The Coming From the Shadows Series
The Imperium Chronicles: Jesse
Chapter 1:
21st of December, 1872 A.D.
Farmland East of Lancaster, England
The air was pungent with the stench of burning wood and the metallic tang of blood; Jesse, a figure of fury, spun through the chaos; the farm, which had once been a sanctuary for ‘The Hunters’ that opposed the Imperium – an organisation that acted as the unifying voice of various Cultists dating back to ancient times – that farm was now nothing more than a killing field.
Crude tools lay discarded as the clash of fighting and guttural cries of men and women rung out alongside the crackling of gunfire that screamed across the landscape.
Jesse, he parried a clumsy thrust from a hulking Cultist – his sword; a Court-Sword, an elegant tool, flashed as it deflected the heavy blow with relative finesse; side-stepping before making a sudden swing with his left hand, which he gripped a reversed-gripped knife across his attacker – the heavier man was soon on the ground gurgling.
Jesse had no time to dwell as another Cultist came rushing at him bearing a manic grin; he was charging with a rusty sickle; Jesse easily sidestepped as the sickle whistled past him, but, the Cultist was left wide open, allowing Jesse to strike with his Court-Sword.
Jesse finally moved, seeing to help his fellow ‘Hunters’ in their desperate fight; every swing, every parry; each strike – they were precise, economical – the years of training had honed his body into a weapon, he moved with grace, vaulting fallen hay bales, making use of his environment to his advantage – He was the ‘Hunter’ and the Cultists, they were his Prey.
Though, the attack that day proved overwhelming – the farm was being overrun, and the adaption of the Cultists to firearms made defending what had been their safe-haven difficult; they had been struck during the night, caught unaware – now, many were dead, others fled.
Jesse; his blue eyes, usually bright with a youthful spark were now hard and focused – he scanned the carnage, searching, calculating; he spotted a carriage, its horses tethered, tearing away from the farmhouse, he was unsure where it was going, but knew it would likely be one of his fellow Hunters escaping the chaos.
1880 A.D.
London
The cacophony of the Market assaulted the senses; hawkers screamed of their wars, butchers chopped meat with brutal enthusiasm and the air itself heavy as the mingled scents of spices, fish and unwashed bodies wafted.
Jesse, his face impassive, navigated through the crowd with a practised ease; he was a ghost amongst the people, moving with a purpose despite his simple attire – a dark practical coat and rough trousers with study boots – his eyes, fixed on another working man, though beneath the cloth, muscles were coiled and senses acutely attuned.
Jesse was following a rat; a weaselly, greasy rat named; Eugene, he was a known member of the Cult of the Minotaur.
Eugene was oblivious to the predator on his tail; he darted through the market, his furtive glances betrayed his unease; making a sudden turn, Eugene disappeared down a narrow alleyway; a dark gash between two brick buildings.
Jesse continued past the alley; his pace unchanged – moving, he would reach the end of the street where he paused for a moment, then made a sharp turn – he entered the alleyway from the opposite end, cutting Eugene off, the alleyway was dark and damp – the stench of urine and decay could overwhelm the senses.
Eugene, upon spotting Jesse realised he had been followed the entire time; Jesse, he simply grinned, a predatory flash of teeth within the gloom – stepping forwards, he pulled the head of the cane in his hand; drawing a short-sword free “Eugene” he said, his voice soft, but firm “I believe we need to talk”
Eugene stammered as he backed up “I do not know you…, get away from me!”
Jesse chuckled “Don’t play coy; we both know who you are, and I know who you serve” raising the short-sword upwards, he gently nudged the tip towards Eugene, backing him up towards the alleyway wall “Now…, tell me about your operations here in London, specifically, I am interested in a certain…, cargo; I believe you and your ilk have been expecting something ‘special’, hm?”
Eugene’s bravado crumbled; he swallowed hard, his eyes darted around the alleyway looking for some way to escape – but there was none “I…, don’t know what you’re talking about”
Pressing the blade closer; Eugene could feel the tip’s sharp point “Lying isn’t going to help you Eugene” Jesse paused; he let the threat hung within the heavy air “Tell me of the cargo; where did it come from; what is its purpose?”
Fear finally broke Eugene; he began to babble, spilling secrets like a cracked vase spilling water; he spoke of shipments which arrived from Egypt, of ancient artefacts; he made mention of the aging Cult leader; Elias Smythe, he revealed the hopeful nature of the artefacts, claiming they are mean to possess unimaginable power.
Jesse listened intently, absorbing every detail; the Hunter’s had desperately fought to prevent the Imperium’s attempts to claim powerful artefacts that had previously been guarded by a mysterious ‘Guardian’ group that had begin dwindling by the early Medieval period – coinciding with the organisation of the Hunters themselves being formed to fight against the growing Imperium’s control, creating a shadowy war outside of the awareness of ordinary people.
Since the 1870s though; the Imperium had reigned unchallenged, the Hunters had been defeated, broken up and scattered; officially, they no longer existed, very few people were even aware of the Imperium’s shadowy operations, and the rare few that did, were too small in number to present a real threat.
Now knowing what the Artefacts were; Jesse knew what his next course of action was going to be.
Chapter 2:
The Port of London
The air thrummed with activity; cranes groaned under the weight of cranes, stevedores shouted orders and there was a mix of the salty tang of the river with the strong smell of coal smoke; Jesse, hidden nearby, observed the activity intensely.
