Creus(Full Book)

Part 2

He passed by plague bodies. Each with the rotting bones, seeming similar to him, similar to all. Mortal souls... By the Prophet! He stopped, backing away from them. Further death! Further death! He shrank from the view, seeing himself. He was fine... Soon... The Prophet...

He stopped there suddenly, sitting upon the ground, and closed his eyes.

He thought further of the Empty eyes. Crowds and bodies in the masses. Death! Further death! The future held nothing, but the cold eyes, empty sockets, the skulls on pikes held high above all. But, what to do? He bit his tongue, nails, lips, pulled at his beard. To gamble with death? He had a chance... Maybe... He looked into his bag, saw nothing, closed it, and sighed... Money and power. He had none. Death would accept nothing, not even payment. Soon... With a whitened beard, hobbling, and dying from the throes of Plague.

He turned away, shaking his head. He pounded his fists against the ground, cried for a while. After that, he looked into the sky, gazed at the sunset. Then, from his bag, he took out two vials, drank them down, and shut his eyes tightly.

Ahead, a village loomed, with stacked stories, and decaying homes. He glimpsed smokestacks and farms that cleared plains into the titan mountains. He walked into the open doors of an inn with sallow, sulking people that drowned their depressions with wine. Cabinets surrounded the innkeeper, people drank from rounded jars, and leaned against the frescos. Tiles slipped, shattered, tumbled, but the innkeeper took no heed.

"The world itself. What is past it and what shall I discover?", said someone, from a group of five that sat around a cylindrical table.

"Ha-ha-ha! You'd try on Pnoaphales! A world by itself, by oneself, journeying isolated and cold. A great, great thing, you call it. With beauty, with the Prophet! With the PRophet.", said another.

"I'd want to... But the world itself. All can see that it lies in Pnoaphales."

"A world seems fine. Greatness lies on the peak of Pnoaphales!"

"I wouldn't go, no. A world... Yet again... Yet again, there is nothing but the Prophet and his followers. The boring drone of their marching will surely distract me."

To the right of David, someone mumbled in slurred words. Then, the words grew louder as the man stood up.

"Pnoaphales, I'd climb the slag heap", it mumbled, "Going onto the top, with people, with anyone for hire! Who'd go? Who'd come with?"

He pointed to himself with limp arms. His eyes widened, revealing red. Lips sagged, foam curled at the edges, then he waved to himself.

"I'll bet, bet my home, house. Don't reach it, I sell my money, sell my land, sell my home! And all useless with the plague. Coming about and destroying the crops! I'd- I'd-", the man spat with every word. Yellow teeth revealed from his lips. Grinning, with a smile filling his face.

The one behind him, holding him, whispered something into his ear, then pulled the man backward.

"I climb. No matter the choice... My words, not, the mumbles of a drunken idiot....", the man wiped his mouth, "No... no... Nobody understands...understands... "

"Denton, come down. Drunken, drunken rage, and I told him.... Denton... Denton..."

The innkeeper shouted to get him out.

"Give us some time. He's woozy. We'll carry him away, and lift him...", one of them tried to pull him to the doorway. Then turned his head to stare at the drunken man,

"Let's walk away. You're too drunk. Let's walk back home. You should take a nice rest, then in the morning, everything is new."

"None of that matters! The Plague! The Plague! The Glorious, Glorious Plague! Run, I'll run, run and run, the glorious Plague! The Plague!", the man stumbled away from them. His legs crossed each other, and he fell . David caught him in his arms as the man collapsed.