Chapter 2: In Pace Finali

In a few of the books that had been at the abbey where I had been sent, after being rescued from slavers as a child, were poems. I never understood the point of poetry, in a school where they taught us the way of death. But as the years of my service rolled away behind me, and in the vast silence that is The World After, those poems brought to me, a peace unlike any written in those brittle pages. The peace I found, comes not from some sense that all is well, but instead comes from an ideal. Those verses contained within them, an ideal of what justice can lead to. And with each of the men I am forced to bring The Peace of All, the ideal of those verses becomes more possibility, and less hope. That is the peace those verses bring to me, because I can see in them the future, where men might one day live free, and through my justice, that freedom can spring.

It is because I know what peace can be, that I am able to go to war. It is also how I knew I was no longer alone. The long, broken stretch of what was once a major road, running east to west, through the vast grassland in the heart of what was once America, appeared to be empty. But I could almost sense the presence of others. I crested a low hill, and stopped, the wind from the north blowing harshly into my face. For the first time in days I was glad to have the dark glasses I had taken from the corpse of a raider a month before. I could see the elbow high grass on either side of the road, moving against the wind, and knew that I was not alone.

I pulled the deep hood up and off my shoulders, hiding my face in the deep shadows, not trusting the sun of late evening to not blind me. My leather coat, hung to mid calf, was heavy, though the ceramic plates sewn into the lining were worth every ounce of the weight in their ability to stop a bullet. But they were bulky, and so I opened the coat allowing for a better freedom of movement. It also displayed to anyone who bothered looking, that I was clearly armed in the manner of The Justice Bringer. And unless I was outnumbered by at least ten to one, not many people would be willing to openly attack a Justice Bringer. Even still, far too many of my brothers had been lulled into just such a thought, only to have the back of their skull stove in.

I was as ready for the fight, as I was going to be, and so, I took those last, safe steps, down, into the valley of the shadow of death. As I had expected, the attack came from both sides at once, the ragged, ravening groups of men, charging up out of the ditch that lay on either side of the road bed. Almost as soon as they broke cover, I understood that my earlier preparations were far over-thought. I would have known these fools were there, from ten yards off, simply by their stink. I spun to my left, my hands dipping beneath my coat, and coming out with my tomahawk in my right hand, and my hunting knife in my left.

A quick swipe of my right hand took the man in the lead, a bearded, unwashed thug, swinging a length of steel bar, in the throat. I used his weight, and momentum, to keep my spin in motion, and dipped at my waist, feeling the machete swung by the man behind me sweep over my head. The blade of my knife took him in the gut, a rapid twisting jerk, tore his abdomen open. My tomahawk swept up over my shoulder, responding to the shadow at the corner of my vision, catching the rusty, pitted, blade of what I assumed passed for a sword among the highwaymen.

My knife cut savagely down at the crease of his elbow, feeling the ropey tendon sever, and the arm go limp. A sweep kick, and savage elbow to the jaw, spun him down and away. I turned against the sun, it’s blinding glare directly at my back, and caught another attacker with a thrust of my knife, the blade driving deep into her chest, as the hammer in her hand clattered to the ground. A forceful kick pushed her body away, and a shuffled step forward caught the wrist of the last man standing. He had an Old World revolver in his hand, and while I doubted he had enough bullets to be any good with the gun, at this range it isn’t much of a challenge. I chopped a single time with my tomahawk, and his hand came loose of his body. His howl of pain was cut short with a backhanded slash to his throat.

There were two left alive on the road, but only one who would survive longer than a day, unless these pathetic excuses for raiders had access to Old World medicine. I sincerely doubted they did, so a gut wound like I had doled out, was almost invariably fatal. The man with the dead arm, would live, but not for very long. Out here, with the law of savagery ruling all, the man would become an immediate target, either from slavers, or from those even more brutal. The true predators would simply kill him, for sport, and these were the men who would make his death the most painful they could. Sadly, I knew what I had to do.

