Adjucanis: Gate
When Adjucanis collapsed in front of Filistion’s southerly gate four days after he killed the Titan of Ephraa, he could say only one thing, “Water.”
It was another two days, and countless units of saline solution and blood plasma, before the only rogue Warden in the city’s history regained consciousness. Instead of seeing the bright lights of the hospital overhead as he expected, Adjucanis was greeted with the veined marble ceiling of a jail cell.
Turning his head to one side brought another marble wall into view. Turning it the other way brought marble bars into view, along with a guard sitting across the hall, idly picking his teeth. Adjucanis tried to call out to him, but could only cough as his unused larynx rebelled.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Adjucanis,” the guard said, looking along his narrow, pointed snout. The crocodile grunted. “You’ve been out for several days. Some thought you would never awake.”
“Why here?” Adjucanis asked.
“Here? Ah, you mean the cell. Commander Cerburel wasn’t inclined to keep you in the hospital. Actually, he wasn’t inclined to let you keep your head when you stumbled back through the gate, but the city council interceded. Your actions at Jeruder and intercepting that Maroe raid on its way to Filistion balanced out you abandoning us. The commander thought this was a more appropriate, ah, accommodation for you while they debated what to do with you.”
“You are Jardiocus, yes?”
“I am.”
“Well met, Jardiocus.”
The guard tapped his blunt claws to his low forehead in an informal salute. “Well met, Adjucanis.”
Memories of leaving Jeruder, literally running into a Maroe raiding party, fighting tooth and claw in the middle of the desert, losing another speeder, and the ages-long walk back to Filistion tumbled through Adjucanis’ mind before he blinked once, perhaps twice, and surrendered himself to sleep.
A clanging brought him back to consciousness. It echoed in the small cell and drilled into his skull, bouncing around and forcing Adjucanis’ eyes open. He looked to the bars, expecting to find Cerburel there with a long dagger. Instead it was a hunched Ibis with disheveled feathers. The tall bird gazed at him with one large, round eye. He wore the long, deep red robes of a scholar.
“Hello, Adjucanis. I am Percervral, the master historian of Filistion. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” The bird cocked his head to one side.
“I’m afraid I have not.”
“Not surprising. Few in this city even know I exist, let alone know my name.” Percervral sighed, eyes flicking back and forth over the jailed Warden. “I have little time, unfortunately. I had to bribe your guard friend with a sack of jerky and box of tooth whitener just to get five minutes alone with you. You’re under strict guard.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
“Indeed. But! Enough pleasantries. Everyone is talking about you killing the Titan of Ephraa. It is impressive. Very impressive.” Percervral held up his gnarled hands. “However, I am not here to congratulate you. I’m here to tell you what you killed. No one knew what it was. Not you. Not Cerburel. Not the Maroe at Ephraa. I had to dig deep into the city’s archives, down into rooms not visited in generations. Locks were rusted. Water dripped from the ceilings. Dirty place, down there.
“I found it in one of the last books Historian Escurtrius wrote before she died. She was the first master historian—a most impressive cataloguer. She spoke with a veteran of the Spawn Extinguishment. Have you heard of this?”
Adjucanis shook his head. He found himself edging in his cot back toward the wall. The gleam in Percervral’s eyes was something bordering on madness.
“It’s such a rare thing to get a firsthand account of that. It’s almost a legend. The Races of Old created these Robots to fight Spawn, creatures of chaos from beyond Ocost. They ravaged our planets. Killed millions. Escurtrius wrote they could be small as sheep or large as cities like the Titan of Ephraa.” Percervral clicked his beak. “Tell me. How many more Spawn were there when you killed the titan? Six? A dozen? Twice that? I must know.”
“Just the titan,” Adjucanis said, still wondering if the bars were meant to keep him in or Percervral out.
“The one? How strange.”
Adjucanis asked the question before he realized it was passing his lips.
“Should there have been more?”
“More? More? Certainly there should have been more. Where you find one Spawn you find a multitude. One that size could attract hundreds—thousands,” Percervral said, fluttering his robe. “They are still with us. Yes. They could be small, hiding in a forest on Xydak, or massive as the one at Ephraa and hiding under Cryce’s snows.”
A heavy knock sounded at the hall door. Percervral’s head snapped around, and he nodded.
“Our time is up. Congratulations on your accomplishment, Adjucanis. It is indeed one for our histories.” Percervral bowed at the waist and then strode down the hall, only to quickly scurry back, shoving his beak against the bars. “How strange. I suppose I did come to congratulate you after all. Congratulations.”
