The Eighth Trial

IN 43BH, EVERYBODY OVER THE AGE OF TEN could recall where they were and what they were doing when the world ended. For most it was sudden, over in a matter of minutes, but for others it lasted for eternity, or it seemed that way. A lone few had predicted the destruction of the ancient world long before its demise. So called cults and fortune tellers had been mocked for their asinine predictions as far back as 102BH. The earliest record of an apocalyptic prediction was found in the Old Bailey documents of 125BH from Madame Toil, an old wise woman, described with a hunched back, frazzled hair and twenty cats living in her one room caravan. She preached the word of her Lord, cautioning all that would listen of the approaching day of judgement that would see the beginning of eight deadly trials. Nobody paid her much mind, except for one lowly journalist that needed a story to fill the small three-inch gap in the next day’s newspaper.

Eighty-two years later judgement day came. Little is recorded of the first trial. Survivors were in the hundreds in the less populated areas but those that did survive had little motivation to write a lasting and credible account of their ordeal. Those that did, wrote to discussion columns and trade magazines. Travis, 28, from Leicester, recorded in an engineering trade magazine ‘the earth shook, the very foundations of Earth’s crust splintered into shards of gravel and dirt. Great cities, where underground networks had destabilised the surface, were reduced to rubble. Our only salvation was the hard ground of the midland’s peninsula’.

The second trial, the global pandemic, was the last of the first seven trials to be documented. Only two recorded accounts remain. A reassuring message of hope and strength from the British Prime Minister, written sloppily by a harried and under experienced journalist from the Daily Mirror, and a quickly scribbled missive from the Director of NHS England to the Prime Minister detailing the rapid spread and high death toll as of 2084 - 43BH in modern day terms. Only two weeks into the pandemic, the death toll was a catastrophic eighty-two million globally. One third of the first trail survivors perished in a week and more would follow.

The third trial, known only by oral stories of survivors, was simply panic. The rapid spread of the virus and high death toll threw the globe into chaos. Governments broke down, schools closed, shops were looted and law and order was shattered. The fourth through seventh trials are little known, oral accounts of which were lost through time.

The eighth trial, however, is widely documented. It is still widely written about and debated amongst professionals in the field. Classified as the most important event to have happened in the last millennium, the eighth trial holds the fascination of the modern world and the dedicated examination that comes with it.

Beginning in 4BH, the eighth and final trial, the trial of war and power, finally brought about the end of the ancient world and the dawn of a new era.

Accounts dating from 4BH to 1HE, the beginning of the modern world, are detailed in a way that most pre-modern documents were not. Eye witness accounts were written in remarkable detail by the founders while the tales of great tragedy and great heroics were still fresh in their minds. One such tale stuck out from the others and is widely considered the beginning of the Eighth Trial. Early in 4BH, sees the beginning of James no-surname-recorded’s journey, detailed below and written in collaboration by Obwole, Obwole, Lavische and Patrelli.

James had little ambition beyond standing on his own two feet, and even that was overshadowed with the daily desire of eating and sleeping. He had no ambition of power or of wealth, in fact the very notion of wealth did not exist for James. He lived by simple means in one room, shared with his older brother Isaac, surviving on scavenged tins and cans of food left behind in abandoned houses and flats.

Atypical for his age, James was loud and often overconfident in his own ability, something that Isaac was sure to mention several times a day, but that did not stop him from leaping into flats and scavenging for food alongside his brother. It certainly did not stop his desire to scavenge alone. In James’ eyes he had the skill, the knowledge and the experience to go leaping into flats unaided and unmonitored. He was confident and there was nothing wrong with that.

Isaac, on the other hand, was his polar opposite, calm, methodical and patient. Isaac was everything James was not and it came from being the responsible older brother. Isaac always ensured that they were ready for their daily chores, especially when scavenging at night, with dark black clothes and black rucksacks that would allow them to hide in the shadows.

Isaac usually picked their target with methodical observation, planning and attention to detail. He would slip in through the window, having climbed the fire escape if it was a second storey window or higher. Isaac was tall, thin and agile as he approached manhood, just latching on to the tail end of his teenage years. He was light on his feet as he moved throughout the flat quietly, avoiding the scattered furniture and artefacts.

Living rooms were often the prime location for searching, beyond the kitchen cupboards for food. Moonlight filtered into the room from the window but did little to lighten it. The window itself had been burst in, leaving glass spread across the ground. The obvious suspect to the destruction was a large block of concrete that had been thrown through the window from outside to break the window and gain access.

