Volumes of Sin

Volume One - Chapter One

Broken tombs and un-earthed graves added to the eerie atmosphere of a bedevilled cemetery, a place that sane men would not dare to tread, but it was one that a procession of hooded men continued to march towards in the midst of twilight. An ungodly hour where all manner of creatures and evil stirred, spreading their sick miasma across the land, leaving trails of blood and slaughter in their wake whilst swearing to profane gods in crooked tongue.

Yet still men marched.

Were these men here to view the encroaching darkness for pleasure? Or perhaps crueler strings pulled at them, guiding them to commit atrocities in the name of faith.

They crept amongst listless graves as they stepped through the foggy banks that surrounded the cemetery, always present and shifting, reaching out with its intrepid tendrils seeking to draw them further into its cursed depths, towards their goal.They trudged through the raised earth of open graves as booted feet crunched on dead soil, no owners to be found for the pits that lay empty, no care for the sentiments of the living as burnt offerings lay broken and forgotten. Once green and lively fauna that surrounded their burdened figures underwent a sickly transformation as the sun waned, covering all in a grey haze, marring their pious figures.

What was once a resting place for the dead now lay unkempt and abandoned, nothing more than a corrupted blight staining the land. A place none would choose to spend the night.

"We stop here," a loud authoritative voice sounded from one of the procession, his figure cloaked like the rest, but baring no argument.

Thirteen brothers of the cloth had come together to make this group, set with the task of freeing the undead from the burdens that were causing them to rise, to vanquish the evil that haunted the once hallowed grounds. This was a test of their skill, testing their resolve as acolyte's of the Father, confirming their faith. The brothers made a mixed group, some from the same church whilst others had been sent from afar, by request or demand they were not sure or cared to ask, all looked the same beneath the brown cloth.

Weary sighs and moans of fatigue spread from the brothers as they dropped to the floor, already beginning to massage sore limbs, unaccustomed to such a journey. Their bags and packs thoughtlessly strewn around, a sign of their inexperience

Only one of them remained standing, waiting to fulfil his duty, his voice deep and low as he spoke. "Brother Twig, Brother Fin, start the fire. It must be prepared before night." The brothers in question were the smallest of the group, consumed by the robes that they donned as they hid in its depths. Rousing themselves from their weariness they set to work, retrieving the necessary utensils stashed away in the packs they carried, not daring to deny their brothers words.

"Brothers, aid me in blessing and sanctifying this ground."

The ground they rested on was situated on the outermost edge of the inner cemetery, the fire itself being set and made outside its bounds. It was wrong to disturb the dead with the workings of the living.

Many brothers watched their tallest brother, still standing strong as he strode around, anointing the ground with script and prayer. How was he still going after their arduous trek? This was to be a test of their abilities, not some divine pilgrimage. Surely he would allow himself to rest. Suffering still with fatigue only a few brothers stood to offer aid and assist in his task, the rest choosing to rest and watch, happy to leave such menial jobs to others. Still, they remained quiet, unwilling to stand up to this figure who towered over them, smothering them with his very presence.

The last rays of the setting sun pierced through the mist as it neared the end of its descent, each ray gaining an ethereal tint as it bathed the cemetery in its morbid glow, causing the brothers to grimace and shudder as they saw their pale complexions under this strange light. Only their tallest brother stood un-fazed, his shadow long as it stretched out amongst the graves, seeking out his goal as the rest sought safety and comfort by the small flame that Brother Twig had coaxed to life. It too a victim like them as it struggled to stay alight, flickering under the pressure of the ensuing darkness.

The night ahead was not to be a pleasant one.

"It is time," Brother Tall's gravelly voice grated on them as he lowered himself down to their level, sinking to his knees he faced the setting sun, hands clasped together in prayer with head bowed low. Following his example the other brothers ceased their tasks and knelt down, all ready for prayer, small duties could be ignored but faith was mandatory.

"May we pray," Brother Tall's voice resounded out, as if part of the very air itself, his words reverberating, breaking the eerie peace of the graveyard and seeking the evil that lurked below.

Of flesh, of blood, and of man.

We are flawed and broken,

Destitute and damned.

But we are part of the Father.

In faith we are reborn,

Through belief we are remade,

In suffering we are tempered.

All accords to the Fathers will.

His heart forgives us for the sins we carry for others,

We are they who sacrifice themselves to become part of something greater,

Regardless of price.

We are but man.

Heads bowed in solemn silence, the brothers only stood when the last of the prayer dissipated along with the setting sun.

"You follow the Old Father..." a soft voice sounded from behind Brother Tall, more an afterthought than a question, it belonged to the crouched figure of Brother Twig as he fed the fire. "Why do you follow the Old Way when it is proven to be false? The New Way is the true way, the correct path to follow. Why do you refuse it?" There was no response from Brother Tall, he was motionless, his heart still deep in prayer, his head still hung low... as if waiting for an executioner.

Soft murmurs erupted from the others as they shot him despising looks, why was an acolyte of the Old Father with them? All believers of the Old had been converted to the New or sent on pilgrimages to further understand the faith. It had been a unanimous decision, accepted by the hierarchy of the Church. "The Old Father is not the true Father! The Book of Solemn is wrong. This is a trial for true believers, not for you who refuses to keep faith!"

This voice of dissent was the raised voice of Brother Trist, a firm believer and convert to the doctrine of the New Father. He should have been in charge of this expedition, instead he was cowed under the shadow of Brother Tall. Emboldened by the lack of response Trist continued, he was thankful for this chance, the Father always looked after his own. Now it was time for the real leader to step up, this was the power he deserved. "Let us pray again brothers! And wash away the taint of this unfaithful dog!"

Crouched down and heads bowed once more the brothers followed the actions of Trist as he chanted the words of the New Father, words of faith and power; verses dedicated to spreading his light and shrouding the land in his divine grasp. Voices fuelled by fervour joined together attempting to resound throughout the night but were instead swallowed by it, their prayers dwindling as chants disappeared without sound, their words empty and lacking strength. An unsettling mood descended upon their small camp, their prayer was weak in contrast to Brother Tall, whose chant shook the very air, his faith and courage clear to see. Theirs shaken before the task had even begun.

Still Brother Tall remained stationary, the cool damp earth pressing on his knees, the words and actions of the others ignored, only if the Father was present could his actions be weighed. In that he had faith. His only words were those of preparation, "Build the fire high. Eat while you can. The presence that haunts this place will soon rise. You must be ready." Ignoring the skewed gazes sent his way Brother Tall moved to the edge of their small camp and stood ready, his worn cloak pulled tightly around him as his features remained hidden. He stared deeply into the night, watching as swirls of miasma rose from the graves, these were spirits too weak to inhabit flesh yet still they desired to warp the world, to bend and break it beyond recognition. Their eerie cries sailed on the wind, assaulting the brothers as they tried to prepare, the dead would soon rise but he would be here to accept their sins.