I bent, and picked up the revolver. As a Justice Bringer, I understood the need for guns, particularly in the hands of those who would use them to defend those they love. But I disliked how easily they could kill. Making it so simple for someone who could otherwise do no harm, to become ruthless murderers, and despots. I turned to the man with the gut wound, “May The Peace of All guide you onward.” I said gently, and shot him in the head.

Turning to the man with the crippled arm, I repeated, “May The Peace of All guide you onward.” his head snapped back with the explosion of the gunshot. I raised the pistol into the air, and fired until the bullets were spent. I pulled my knife from the chest of the dead woman, noticing, while I did, that she bore a brand I had seen before. The brand was six capital Y’s, three upright, three inverted, their trunks interlacing. It was the mark of Grayven, a slaver that had ravaged this area for more than a decade. This poor woman had been taken, and brutalized, more than likely raped, and tortured, until the only thing she knew, was to be the beast she had become. This woman deserved a final rest in safety, so that her body would not be plundered.

It took until the sun had set, to build a stone ring around her body, and to make a bed of dry grass, and tinder to burn. I sat and watched, whispering The Final Peace, to the poor woman, hoping there was something beyond the life she had been forced into, as the flames consumed her body. Finally, as night deepened, the flames died to embers, The Final Peace, was assured to the poor woman. Turning to the rest of the fallen, I began the distasteful, yet necessary, task of looting. It was a poor take, even considering the remote location of the ambush, I took from them four bullets, marked .38, a dull folding knife, a ring of strange keys, and probably one of the most valuable things they carried, a full sized whetstone.

The plunder was strange, why keep keys when you have nothing to lock, why carry a whetstone, when you allowed your weapons to become practically useless? The only conclusion I could draw, was they had a fort, or a camp, close enough to the road, to know I had been coming. Now it was all just a matter of finding it.

As it turns out, it wasn’t that difficult. From the crest of the hill, on which, I had spotted the ambush, I had also seen, what I had assumed, was a stream, a mile, maybe two, to south of the road. It didn’t appear to be much, but, provided it hadn’t been contaminated by The Fires, it was the only available water source in the area. So, turning south, I jogged the nearly two miles to the bed of, what turned out to be, either a small river, or a very large stream. It was at this point, that I wished I had brought some of the Old World maps from the abbey. The names, and locations of those maps may very well be meaningless in The World After, but a general layout of the land around me would have helped immensely.

The river flowed north to south, and seemed to be swollen, yet their had been no rain in this area for more than a week. So this river must flow from quite a way off, knowing this, helped me guess where I’d find the camp I was searching for. My training taught me, that the best place for a camp near a river, was on the inside of any major bend in the flow. So I turned down stream, and went hunting. It actually took very little effort, the trees that sprung up around the water were large, and healthy, showing the water to at least be clean enough to support good growth. This was a good sign, and they supplied me with enough cover to go unnoticed, as I stalked along the river’s edge.

I found the bend shortly, and froze. The glow of a fire, sitting well back from the swollen flow of the river, casting a beacon through the darkness. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, perhaps a motley gathering of unwashed raiders. What I found was a single, old, man, missing his left arm, and quite obviously blind in his left eye, since it was nothing more than a milky orb buried in a mass of scar tissue. He was busy tending the fire, and the smell of food cooking over that fire, was absolutely divine.

“Don’t worry little cunt,” he was mumbling, seemingly to himself, “Soon Dolman, and his little bunch’ll be back, and then we all eat,” I almost smiled, he was speaking gently, almost like the person he spoke to, whoever it was, was someone he loved. But that illusion was shattered, when a broken toothed smile cracked his weathered face. “And maybe if they like the supper, I’ll get my chance to fuck you tonight too!” he chuckled, which turned into a dark laugh just as I heard the crying whimper of a small girl. I did not see her, but that didn’t matter, what did matter, was that yet another man was to receive The Peace of All.

