him, a corner of my brain remained on the woman in the purple chair.
Who had she been? What faction did she represent? Had I come across her before?
For all that she was the reason for my failure today, I found her unwillingly fascinating, and longed to know more.
TWELVE
MORSE
THE ABYSS
I was not certain how many days had passed since I found myself abandoned in this dangerous place, the Abyss. How I had come to arrive here in the first place, I was not certain. The reasons for such did not much concern me, though, for I imagined my arrival here was part and parcel of a much larger plan for which I was not granted awareness.
The name of the township in which I now found myself was Mayhem, a designation fitting to the nature of the settlement.
Mayhem was hardly a town or even a village as there existed no governing law. Simply put, ‘twas every man for himself. Chaos ruled supreme with no place for law or order. The hundred or so souls who called this town home lived in squalor, their only property the clothes upon their backs. A few of them had attempted to build shelters from wood and branches but most of the huts were quickly destroyed by wind, heavy rain or fellow dwellers.
The incidence of death was extremely high. There was a bonfire that was forever burning on the far end of the settlement where the tenants would relocate the dead, adding the bodies to the pyre. The odor of burning flesh was one that was initially intolerable, but after my second day here, I could not say I noticed it.
Men out populated women five-to-one and all existing women as well as new arrivals were quickly made the property of the strongest men within the stronghold. It did not come as a big surprise that most of the women were with child or recently had been.
The entire population, save for myself, lived on the south side of the settlement, all of them in fear of the forests that covered the majority of the perimeter. Stories pervaded of horrendous creatures that lived among the trees, eager to sup on flesh. Of course I attributed the stories to nothing more than the musings of wallopers. For myself, I preferred the quiet and tranquility of the woodland and had made it my home for as long as I could remember. The only time I ventured to settlements such as this one was to trade for supplies.
“Catch this, ye bloody bastard!”
My response time was not what it should have been, for no sooner did I turn around, then I found myself covered in loose and runny shite. The rank smelling and steaming lump hit me square in the chest, exploding outward to cover my neck, arms and a bit landed upon my kilt. The roaring laughter from the bampots behind me did not upset me any more than the steaming shite already had.
My pride was wounded and my anger incited, but I knew better than to approach them. Aye, a fighter I was but I was also aware of my limits. I could not take the five of them. Try and I was fairly certain I’d be gubbed.
“D…d…don’t mind them,” Scrote, my only companion, stuttered whilst rubbing his hands together as he did when fashed or nervous. The name Scrote was “Scrotum” shortened and ‘twas the title given him by the bloody neepheids of this settlement. For his own self, he did not remember his real name, thus he adopted the crude title as though he had been born with it. I had only met Scrote within the last two days, within this shitty settlement.
“Aye, I dinnae give a feck aboot the dobbers,” I answered, not sparing them a backwards glance. From the moment I had awakened in this shit place, the inhabitants of Mayhem had regarded me with suspicion. Some had first mistaken me for a god, mayhap owing to my large size. Or perhaps their confusion arose from the fact that I was only dressed in a kilt, the sporran around my waist and the crude boots I had fashioned for myself from animal pelts. Once the bampots realized I was no god, their suspicion turned to reproach.
“J...j…just let’s be moving onward.” Scrote attempted to smile but then his shoulders began jerking, his neck mimicking the same rough motion, as his eyes blinked in quick procession. ‘Twas his nervous tick, or so he had named it. As a rule,