Isaac moved through the room quietly; taking great care to not make any more noise than was necessary. He opened drawers slowly and he gently searched through cupboards. Every movement he made was meticulously planned out. Every step he took was thoroughly considered, avoiding the shattered glass underfoot and the inevitable loud cracking noise.

Without any warning, the door swung forcefully open, crashing against the wall. Moonlight filtered in from the doorway before James stepped into the frame and blocked the light, his actions ill-considered and thoughtless.

Isaac cringed from the noise and quickly hissed for James to be quiet. A successful scavenge depended on them avoiding detection by anyone or anything. It required great consideration of the area around them and the noise that each action would make.

James, unapologetically shrugged, his eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head as he stepped forward to join his brother in the search for any useful supplies. Unfortunately for James, the very spot he placed his foot was home to a small but weakened shard of glass that cracked loudly under his foot and even James cringed at the noise.

Isaac’s shoulders tensed, his eyes flashing angrily at James.

“Sorry,” James mumbled.

“James, you need to be-” Isaacs hissed whisper was stopped abruptly as a familiar sound echoed around the flat. It was the same noise that Isaac himself had made when travelling from the bedroom window to the living room. There was one creaky floorboard only three feet from the bedroom door.

Isaac leapt forward, grabbing James’ shirt and pulling him into the far corner behind the door as quickly but as quietly as he could. Regardless of his attempts to remain silent, neither of them could deny the shuffling sound that the dramatic action had caused and the very real threat that it posed to them.

A growl pierced through the silence and a light repeated thudding sound followed. The thudding grew louder as a distinguishable pattern of four repeated over and over. It caused a moment of instant dread for both boys as they realised what their noise had attracted.

Records and oral accounts describe the beasts as horrendous creations of the eighth trial. Named Zavera’s by most, the beasts differed from beast to beast. Ranging from three feet to six feet tall, some armoured, some not; a few had horns on their head while others had a battering ball for a tail. They were not the eighth trial but they were a fatal product of it and they would only get worse.

A shadow appeared on the ground originating from the doorway forming the monstrous silhouette of a Zavera with a hefty body, a round head and two large threatening horns. It growled menacingly. The growls reverberated around the room and through James and Isaac’s body making them both shudder in fear. James and Isaac held their breath and wished that there was some way to quieten their heartbeats. The blood rushed to their ears with each loud ba bump, ba bump, ba bump.

The Zavera sniffed loudly, another low growl escaping its mouth but it did not proceed further into the room.

James and Isaac remained frozen behind the door, their muscles tensing

Its shadow finally moved on.

Both boys shared a silent sigh of relief but neither dared move an inch just yet, just in case. Isaac kept a tight grip on James’ shirt, keeping his younger brother pinned against him. He could feel James’ muscles tensing, ready to move, and tightened his grip. As seconds ticked by and the wild beast had not returned, Isaac finally released his hold on James’ shirt allowing his brother to step forward and tug his shirt back into place.

“Tug harder next time why don’t’cha.” James muttered sarcastically, lightly rubbing the area of his neck where his shirt had been pulled tightly against him. “I don’t think you ripped the seam”

Isaac rolled his eyes, “You're welcome by the way.”

“Welcome for what? I could have handled it by myself.” James protested, knowing exactly what Isaac was insinuating, as if Isaac’s presence was the only thing that kept him alive and uneaten by the beast. He muttered quietly under his breath in annoyance, “I’d be fine.”

“Sure.” Isaac drawled and flashed a quick sarcastic grin towards James before he returned to his search of the room.

James glared at his older brother’s back but didn’t argue any further. He joined his brother in searching the room in silence. They picked their way through the room and searched every draw, every cupboard, and in every crack and crevice, collecting anything of use.

“This place has been picked clean.” Isaac said, already moving back to the window. He glanced back at James with a smirk, “Think you can leave quieter than you came?”

James frowned at the jab and pushed his way past Isaac to the window, knocking their shoulders together. James squeezed his lanky frame through the window, dropping onto the ground outside. Isaac dropped down beside him and the pair walked in silence away from the decrepit apartment.

The whole area was filled with decrepit and abandoned apartment blocks. The cracked and pothole filled road between them was bare of life. No moving vehicles, no cyclists and no pedestrians. Cars were left to rust, some abandoned in the middle of the road, the doors left wide open when the occupants had to flee in a hurry.

In areas the concrete ground had cracked harshly, protruding previously buried stones and metal poles up in air, The destruction on the roads was matched only by the crumbling wreckage of some of the less stable and cheaply made apartment buildings. Piles of rubble lay untouched on the pavement below, weeds and vines already claiming the mounds as their own.