It didn’t take much effort, given the man’s age and infirmity. A quick rush from the darkness, an arm clamped across a throat, a savage thrust of a knife, below the right shoulder blade, and a soft whisper, “May The Peace of All guide you onward.”

I dragged the corpse out into the darkness, and returned, to find out where the crying had been coming from. What I found, should have horrified me, but, after ten years of bringing The Peace of All to man, it only made me sad. A young girl, perhaps fourteen, sat naked, and chained at the neck and wrists to a ring hammered into an oak tree. Like the group of men had been, the girl was filthy, where her skin was not marked by bruises, or scars, was instead covered in grime. The skin about her wrists, and neck was scarred and broken, showing proof that she had probably never known life beyond slavery. Her right forearm was also branded by Grayven’s mark. I guessed, from the age of the woman I had killed on the road, that this girl must have been her daughter.

“Peace girl,” I said softly, as I bent, and began trying keys on the rusty shackles that bound her, “We will see you freed, and fed,” I grunted, as I forced the locks to finally open, “And then I will bring you to Sister Veritas.”

As soon as she was free, she curled into a ball, and tried to wriggle her way deeper into the shadows. Sadly, most slaves, once freed, always think they’re about to be enslaved again. I left the girl, sitting in the shadows, and began to scour the camp.

Six bedrolls, check, won’t need to worry about stragglers coming back to camp. Two lock boxes, interesting ... The keys that didn’t work on the shackles opened these. And inside what treasure I found! A nearly full sack of .38 bullets! That find alone was so valuable, I could barely believe I found it in a camp like this. A double shouldered satchel, that was absolutely bulging with still sealed jars of food. Vegetables, pickled meats, BEANS! By every god of the Old World, beans! Seven jars of them! There was enough raw protein in those jars to keep me running for nearly two weeks! And at the bottom of the second box, the last answer I was looking for. I had wondered why someone would carry a whetstone, but not care for their weapons. In the bottom of the lock box was my answer. A machete the likes of which we don’t find made in The World After. This was Old World, a beautifully crafted blade, almost two feet long, the edge polished to a mirror shine, the throat was enameled in gray, with ‘BushMaster’ down it’s length. The handle was, as I remembered it was called, rubber, and it molded to fit my hand like nothing I have ever experienced before. Now THIS was a treasure beyond value.

My thoughts were cut short, as I heard the scraping of a blade being picked up off the ground. Passing my eyes quickly to the left, I saw the girl holding, what was probably, a cooking knife in both of her trembling hands. “You’re holding it wrong,” I said gently, as I continued to take an inventory of the rest of the useless items in the lock boxes, “Hold it like that, and you’ll hurt yourself, worse than you’ll hurt me” I finished by tossing her two of the bed rolls, and what I had assumed was a shirt, though on her frame, it would have passed for a dress.

“Get dressed, I’ll see if I can find you something for your feet. We have a long way to walk in the morning.” I dug around, searching for anything else, when I found something that gave me a very long pause. Wrapped up in one of the bed rolls was the calf length leather coat, of a Justice Bringer. I could tell from the condition, it had been roughly used, and not cared for, it was creased, and worn, to the point of cracking. I searched the inner lining, all of the ceramic plates had long been removed, but the name of the wearer was still stitched into the cloth. In simple red thread, was a name, running down the left length of the open seam, it said ‘Abbot’.

I knew the name, he had been a legend when I first began my journey. He had brought The Peace of All to countless monsters. And, if the story was true, there was even a town to the south, that called itself Abboton, in honor of the man. The stories stopped about a decade ago however. No more exploits from the fringe, no more tales of Abbot. And a painful, and terrible realization dawned on me. The old man I had just killed, had to have been him. No one keeps a jacket of this quality, even given it’s state of disrepair, without using it, unless there was shame or pride involved, and if it were pride, it would never have been hidden the way it was. I had brought The Peace of All to a fallen brother, and I was bitterly sad because of it. He had given up our code, and become a broken thing, he did not deserve The Final Peace.