He could see a group of well dressed men, some he recognised as members of the Imperium; they were gathered around a newly arrived vessel; watching as workers had begun to unload.
Jesse kept his gaze focused; trying to discern the roles and intentions of those he didn’t recognise; he observed the crates that were lowered onto waiting carts; clearly, the need for the crane indicated the crates were heavy – they were reinforced and bore no markings.
As unloading progressed, smaller crates began to be brought out; one of which was stopped; a Cultist checked its contents a moment; it was not filled with gold or jewels; but far stranger things; some were stone tablets covered with a strange unrecognisable language, some were fragments of pottery adorned with unsettling images, then, there were metallic artefacts that were brought into view – they were clearly ancient and from the reactions of some cultists they hummed with an unseen energy.
No, Jesse needed to know where they would be taking them; as the night fell, the Cultists began to depart – their carts laden with their precious cargo began to rumble out from the docks, moving for the main roads before they could depart from London; they rode their carriages, a protective group of armed men on horseback followed – Jesse also followed, but he maintained a safe distance, keeping far enough away they took little notice of him.
Days would blur into nights; Jesse would shadow the Cultists as they travelled along the River Thames; the journey took them away from London towards the sprawling countryside, but they continued onwards, Jesse refused to lose track; eventually after days of travel, their destination became clear.
A sprawling Estate along the River Thames, enclosed within high stone walls; from the exterior all one could see past the wall was a dense dark forest; as Jesse observed their direction he decided to bring his horse to a halt – he maintained a safe distance, there was a single gated entrance that the Cultists were travelling towards with heavily armed men present guarding the only way into the Estate; the rest of the wall seemed relatively unguarded.
Dismounting from his horse; Jesse ventured on foot, deeming the horse a possible give-away for his approach.
Jesse decided to circle as much of the large Estate as he could, examining for possible points of entry, though its vast size and with the River Thames on one side; he gave up further examination, deeming it too much to scout alone; instead, he looked towards the wall carefully, where he had stopped he could see the stone had weathered, offering a few precarious handholds – it would be a difficult climb, but, it would be the easiest and potentially only way of gaining access.
Taking a deep breath in; he rushed forwards, using momentum to assist as he began to scale the wall, his fingers barely finding purchase as his boots scraped against the stone I his efforts to climb; it was a slow effort but, with a struggle; he reached the top, as he peered over the wall; he could see the same dense, dark forest – he pulled himself upwards to place himself precariously on the top before leaping forwards.
He barely managed to catch the branch; his body swung around as he tried to maintain his grip narrowing his eyes as he tried to counter the swinging motion, finally stopping, he hung in place, he gripped the branch tightly before pulling himself upwards and glancing about.
He was inside.
The Smythe Manor
Within the Estates oppressive sense of atmosphere, an ominous stillness hung within the air; towards the very centre of the estate stood a large imposing gothic structure; the Smythe Manor – the windows dark and shuttered, giving off the appearance of a blind, malevolent present, stone gargoyles stood guard like silent sentinels protecting the grounds.
Inside the dimly lit study; Elias Smythe – he sat hunched over his table, he was an aging, elderly man, face etched with lines of hardship, the wrinkles of time; his eyes were clouded with age and a lifetime of dark obsession; his once imposing frame had grown frail in the last 8-Years, his voice a raspy whisper.
He was surrounded by artefacts that had been laid out across the table like pieces of some macabre puzzle; his face contorted with a mixture of frustration and longing – then, the door to his study creaked open, a group of Cultists entered cautiously, they had just brought the new artefacts, they stood before Smythe with fear etched within their faces “Well?” Elias croaked, his voice barely audible “Did you find anything of worth; anything that resonates with the power of an ancient god?”
The Cultists shuffled nervously, avoiding his gaze “We…, brought what we could find Master Smythe” one stammered “But…, none of these artefacts displayed the same power you have described; the power you encountered in Siberia”
Smythe slammed his fist against the table; it send the artefacts rattling “Incompetent fools!” he shrieked, his voice rising in a fit of rage “You brink powerless little trinkets, baubles; sometimes I suspect you lie, that you deceive, perhaps send the true items of power to the Imperium’s council instead of here as instructed!”
Rising from the chair his body trembled with fury “Get out!” he roared “Get out of my sight; you are all useless to me!”
The Cultists were quick to scurry from the study like frightened rats; they left him alone in disappointment as he sank back down on his chair, shoulders slumped forwards, his face a mask of despair – he had hoped something could be found, help him reclaim his youth, yet, once again he’d been left disappointed.
The desperation to live longer than nature allowed was pushing him, he had worked hard to build the Imperium’s power; it was his work, he did not want to share his legacy; and specifically hated the idea his son; George could actually replace him – it was a prospect that scared him, he needed to find some way to keep his position, to retain his authority and power.
Outside though, hidden in the shadows of the woodlands that surrounding the Manor; Jesse observed, he had managed to use his knowledge on stealth to avoid detection, he had been observing everything going on – Elias was right in his sights, he could strike and take revenge for the attack 8-Years prior, but not just that; if he succeeded, he could potentially cripple the Cult of the Minotaur…,or, that was his hope at least.
Written By: Westley H.
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