Pure of Heart

Chapter 6





The storm had moved on by the next morning, and the sun had appeared in the sky, a rare event for Northrend. It was still cold, but the brightness somehow made it less of a stinging cold and more refreshing and brisk.



Or maybe that's just the way Meleager was feeling. He had slept a large part of the previous day, with Calyn by his side. It hadn't occurred to him how exhausted they both were, but with the storm they had both fallen into a deep, undisturbed sleep after they had made love. Calyn seemed better, more cheerful and happy. She had playfully kissed him when he woke, brightly smiling for the first time since he had met her.



Soon after dawn, they were on the road again. She sat behind him, her head resting on his back and her hands around his waist. Even though he still had his mission well in mind, he felt a strong sense of contentment and happiness with life right now.



Around noon he spotted another outpost along the road, and debated whether or not to pass it by. He had his resolve to not involve anymore civilians, since someone seemed out to get him, so he quickly decided to stick with that decision. Something itched in the back of his mind though, a sense that something wasn't entirely right.



He scanned it for any signs of life as they passed, but couldn't see anyone. It wasn't terribly early, there should be activity. He reigned in his horse and listened for any sign of life.



“What is it?” Calyn said after a minute.



“I don't know,” he answered and got off the horse, “wait here.”



He drew his sword and carefully made his way to the main building, listening for any sound and scanning the area for any sign of life. There were a few foot prints in the snow, which had not been cleared yet. He judged them to be human, going back and forth between the main building and a smaller shed. As he approached the door, he thought he heard some noises, like sighing, perhaps even a sob. With painstaking care, he quietly eased the door open, and his heart skipped a beat.



A middle aged man was lying on the floor, clutching at his throat and twitching as his face was turning more and more ashen. The remains of an apple core lay next to him, and the smell it gave off made Meleager's blood run cold. He knew what it was, he had seen this before, he had smelt that smell before.



“P-please,” the man rasped desperately, “help us.”



“I can't,” Meleager whispered helplessly, “you have the Scourge Plague.”



The man's eyes went wide and he let out a pathetic wail of despair. Meleager felt useless went to make the man more comfortable, finding a blanket in one of the cupboards and laying it on him. The man shook his head and pushed it away.



“Help us,” he said, with much more resolve.



“I'm sorry, my magic cannot purify this plague.”



“Paladin,” the man said staring him right in the eye, “end my suffering, and the suffering of the others. Give me your word on the light that they will not suffer or rise again.”



Meleager understood and nodded gravely, “I give you my word, I will not let you or your ken suffer.”



The man nodded with satisfaction and closed his eyes, preparing himself. Meleager stood up over him, and whispered a silent prayer as he brought the sword down on his neck, severing his head in one stroke. Blood splattered on the floor and his boots and the body twitched for a minute before finally going still.



Meleager took a deep, shuddering breath, steeling himself for the task at hand. He had given his word, he would see it through.



He went into the back of the building, where the dining room should be, and found a small group of people lying on the floor around the table of half eaten food. They were about his age, four men and two women, all had eaten the food he could see, all were infected. Two of the men were not even moving, and were well on their way to the change. Meleager quickly dispatched them the same way he had killed the first man, severing their heads. There was a half strangled scream behind him as he killed the second one, and he turned to see one of the women had propped herself up on a chair and was staring at him in horror.



“I'm sorry,” he said and started to walk towards her.



“No,” she wailed, and fell back onto the floor. She tried to scramble backwards, but was already weak and couldn't get very far. Meleager looked down on her with remorse and raised his sword again.



“NO!” the shout came from behind and Meleager was knocked down onto the floor. He twisted himself around and faced his attacker, one of the other men. He was pale, sweaty and his eyes were crazed. He wrapped his hands around Meleager's neck and tried to choke him.



“Elena! Get out of here!”



Meleager could hear the woman scrambling away. He punched the man square in the face, his armored fist knocking out a few teeth as the man was thrown off, clutching his face. Meleager was back on his feet, sword in hand.



“Curse you!” the man screamed as Meleager brought his sword down swftly, cleaving his head in two. Blood splattered all over the place, including onto Meleager. The two others in the room were had also managed to get on their feet and the remaining woman tried to throw herself at him in a rage. Meleager had all the time in the world to swing his sword, catching her in her midsection and burying itself into her side.



She fell back onto the table, dead instantly, but his sword was caught in a rib, and he couldn't pull it out before the last man rushed at him with a cleaver. Melager released his sword and ducked out of the way easily. The man swung round wildly as Meleager moved to his back and wrapped his arms around his shoulder, holding him fast.



The man was not a trained fighter, and was clearly very ill. It didn't take much for Meleager to knock him onto his stomach. He turned and grabbed his sword, putting his foot on the table and pulling it out with one good yank. The other man was on him as he turned around and Meleager was knocked back onto the table, his sword between him and the crazed man's hatchet. He lifted up one leg and planted it firmly in his opponent's torso, giving it a good push. The man stumbled back, regained his footing and rushed him again. This time, he had enough opportunity to take the swing and the man's head fell to the ground, followed by his body.



He stood for a moment, trying to get his heart to stop racing and catching his breath. He was covered in blood, but he knew it wasn't that that made him want to throw up. He was killing innocents, they had done nothing wrong, but he was savagely murdering them. He held back tears and tried to refocus, he still had to get one of them. Taking a deep breath, he regained composure and raced out the door.



