Chapter 4: Opus Amarum

In the darkness of the night, after I meditate, and seek my center. After I make peace between the man I have become in The Abbey, and the man I am forced to be in The World After. I dream. My dreams are never haunted by the men and women I am forced to bring The Peace of All. The choices they made, and the actions they took, all lead them down the path to their own ruin. Instead my dreams are often visited by those I was unable to save, but only able to avenge.

The night after we welcomed Nadia to The Abbey, my dreams were dark, and haunting. My mind, caught in memories dredged up by Veritas’ story, catapulted me back in time. And in all of its sickening detail I was back in Yellow Mike’s slave camp.

The slaver’s camp was, one of, if not THE single most revolting place I can ever recall. The pleasure camps of The Austere, for all of their twisted depravity, are at least clean. Yellow Mike’s camp was filthy. Refuse from poorly butchered animals was piled to rot on top of human exriment running out of the slave pens. The poorly constructed huts for Yellow Mike’s crew were filthy, and stank of old sweat, and grime. The memories of the vile scents, and sights, assaulted my mind, and even though something within my mind screamed at me to awake. I couldn’t.

Vader had been Yellow Mike’s prized dog. I will always remember how his muscles seemed to ripple under his sleak, black coat. And how he was always willing to snap at anyone who came too close to him. The short time my brother Steffan and I had been in that camp, we had come to despise that dog.

We were thrust inside the fence of the fighting ring. The sight of the bowl of scraps in the center of the ring bringing audible growls from our empty stomachs. The thought of food, was quickly banished as Vader was lead into the ring across from us. A shout from Yellow Mike, and Vader sprang. I could clearly see the terror in Steffan’s eyes, as the large black dog hurtled towards us. I acted without thought, throwing my body into the path of the charging Vader. The impact blew the breath from my lungs as he slammed into my chest. Landing on my back, with Vader on top of me, I remember screaming as I felt his teeth tear into my forearm.

The feeling of my own blood running down into my face, as I struggled to keep those teeth from my face and throat, was terrifying. The feeling of relief as Vader yelped in pain, Steffan’s kick to his ribs causing him to jump away from me, was palpable. As I struggled to my feet I saw the huge beast launch itself at Steffan, teeth snapping, tearing gouges into Steffan’s shoulder. As Steffan screamed in terror, and pain, I don’t recall my own emotions. All I can remember is my younger brother needing my help. A haze overcame me. The terrible wrongness of it all filling my heart with a fire I hadn’t even known existed to that point. Yellow Mike had killed our father. His men had raped, and butchered our mother. They had burned our home. Killed and enslaved the people from our small farming settlement. And now he wanted to take my brother from me as well!

Suddenly I was no longer afraid. All I saw was Vader, trying to take Steffan away from me too. I ran to Steffan, hearing him beg for me to help. And wrapping my arms around Vader’s neck, I pulled. I pulled with all of the strength I had. I pulled with all of the pain Yellow Mike had dropped into my world. And most of all I pulled with a rage I had never known I was capable of. Suddenly Vader was no longer snapping and snarling at us. With a warbling whine of pain, and fright, he was suddenly twisting and pulling against my body, trying to free himself from my grip. Paws flailing, nails digging painful gouges into my chest and stomach, I locked my legs around his back and twisted. A grating snap, and a pitiful yelp of pain, and Vader lay still.

I ignored the stunned silence. All that mattered was making sure Steffan was alright. He was bleeding, but the bites weren’t all that bad. We were both going to have scars, but like our father had told us, “A man without scars is a man who has done nothing worthwhile.”. I looked up at Yellow Mike, his almond shaped eyes staring at me in disbelief, as I made sure Steffan was fed. When I heard the crack. The side of his head exploded, and he pitched forward into the ring. Dead.

Our savior moved like a wraith. Silent. Stalking those who had destroyed our home, with deadly intent. The small axe in his hand flashing like the hand of death itself. His dark leather coat spattered with the blood of those who tried to stop him. And then I saw him. Alistair had forced me to watch as he had slit my mother’s throat. His broken smile leering at me as his belly rolled with sadistic laughter. And now he knelt behind one of the slave pens, the same knife that had torn my mother from me, waiting to do the same to the man who had come to our rescue.

I don’t recall how the rock had come into my hands. Only that it was large, and heavy. And somehow it seemed to fit my grip perfectly. A resounding crack fills my ears, as I bring the stone crashing into Alistair’s head. I remember screaming, and crying, as I hit him again, and again. And I remember hearing the gentle voice of Elder Monk for the first time. “Peace boy.” I remember looking up through tear stained eyes into the broad brown face of my savior, as he smiled gently down at me. “Be proud boy. You did men’s work today.”

I woke from my dream with a yell. Sweat cooling on my skin causing me to shiver. Gasping for breath, I stared, unseeing, at my small chamber. My eyes still witnessing the fetted rot of Yellow Mike’s camp. When a small pair of arms wrapped themselves around me from behind, and began gently shaking me.

“Bishop!?” the voice was sweet, but full of fear. “Bishop, wake up! It was only a dream!” I turned my head to see the frightened violet eyes that had captivated me since I first saw them, staring at me in worry. Nadia wrapped her arms around my neck, sighing in relief, when she saw my face soften. “I heard you yelling in your sleep. I tried waking you up, but I couldn’t.” She whispered through a slight sob.

I felt two small, gentle hands guide me back to my bed, as my breathing slowly returned to normal. My eyes were closing again, slowly drawing me back to sleep, when I felt my bed shift. I was surprised to feel Nadia’s naked body snuggle into my own. Her naked back felt cool, and wonderful, as she molded her body against mine. “Goodnight Bishop.” she whispered softly. The last thing I remember before my mind slipped back into oblivion, was a tiny hand on my wrist, guiding it up to rest on a small, firm, breast. Followed by a contented sigh from the beautiful girl sharing my bed.

I sat at the foot of my bed, looking at Nadia as she slept. Her hands clutching the small pillow I had vacated when I awoke. It almost seemed like she was searching for me, even in her sleep. It still stunned me to think that, in the wilds of The World After, I had found someone of such beauty, who seemed inexplicably drawn to me. I only hoped, as I sat there looking at her beautiful features, that one day she would understand why I had to wait.

I was gone by the time Nadia awoke. I felt I had to leave, for both of our sakes. I knew what she desired us to become. And, much to my own shame, I was unsure if I would be able to deny the urges she inspired in me. I needed Nadia to understand, that if I was going to take her as my woman, that it had to be her decision, as well as my own. And not just something she felt she had to do.

The rising sun found me, in the training yard with three of our oldest novices. These were young men, and women, who might one day become full fledged Justice Bringers. Their physical prowess honed to near perfection. All that was now required for them was to accept that, to do the duty of a Justice Bringer, meant not only being able to kill. But to know how to accept the responsibility that that ability entailed. They were nearly ready for that. But training never ended in a world that could kill the unprepared in more ways than could be counted.

The seasoned sticks we used for sparring might not kill you if struck. But they certainly drove home the point sufficiently. The Peace of All has no established form. The blending of so many styles of fighting made such things impossible. A Justice Bringer takes that which works best for them from all of the ancient forms, and makes it their own. And this was today’s lesson All three of our novices had been training with Sister Veritas and I for more than three years. And they had mastered their chosen disciplines. But could they fight together against a superior foe? This we were about to find out.