I also found boots that, while a bit large, with some cloth stuffed in the toes, should fit the girl well enough, I tossed them to her as well. Finally, with the camp picked clean, I ladled two generous helpings of the thick soup that had been cooking over the campfire. The girl, now dressed, in a shirt that hung clear to her knees, and wrapped in a blanket, looked at me with huge eyes, when I placed the heaping bowl in front of her. I gave her a gentle smile, as she attacked the food, not even bothering to use a spoon. Slurping down the soft meat, and hearty vegetables, like it was her first meal in days. And the chances were pretty good it was.

“What’s your name girl?” I asked her, my voice seemed to have a calming affect on her. Many of my brothers, and sisters within the order, have told me that my voice is as gentle as a calm rain. I never understood it personally, to me it always seemed slightly gravely, and a little gruff. That never stopped the novices, or even the full brothers and sisters, from sitting and listening to me read the ancient poems, for hours on end. And this girl as well relaxed and just looked at me as I spoke.

“Cunt,” she replied to my question, looking down at the ground sadly. It wasn’t until that moment, that I realized her eyes were a startling violet.

“That isn’t a name,” I said softly. Many people called me Bishop the Silent, but that was only because I only spoke when I needed to. My years wandering The World After had taught me that silence did not need to be broken. And so I kept silent, unless speaking became absolutely necessary, like it seemed to be now.

“What would you call me then?” her voice was soft, like the feel of a well worn shirt, and yet brittle. It was the sound of a voice long unaccustomed to being used. But in her question, I also heard a challenge, almost as if she were waiting for me to chain her, and make her a slave yet again.

I gave her a glance, and nearly choked on my mouthful of soup. She was sitting against the tree, with her knees pulled up to her chest. The posture was familiar to me, but the pose was wrong. Instead of hugging her knees, like most people in that pose would, she had her knees spread wide to her shoulders, exposing her sex to me. The look on her face told me she knew what most men wanted from her, and that she was willing to barter it for her freedom.

I tore my eyes away from her. If she were going to share my bed, it was going to be a choice of her own free will, not anything she believed she had to do. “I have no tongue for naming women. Sister Veritas would be better for that than I.” I explained slowly, “When we reach her, she can give you your child’s name. Now get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

By the time the sun rose, the fire had died to nothing more than a bed of embers, which took little time to build back up to a decent little blaze, to reheat the remaining soup for breakfast. The girl was amazed when I handed her another bowl of food. “You didn’t eat much with these people did you?” I whispered as I finished off the last of the food.

“Only if there was anything left,” she said sadly, looking down into her bowl, “Most of the time, I was only there because they said I was tighter than Corrine,” there was a sadness, and pain in her voice, “They only cared I was there, when they wanted to fuck me,”

I grunted, grinding my teeth slightly, realizing that the woman I had prayed over the night before, had willingly given her child up to be raped constantly. Some people simply didn’t deserve The Final Peace. I reached into the pack I had carried with me, and pulled out a small cube of home made soap and a rough cloth, and tossed them to the girl. “Go to the river, take your clothes off, and wash yourself. We’ll be leaving when you’re done.”

While she was bathing, I policed camp, dousing the fire, tightly rolling up the girl’s bedrolls. The night before I had even found a few pairs of rough socks (woven by whom, I had no idea), I left two pair, and scraps torn from one of the spare blankets near her boots. She shocked me yet again, when she walked back into camp, dripping wet, and naked. I couldn’t stop myself from casting a slightly hungry glance over her body, it HAD been almost two years since I had last been with a woman after all. Her breasts were small, still developing, and capped with pale, hard nipples, no more than hard cones that stood up off of her thin chest. Her limbs were thin, with slightly knobby joints, evidence of her malnutrition. She had long, pale, legs that flowed up into narrow, if slightly flared hips. I had to force myself to look away, when I realized that her slit was covered in a downy coating of hair. She was, in a single word, beautiful. But to act on those thoughts, would make me just as bad as those I bring The Peace of All.