Advent Ch. 2

The Advent1

Chapter 22

Storm clouds sunk low over the barren landscape. A mighty wind drove the few trees from their shallow roots. An eerie and unwelcoming darkness hung thick over the plains of Antiochus that night. Lightning illuminated against the rain, reflecting along each forsaken drop as it plummeted through the countryside. Elias stood, amidst the rain thunder and lightning, welcoming the heaving rain as a flower to a long awaited sunrise. The chaos of the storm soothed him, at peace in the midst of a torrent. He inhaled deeply, sighing away the piercing raindrops, as they peppered his skin. The ground around him drank deeply, absorbing each and every drop of the forsaken rainfall. Mud rose, as the rain cleansed the filth of the land. Elias was most at peace in a storm, some feeling of everything around him buckling to an invisible foe that he resisted comforted him. Even now, as the heavens cried their long, sharp tears onto the land, he was at peace. Elias could stand to such a foe, but not to the horrors of the home. The barren countryside was a welcome rest and escape from the terrors of his family. The scoured landscape a haven from the contention of his mother and brother, a tension so thick it seemed to labour even the very air in the house, here, he was truly at peace. He sought such a haven as a recompense for his loss, his loss of the heir to the throne. His father alone caused such a hate to rise of all living things by the loss of his firstborn son, that it became natural to Elias to relish at the destruction of all around him, save him himself. 3

But something was different this night. 4

The storm seemed to bellow, but behind the thunder and the crashes of lightning, amidst the raging chaos of the storm, he could feel a far more real chaos in the midst. The thunder he heard did not bear its beautiful tie to the lightning as on other nights, but a rumbling and beating could be felt, if not heard, afar off. Amidst each streak of lightning another glow hung low over the dark horizon, and amidst the clean rushing wind hung the thick stench of destruction, and the odour of death. 5

Tonight, another storm was in the midst.6

Still Elias remained, his peace sabotaged by the underlying fear that grew with each burst of thunder and each clap of lightning. He could see the images of death between each blinding blaze of lightning, and hear screams of anguish behind every thunder clap. This chaos was one to take the better of him. Resigning, he yielded under his hidden foe, and headed westward, towards the thick clot of mistrust and anger he called home. But as he drew nearer the villa, the thunder increased. The stench that was only a far off thought became reality, over the hills, the red haze before so slight it seemed only imaginary, grew into frightening existence. And the inaudible screams heard only in his mind, grew with each step toward home. Smoke rose over the last few hills, and as the last barrier between Elias and the masked reality faded, Elias was faced with the overwhelming truth of the fear, as the fragile wall of hope was crushed beneath the overwhelming reality. As he stood there, beneath the cover of darkness, bearing witness to the screams of his country folk, the haze and detriment of all he had known, an emptiness grew in his heart. Stricken with grief, his strength failed him, and, collapsing under the weight of sorrow, he fell, engulfing himself in the rising mud, now mixed with blood. The agonised screams and the horrifying images of death were his only companions that night, as he lay there, paralysed from grief. A companion soon accompanied by the shrieks of women as they were ravished, the cries of children as they were beaten, the wailing of men as they lay, calling, praying, for death.7

And not until the morning sun cast it’s forsaken rays over the forbearing landscape, did such companions take their leave.8

A thick shroud of darkness loomed over the armies of Thayne, a darkness felt, if not seen. Such darkness, it seemed, kept the ranks in order, kept the loyalty of the masses, and fed the fear that insured unconditional obedience of his soldiers. Beautiful, dreadful order. No light found reflection off the black mail of Thayne’s armour, instead, a shadow seemed to emanate off of his person. Tonight, such darkness fed off of the dreadful tempest that reluctantly declared his presence. The booming thunder seemed dwarfed to the melodious sounds of a forced march, the march of his armies. The ground shook, and Thayne relished the thought of the terror that would strike the hearts of whoever was so unfortunate as to cross his army’s path. His men were pressed to unnatural limits, their resolve fuelled by a purely malevolent intent. To reminisce on his campaign encouraged the pursuit of another. Smoke thickened the foreboding night, as the chaotic storm gave way to the unrelenting armies of Thayne. Thayne has raised a monster, the iron will was it’s fist, fear was it’s fuel, and the thundering of war drums was it’s heartbeat. Thayne feared victory, to lose the sweet smell of rotting flesh, and the thrill of issuing an extermination to his victims. One thing unnerved Thayne most of all, the eyes of a doomed King Manias. Submission was his delight, but more so his inspiration. Manias fought a defeat, yet there was no surrender from his men, no satisfaction to quench Thayne’s thirst for blood. As an insurance that he would never have to suffer such a starvation of his dominance, he would let the Byzantine Empire crumble, and grind all signs of opposition into the abyss. 9