Weeds, mould, and vines covered almost all the abandoned buildings and cars. They covered the dull lifeless browns, creams and greys of the concrete road and buildings, introducing a blanket of green. The once pristine concrete jungle was becoming a city of green. In patches of weathered and worn pathways, used almost exclusively by the brothers, the blanket of green gave way to the dull colours underneath it. Trees flourished but the trunks showed significant damage from slashes and bullet holes, leaving a hint of the chaos that had once erupted on these streets.

As the brothers continued to walk, the trees and greenery started to wane as the air became thicker with a lingering smell of smoke. They were approaching what was once the industrial sector of the city. The factories and warehouses had closed long ago but the smoky air remained thick and murky. The light concrete buildings would have reflected any light given by the moon, but the murky air prevented most from getting through. The large industrial buildings all had some form of damage, from large cracks in the plaster to a collapsed wall; one had even collapsed completely, lying in a jagged and convoluted pile of rubble.

The brothers reached a metal fire escape to one of the only stable apartment buildings in the industrial area. James went to climb up, but Isaac pulled him back with an admonishing glare. James simply rolled his eyes and motioned for Isaac to go ahead. Isaac stopped climbing at the third floor and stepped off the ladder onto the metal grating with a light clang. He approached a window that was covered with a single layer of newspaper, with one little peep hole cut out. Seeing nothing through the peephole, Isaac carefully began sliding the heavy wooden window upwards. The window creaked in protest but opened just enough for Isaac to slip inside. James followed closely behind.

James closed the window behind him and the window slammed as it hit the windowsill. Isaac tensed at the noise but didn’t turn to face James nor did he say anything in admonishment. They were fairly safe in this area but it did not mean that they could be any louder in the safety of their little hidey hole than anywhere else.

James rolled down the fabric that they used to cover the window, removing all light from the room until Isaac lit a fire in the fireplace. The light from the fire flickered with the movement of the fire, casting long shadows from the furniture around the room. The room was sparsely furnished. There were two cardboard boxes, inside of which Isaac and James kept their wearable pieces of clothing. Two sleeping bags were placed on the floor in front of the fireplace and one large bottle of water was placed nearby. However, the only item that truly belonged to them was a single polaroid photograph of a happy family pinned to the wall. The focus of the photo was a mother and father with a young boy sitting in the lap of the father and a baby in the arms of the mother. The photograph was taken in the corner or the room in which it was pinned. A discarded polaroid camera lay on the ground beneath it, empty of the chemicals needed to produce more photographs.

The door to the room was kept firmly closed and barricaded. All the heavy furniture, such as the kitchen table, a once-loved lounge chair and a wooden cabinet, were piled against it. Plates and dishes, broken and unbroken, were spread across the table and had started to gather dust from the lack of use. Cutlery had been placed half-hazardly amongst them, only slightly cleaner from the occasional use that the brothers gave them.

James and Isaac both opened and emptied their scavenging bags. They had managed to collect a few cans of food and a few sets of clothes. The clothes were separated into two and thrown over into the cardboard boxes. One of the shirts missed the box, but neither boy moved to pick it up.

“A fair haul today.” Isaac declared happily as he looked over the supplies that they had gathered.

“Yeah. It’s okay.” James replied, shrugging one shoulder. “We could have twice as much if you’d let me start searching on my own. We could cover an area twice the size of what we do now.”

Isaac let out a long-suffering sigh. “James-”

“I can do it. I’d be fine.” James argued.

“No. You’d be Zavera bait in the first ten minutes.” Isaac replied dismissively. “You attract them like bees to a pot of honey.”

“I do not.” James grumbled annoyed. “And bees aren’t attracted to honey. They make it.”

Isaac laughed in false amusement and shook his head, “You're too loud. You run into things without thinking. You’ll just get yourself killed.”

James grumbled to himself, glaring at the ground and choosing to ignore his brother rather than continuing to argue. He would return to the topic later, just as he had twenty-seven times previously.

An opened can of food appeared in his eyeline. He glanced up to see Isaac offering him the food. A swiss knife was in Isaac’s other hand from using it to pry open the can. James took the food, neglecting to say thank you in his annoyed mood. He glanced inside and saw the familiar light red sauce that often came with baked beans. James looked over to see Isaac opening a can of vegetables for himself.

James sighed and quietly said, “Thanks.”

Isaac nodded towards him. “Eat up. Long day ahead.”

James grabbed one of the discarded forks to eat with and grumbled, “It’s always a long day ahead.”