The door to the outside was still closed he saw, but he could see that had not been her intention. She was struggling to get up the stairs, tears streaming down her face. When she saw him, she screamed and tried to move faster.

“I'm sorry,” he said quickly as he rushed over to her, “you have the plague, I promised-”



She wasn't listening, she was screaming incoherently and trying desperately to get up. He felt his heart in his throat as he tried to give a prayer to the light, but he found it difficult. Finally he let out a sob and his voice came stronger.



“May the light cleanse you, may you find peace and happiness in its presence.”



He brought down his sword, the sickening thud and squelching of blood and flesh seemed louder than the screaming that was now silenced. His sword had gone right through her heart, and after a moment's twitching she stopped moving. His senses were coming back to him, and the first thing that hit was the smell. Blood and guts mixed with loosed bowels. He had smelt it before, but now it seemed to sting his eyes and his lungs.



He dropped his sword in exhaustion and slid down the wall onto the floor with a sob. Tears were now flowing down his face as the sheer horror of what just happened hit him. A small inner voice kept trying to tell himself that he had done what he had to. These people were dead, and he had spared them from suffering, and once he burned their bodies, he could be assured that they would not rise. He had to move quickly though.



And then he heard the scream.



It was in one of the rooms upstairs. A sharp, high pitched scream. Without even thinking, he grabbed his sword and ran up the stairs. Another scream came, and another, and he quickly found the room. He opened the door to a horrifying tableau.



Two children, no more than 8, were huddled in the corner, clutching each other, while a third, slightly older child, was wrestling with what appeared to be an elderly lady. He could smell the undeath coming from her and quickly ran in to dispatch her.



He wedged himself between them and shoved the child back towards the others, while he faced the ghoul. She screeched and swung her malformed hands at him. He summoned up holy light and forced it at her. Her anguished screams filled the room as his Exorcism spell tore threw her and destroyed her utterly.



Meleager turned warily towards the children. They all looked normal, he realized with relief. He crouched in front of them and tried to look at non threatening as possible, which was difficult when he was covered with blood. The two younger children looked unharmed and the older one just had a few scratches.



“Its alright, its over now.”



“Grandmother,” one of the younger children whimpered. He and the other little one then sobbed loudly. Meleager could do nothing more than put a comforting hand on the child's shoulder.



“You're a paladin aren't you,” the older child said, shakily.



“Yes I am,” he said trying to smile reassuringly, “my name is Meleager, what is your name?”



“Hammond,” he said, “and this is my sister Dru and my brother Villem.”



“What happened, Hammond?”



The boy took a deep shuddering breath, and began talking in a broken voice. He wanted to cry, Meleager realized, and had good reason to, but was putting on a brave face for the other two.



“Grandmother, she...she just attacked us. I don't know. She got up first like she always does and got food from the storage shed. She cooked breakfast for the others, and then came upstairs. She always eats while she's cooking and is always saying its better to keep us out of the way in the morning, so she brings ours up here. She was kind of sick today though, and went to her room to lie down. We were eating our breakfast when she came in and just...”



He trailed off, upset and traumatized. His eyes were wet with tears as he continued, “and then there was the screaming and.....Meleager? What's wrong?”



Meleager had gone sheet white. He was staring at the bits of food that were scattered around the room. Slowly, he reached out and grabbed some dried fish and sniffed it. He then put it down and smiled at the boy.



“Nothing, nothing is wrong, its all over now.” He reached out and gently took the boy into his arms. Hammond sobbed and let himself be hugged, realizing that he didn't have to be the adult here. He let it all out and sobbed until there was a barely audible snap, and then was silent.



Meleager lay his limp body on the floor and quietly went to the other children who were still crying and hadn't noticed what had just happened. They looked up at him bewildered and frightened, but not of him at least.



“Where's mama?” the little girl asked.



“Don't worry,” he said kneeling down, “you will be with her soon.”







None of the bodies had had time to reanimate by the time he had finished his work. The several small fires he had started in the house were now starting to catch, and as he left he could hear it roaring in the upper part of the house.



He stepped outside into the wintery sun, which that morning had seemed so warm and inviting, but now chilled him to the bone. Or perhaps he was just numb. He wasn't sure. He didn't seem to be aware of much but the heat of the fire, which was now engulfing the house, and the smell of blood and death on him. He went to the storage shed with a burning brand he had saved from the house, and threw it in.



When he turned around he finally noticed Calyn was standing behind him, starting at him with wide eyed horror. He walked passed her and made his way to his horse, moving like a construct, automatically and without feeling.



“Meleager,” she asked, worried, “What happened?”



He didn't answer, but went about checking his horse's saddle, and making ready to move on again. He couldn't bear to look at her, to see the fear in her eyes. All he knew he could do was to get away from this place, as soon as possible.



A small hand gently touched his shoulder, and he could feel the numbness that had gotten him across the outpost and to his horse was draining away. Pain filled his heart and before he could stop himself, he was on his hands and knees, gasping and sobbing between violent convulsions of retching. He could feel her resting her head on his back, her arms under his holding him steady.



Finally he had nothing else in his stomach and he sobbed freely. She rubbed his back comfortingly and tried to soothe him with gentle whispers.



“They had the plague,” he cried, “they were poisoned...and I killed them.”