With that, the historian scuttled back up the hallway in a rustle of robes, leaving Adjucanis alone with visions of Spawn crawling the walls of Filistion and pouring down its streets.
Cerburel did not appear before the cell bars for another two days. When he did, Adjucanis noted with some amusement the commander was wearing his ceremonial gilded headdress and chest plate. However, the pair of gold and erril hybrid concussive shotguns holstered at Cerburel’s waist erased the smirk from Adjucanis’ lips. The two jackals stared at each other, standing on opposite sides of the cell bars and silently daring the other to speak first.
Seeing as he had nowhere else to be, Adjucanis didn’t see himself breaking the impasse.
“The city council has made a decision, Adjucanis. They have instructed me to offer you a position in your former phalanx as a Warden in order to fill its ranks from the disaster at Ephraa. You will serve as a Warden for the rest of your days and will never again attain a leadership role,” Cerburel said, his voice tight.
Adjucanis said nothing.
“My initial impulse to banish or execute you immediately was deemed rash by the council. I must admit they were right. Killing the Titan of Ephraa aside, you singlehandedly engaged a Maroe raid bound for Filistion. We were unaware of its existence until a patrol found the remains. It was an impressive feat—much as the Agoans of Jeruder argue your performance there may have saved their city,” Cerburel continued, as he began tapping his claws against a shotgun’s grip. “You can accept this offer or you can leave Filistion to find life elsewhere. You will not be allowed to stay here unless you are a Warden. The council allowed me that much, at least. I require an answer now. Either you serve Filistion—though your oath is hardly worth the breath it’s carried on at this point—or you leave. There is no time for consideration.”
Adjucanis nodded, looking Cerburel squarely in the eyes.
“I’ve been told I killed a Spawn,” he said, the word still awkward in his mouth.
Cerburel’s eyebrow cocked. He stopped tapping on the grip.
“So Percervral managed to talk to you, did he? I repeatedly denied his requests, but apparently I have other Wardens who do not follow my orders.”
“He said there are more Spawn out there.”
“So he told me. Were there other Spawn near Jeruder?”
“No. There were not.”
“Have you seen any others? Any additional mythological creatures storming our gates?”
Adjucanis’ glare could have incinerated plate steel.
“No,” Cerburel said, “I thought not. The Maroe, however, are out there. You know this intimately. You can protect this city and its people from an existential threat to their very lives. Your skills—dare I say your talents—cannot, should not, be wasted on pursuing ancient ghosts long since past.”
“I swore an oath.”
“To yourself. We have discussed this.”
“Yes. We have.”
Cerburel huffed impatiently. He leaned forward, nearly pressing his head to the bars as Percervral did days before. “What is your answer?”
“If there are still Spawn in Ocost then I must destroy them. I have sworn to annihilate anything related to the beast at Ephraa, and I will do so,” Adjucanis said, never hesitating. “If that means I must leave Filistion, then so be it.”
“Oath-breaker,” Cerburel spat.
Stepping back from the bars, Cerburel waved at the guards down the hall. One carried a knapsack, while the other unlocked Adjucanis’ cell. The two guards flanked him while Cerburel led them out of the cell block, across the training yard, and through the streets of Filistion.
Citizens pointed and whispered as Adjucanis walked past, and he purposefully ignored what they were saying. Even still, the phrases “rogue Warden,” “titan killer,” and “banished disgrace” filtered through to his ears. Cerburel marched the group down Amigen Boulevard and Adjucanis realized he was being sent out through the southerly gate—appropriate, at least.
His former phalanx was standing guard there, and none of them met his gaze as they lined up on opposite sides of the open gate. Each one stood at attention, eyes fixed at something just above Adjucanis’ head as he walked by. Cerburel stopped just before the threshold and turned to his former Warden.
“You officially renounce your position with Filistion’s Wardens and break your oath with her people?” he intoned.
“I do indeed,” Adjucanis said, never shrinking from the words. He refused to look ashamed or remorseful for what he needed to do.
Cerburel nodded, and as he walked past Adjucanis he leaned in close.
“Then don’t bother coming back,” Cerburel hissed.
With that, the Warden Commander shoved Adjucanis through the gate. The doors immediately began swinging shut, and within moments they came together with a definitive clunk.
Adjucanis shouldered the knapsack, feeling the containers of bread and water knocking against his grieves and bracers. He set off into Sareste’s desert under the Orb’s bright light, never once looking back.