“Thayne,” Thayne savoured the ice cold of his general’s voice, “The men are ready, and the fate of your enemy awaits your command.” 10

“Shake the earth into submission, drown them in fear.”11

The garrison of Gileah was already defeated, the minute the blood red banner of Thayne pierced the tips of the grassy plain, the frontal line of Byzantine had already fallen. Archers were still positioned amidst the barricades, quivers full and arrows at the ready, but the auxiliaries seemed to already have decided how they would die, and their armour seemed to already make way for a mortal wound. Death loomed impatiently in the depths of their subconscious minds. The general tried to steady himself atop his horse, a speech was not in question, instead, he tried to quiet the shrieks of his children and the screams of his wife from his mind. At most, his hope was that he would be the first to be rid of his torment. Fear infected the camp, the battle was already lost. 12

“Come, General, purge this opposition in a sea of flame.” Thayne waited, feeding off the disdain that emanated off the camp. Waiting for a victory, waited for his prize. 13

It seemed as if the catapult reacted according to his command, for as he surveyed the barren landscape before him, the sky became illuminated with silent flames. Gleaming yellow streaks peppered the night sky, with a blackened tail in their wake. The journey of the projectiles were halted as they ruptured in a brilliant display of white in impact with the feeble barricades of Gileah, engulfing the scorched earth and wood in a carpet of searing heat. 14

The wall ruptured on impact, and the frail wood moaned under the impact of each blast. A comet of yellow roared to life across the plain, followed closely by a swath of vicious companions. A wave of unrelenting heat washed over the garrison general, as the artillery released its devastating load of flaming pitch that washed over the battalion nearest him. The barricade bent and sighed under the onslaught. Over a newly made horizon of fire, a perfect scene of destruction engulfed the garrison. Another blow pressed itself against the feeble wooden wall, and the general and all else held its breath as they prayed and hoped the wall would not give way. 15

It did. The wall itself seemed to burst itself open in a relieved cry, the impact flew countless men, lifeless and empty, into the air with violent purpose. A wave of corpses showered into the mass of spears below, though the mass of men now were unidentifiable with the dead and dying. The fortress seemed to be surrounded with a shroud of confusion and fear propelled with each forlorn blast. Another groan from the wall signified a second breach opened afar off, the walls seemed to sway under the impact. The shockwave was re-echoed, more in their hearts than anywhere else. Followed by the sharp dagger of fear, revisiting the already tortured minds of the garrison. Another blast burst the board beneath his feet, and, anticipatingly, the general was thrown into the air, only to crash beneath a mass of spears. Whether fortunately or unfortunately, the spears did not deliver on their devious promise of death, as they were set aside. The general recovered, only to find himself surrounded in a den of confusion, pain, and fear. The gaping hole set by the breach permitted moonlight to amble through the wall. Through the gap, the general could see line upon line of spears, unmoving. A garrison soldier clutched his ears and shook his head wildly, ambling out amidst the debris, pleading Thayne to cease the onslaught of artillery. He was answered only by a brilliant flash of flaming pitch. He ran, along with others exposed to the moonlit gaping hole, screaming, clawing at his burning skin. The general ambled his way back, narrowly missing a panicked soldier as he wailed and begged for help, he watched as his panicked running was reduced to crawling, as his legs gave way, then to grovelling. The screaming ceased only after the fire ate away into the ill fated soldiers throat, as he rocked in pained agony. He just lay there, burning, and the general felt struck with as much fear as the ill fated soldier had pain. A quick death, he thought, would be a mercy that Thayne would not give. Thayne had not sent one of his men into the fray, he realised the men over the plain were not set to enter the city, but to prevent anyone from escaping the city, and the general chided himself, and his heart ached for his wife and children, that he would long to have his final night in their company and not in the company of the rabble and confusion of Thayne’s prey. 16

Screams and cries of pain and anguish emanated from the garrison of Gileah as the odour of death does a diseased victim. Thayne soaked himself in it, tried to comfort himself as he found the expected response to his will. Fear. Once he was satisfied with the tortured wailings from along the foreboding plain, he commanded his general to ensure a painful end to their suffering. In answer, a blanket of arrows streaked into the air, and fell hard, crashed into the mass of cries and screams that was once called Gileah. The onslaught was answered by a soothing wave of shrieks and wails of torment. Gileah had fallen, he was contented, and received no casualty. In his anticipation of victory, he was almost tempted to hire the survivors as mercenaries, but the idea was quickly shrouded with the glare of King Manias, torturing the resolve of Thayne, haunting him. This was no longer a conquest of expansion, it was a campaign of revenge, and not until every citizen in the middle east ever to bear a sword was slaughtered, would he blot out those piercing eyes of the doomed King. There will be no sun tomorrow, not for Gileah, not for the Byzantine empire, only smoke, blood, and death.