The Kingdom of the Sick

The Kingdom of the Sick

Despite their general air of neglect, the defenses were still taller and stronger than most great cities the commander had visited, but that wasn’t the strange part. It took almost a minute of staring at the walls before one of his men finally realized what was off.

“The sentry towers,” the man said, pointing up toward a high empty turret. “They’re facing in.”

“And the gates,” said another, examining the wide-open doors beckoning them forward. “They open out.”

They crossed the threshold with a feeling of unease, as though a heavy significance had gone unnoticed. Once inside, several of the men were sick immediately, bent double in the gutters, crippled by the smell that had not reached them outside the walls. He managed to keep his own stomach, but only just, and led the way down the main road. It was well-worn, and broad enough that they could have all walked abreast with room to spare. Instead, they moved in tight formation, each man close enough to feel his neighbor’s breath. They could feel the pressure of eyes on them every second, coming from the narrow windows of the neglected houses along the street, but no matter how fast the commander turned his head, he always seemed to just miss the watchers.

The houses matched the walls in their thickness and disrepair, but nothing else. While the walls towered imposingly over the city, with pale bricks fit too tightly together for anything to grow in the cracks, these buildings were low and squat, built with too much space between them. And still, nothing grew.

They hurried onward, looking down one barren street after another, and still they saw no faces to match the eyes they could feel on their backs. No matter which way they turned, each road seemed identical to the one before, with neither names nor markings to distinguish them. None of them said a word as they searched for the center. Try as he might, the commander could hear nothing besides the crunching of their boots, deafening in this silent city. Occasionally, he thought he heard a howl that might have been wind outside the walls, but here the air was stirred only by the breath of he and his men. Finally, he turned back to them, ready to ask if they had seen any signs of movement, even a mouse. When he spoke, his voice came out as a whisper.

“Has anyone here yet seen--” he cut off suddenly. Quickly, he counted again. “We’re two short. Where have they gone?”

The men looked around, counting and recounting themselves. A frantic search began immediately as they attempted to retrace their steps. Distance grew between each man as they searched street after street, and over the stench of the city the commander could smell the familiar scent of sweat and nerves beneath each man’s uniform. Each time he looked back, one more seemed to be missing, until at last it was only him. Alone, with no one left to see, he started running, sprinting as he never had before. He turned corner after corner, but no matter how fast he ran or which way he turned, he could not find the way out.

Finally, desperate to escape whatever had stolen his men, the commander threw all his weight against the door of one of the many identical houses. It gave way, unlocked, and he slammed it shut behind him, breathing a sigh of relief to find the place empty. His respite lasted only a moment, however, and he rushed to the window, positioning so that his eyes only barely peered over the edge, ready to duck down at any moment.

He could hear footsteps approaching.