Kingdoms of Corruption

2. Jotta (Greenspeake)

The stench of death hung in the air, Jotta could more than smell it. So overwhelming was the odour that it forced its way up his snout, bypassing his lungs to churn up acid in his stomach. It stank of rotted flesh, of curdled milk and stale smoke. Jotta was sure even an ordinary human's nose could detect it, much less a wolf-boy of the Kulndotten tribe. And it all convened at the place where Gjhor claimed the Mausoleum would be.

The landscape reflected what was sure to be buried beneath. Throughout the journey, the proud oaks and bright wildflower fields of Greenspeake had eventually gave way to swamps of tangled weeds and thorns. A jumble of dead trees surrounded Jotta and his companions, their leafless branches interweaving together to form a thick canopy that blocked out the light above their heads. There was no sign of life anywhere, save for a lone raven perched high in a tree and the millions of insects that swarmed about them. Mosquitoes gnawed at their skins, flies buzzed about their eyes, spiders sat in webs strung like washerlines across the trees and bulbous black beetles skittered across the mossy ground. By the end of the second night in the swamps, they were all starting to wish they had nicked some insect repellent from one of the nurse-mothers before they had snuck out.

"The dark's coming. We should make camp," Gjhor growled. "Much as I hate to bed down in this swamp, I don't like the idea of entering a tomb at night."

"Scared of ghosts, Gjhor?" Aruna smiled, the moonlight shining on her sharp fangs.

"No-one rustles amongst the dead at night!" Gjhor snapped. "A sane beast flees death. That's called surviving."

Gjhor always had been sceptical towards the Kulndotten's traditions of laying the dead to rest. He always grumbled and complained when the tribe hitched up their belongings and began the long journey to another Mausoleum. For a few months or so, they would camp in the shadow of the tomb, pray to their ancestors for good fortune and perform rituals to ensure that their spirits would rest peacefully. Jotta loved exploring the Mausoleums, with their criss-crossing passageways and grand architecture. He had memorised all the names inscribed on the tombs they had visited.

The scent was strong now, so overpowering that it dwarfed Ghjoren's body odour. Jotta's hunting partner had the scent of a ripe cheese at the best of times and he had once boasted a record of forty days unwashed before some of the nurse-mothers at Homecamp had chucked him in the nearby lake. But Jotta did not care what Gjhor thought. He needed to enter tonight. He simply could not wait a moment longer to delve into what secrets were held inside. It was like there was something inside drawing him in, recognising his passion for the history and lore of his people. Artifacts, scrolls, mummified remains of an ancient race that had long since passed. All the things he had read about in the archives at Homecamp.

Part of him also wished that they would find the remains of an ancient race. But it was unlikely. As far as he knew, the other tribes of Greenspeake burned their dead.

"You don't need to come, Gjhor," Jotta replied. "Aruna and I can investigate the Mausoleum ourselves."

"Yeah, stay out here with the beetles!" jeered Aruna.

"Don't think I'm a coward for not joining you. I tracked down this place for you, Jotta, and brought you two here, but I never said anything about venturing down into that cesspit."

Gjhor took them as far as the entrance of a wide cave set into the hillside, where he claimed was the source of the scent. Jotta would not have noticed the entrance, much less thought it led to an ancient crypt, had Gjhor not pointed it out. His friend then quickly made his retreat. He was the best tracker and had the best nose than anyone else in the tribe, which baffled Jotta as to why he did not frequently care for personal hygiene. When he came to Jotta after a scouting mission, talking of a place below ground that reeked of death, Jotta's excitement, bizarrely, soared. Gjhor had agreed to personally lead them there, though grudgingly. Jotta had to bribe him with five handfuls of his personal stash of dried deer meat.