was a woman who sat on her knees next to him, holding his limp hand on in her lap.
The two didn’t exchange words but the woman wept in deafening silence.
The second thing Atticus noticed was a stench that hung in the air. It was rancid and potent. A mixture of death and disease. The power of the stench made Atticus gag and brought tears to his eyes.
The origin of the smell was easy to pinpoint.
It came from the youngblood who slept.
For some odd reason Atticus could feel his heart quicken. His breath shortened and turned shallow. Should he leave? He should go back from where he came. Something was wrong here.
Going against his better judgement Atticus inched forward. With each step he took he lowered himself to a crawl until he was at eye level with the woman.
When the distance was an arm’s length away Atticus noticed a few more things that worried him.
The youngblood was severely pale, even more so than what he thought before. Something dark clung around his mouth, dried and flaking. Other than that, there were no signs of color anywhere on his body.
No matter how long Atticus watched, the youngblood’s chest didn’t move. In fact, the youngblood didn’t move his body at all.
Atticus placed a gentle hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I am very sorry miss,” Atticus murmured, “but the boy is gone.”
The woman turned to Atticus. She looked at him but didn’t see him. The tears that were on the woman’s face had left a trail that cut through the dirt on her skin. The wrinkles on her face were few but defined. Grey streaks were woven into her hair. Her cheeks were sunken in. Her knobby bones nearly tore through her skin. Her spine was clearly defined, even through her clothes. The woman didn’t have too long left if she remained in this state.
“He was already so weak,” The woman said, “but I tried to keep him alive.”
The woman rambled and wept. Atticus knelt beside her in silence, letting her speak without interrupting.
In the back of his mind Atticus knew that the men were still after him but he also knew that since he was there it was his duty to allow the woman to grieve. The soul of the boy would find an easy path to the afterlife if no one in Terrenus tied him down with lingering emotion.
Yet as the woman talked Atticus felt something was off about her. Although she cried and rambled on like any grieving mother would, there was a sense that she wasn’t fully mentally there.
As she spoke Atticus noticed that the fur on the boy was darker near his waist. Atticus reached out a hand and touched the fur. Damp. He lifted his arm and turned his palm upwards, his fingers stained with blood.
“What is this?” Atticus crawled back in horror.
The woman kept talking but this time Atticus heard what she was saying.
“He couldn’t walk anyway; he didn’t need it. I gave him some too so he would get stronger, but he kept getting sicker.” The woman bemoaned.
The woman rocked back and forth, frothing at the mouth. In between each rock Atticus caught a glimpse of a stained bowl by her side and a knife.
With a shaky hand, Atticus took the edge of the damp fur on the boy’s body and peeled it off. The density of blood doubled the weight of the fur.
The stench of death escaped the gap. It overwhelmed the room. It burned his eyes and seared his nose. And caused his stomach to heave.
Atticus peeled away the rest of the fur and gasped.
The entire lower half of the boy was gone. Replaced instead with poorly wrapped, blood-soaked gauze and protruding bones.
Atticus gripped the woman’s shoulders and shook her violently. “What have you done? What have you done!” He screamed.
The woman burst out in hysterical laughter. No signs of life could be seen behind her cold grey eyes.
“He cried a lot.” The woman said between her bouts of laughter. “He cried so much. But he’s not crying now. And I don’t feel hungry anymore.”
Atticus scrambled to his feet, backing away as quickly as possible. He ran back to where he came from, glancing back at the sound of her laughter that turned to screams. It chilled the very blood that ran through his veins.
He ran.
Ran out of the building.
Ran through the town until he found himself at the edge of the river near the Abyss. The noise from the Abyss silenced the rest of the world. He leaned against the wall, half of his body hanging over the edge.
Atticus allowed the noise to mask his wails as he sobbed uncontrollably over what he saw.
He mourned over how the youngblood didn’t have a chance to live but had his body butchered. Mourned over the extent the woman went to in order to survive.
How was she able to eat her own flesh and blood? How long had the body been there? Was she surviving because of the body? Did the youngblood feel pain in the end? Was he the only one?
When Atticus had finished weeping, he wiped away his tears and he set out to complete his original mission. He needed to find Kalista.
Now that he had seen the woman and what she had done he knew what question to ask Edan’s girl.
He was only afraid of the answers he would find.
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