The Kakos Realm Collection

by Christopher D Schmitz

  Tired, they willingly accepted his company and Rashnir walked back to the encampment with them. They bent his ear to their current woes and unburdened their hearts.

  Later, Kevin returned and joined them as they shared a sober meal around the campfire.

  “I sense that things did not go well with the kil-yaw’.”

  “Not well at all,” Zeh-Ahbe’ stated. He hid his face in his hands with frustration. “I did all that I could. I did. But despite all of my passion, despite my conviction to Truth, and despite my prayers, I failed. I stuttered; I fumbled when I spoke; I was not eloquent. I spoke poorly and unconvincingly. I failed, and none of the kil-yaw’ looked favorably on the Truth. Kevin, I feel responsible for their choice.”

  “No. No, you are not responsible,” Kevin comforted. “It is not up to you in the least, Zeh-Ahbe’. The only thing that you can do is remain faithful to the Holy Spirit’s direction and preach His message. It is up to the Spirit to move in the hearts of people and convince them of the truth. It is already hard enough in this place, where the Holy Spirit is supernaturally oppressed, but it is not up to you. The choice still remains theirs alone. We cannot force the truth into anyone; we can only present them with an honest choice.”

  Kevin continued, “No matter how much you desire for someone to accept faith, it is still something that only an individual can choose for themselves. Sometimes we must let people make their own choice—even when that choice willfully condemns oneself. What you can do is pray for them; pray that the Spirit continues tugging at their hearts and working on their minds. It is only between them and God, now.”

  Zeh-Ahbe’ nodded his head. He understood in his mind, even if not yet with his heart.

  “They may have hardened their souls or seen your witness as a sign of weakness. You cannot be blamed for those who would sear their hearts against the Truth. I have personally found that the more power or wealth a person has accumulated, the easier it is for them to reject God. From what you have told me about the kil-yaw’, it seems that they desire personal power and self-glory above all else. It will be hard for them to come to a place of true acceptance, but you can pray; through Christ, all things are possible.”

  Silence grew and Rashnir stood to leave.

  “With all of this talk about people in our past, those who deserve to hear the truth, I suddenly feel like I need to go and speak with someone that I know.”

  “Do you need company?” Kevin asked.

  “No,” he replied. “I don’t think that you could elude the security posts I’m sure to encounter.”

  Rashnir departed for Grinden, leaving his friends behind to wonder who he’d left to visit.

  ***

  Rashnir crept through the familiar shadows in hallways that he’d once frequented; he knew them by memory. He picked a lock, entered, and found a spot to conceal himself, waiting for his mark to arrive.

  After some time, the entrance to the room opened slowly. A familiar silhouette stepped into the light shed by the door ajar.

  The man who entered hesitated for a fraction of a second and drew his sword.

  “Come out of there!” demanded Jaker.

  “You come in here,” retorted Rashnir.

  “You. Have you come to try and kill me?” Jaker’s voice hinted at no fear.

  “No. I came here to tell you the truth about who killed Harmarty.”

  Jaker stepped into his own personal quarters and closed the door behind him. He lit a lantern and laid down his sword. “Put down your weapon, Rashnir. I heard about how you obtained it, but it still does not make it legal—your scars may have disappeared, but that doesn’t overturn the law.

  “I do believe that I already know the answer to this mystery, or at least I am pretty sure of it. Between the two suspects, I have my favorite. But, do tell me: who killed Harmarty?”

  “Two suspects?”

  “Well, there is you, of course.”

  Rashnir bowed as if his reputation had preceded him.

  Jaker continued, “There are those who believe that our new king had too much to gain by his predecessor’s death to be entirely blameless.”

  “And which do you believe, detective?”

  “I think that all evidence indicates it was your doing, but I still have suspicions about Rutheir. Those suspicions were very strong, up until I saw that you had broken away so cleanly from the gutters.”

  “I came to share with you the truth. I come as a friend, not to confess. This is strictly off of the record, agreed?”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Jaker said. “I am not in charge of the investigation anymore, anyway; those reins have been turned over to Pinchôt. You might know him: weasely little guy, but he’s got ambition and some modicum of skill. He loves and hates your legacy all at the same time. He took over, per King Rutheir’s request; the big shot came to see me today. He’s in town for some big to-do tomorrow.”

  “A memorial service, I know. I want you to understand the truth of the entire situation because you are my last remaining friend from a previous life.”

  “Oh, please, Rashnir. We were merely acquaintances. I was Kelsa’s friend; we were men with one love in common. Kelsa was like a sister to me and you took her away.”

  “Actually, Jaker, you knew her so well because your surrogate family was close to hers. Your family spent that much time with Rogis’s family on purpose. It was not common knowledge, but Rogis was quite the lover; there is a strong chance that you actually were Kelsa’s brother—she was Rogis’s daughter, not Mind’s. We will never know, now.”

  A spark of anger ignited deep in Jaker’s pupils; his eyes darted to his sword.

  “You misunderstand, Jaker. I do not intend to slight her memory, nor Rogis’s. I tell you the truth,” Rashnir said, looking him eye to eye and soul to soul, “I did not kill Rogis. He was the closest thing to a father that I ever had. Harmarty killed Rogis.”

  Something broke inside of Jaker. The Ranger finally recognized that Rashnir spoke the truth. “Tell me what happened.”

  Rashnir explained to Jaker how the evidence all fit. He spoke of the conversations that he’d had with Kelsa and that many others knew how Harmarty desired Kelsa even though he could not have her. He told Jaker about the repeated confrontations that he and his mentor, Rogis, had with Harmarty.

  He explained his final refusal, the assassination attempt, and how Rogis approved of his marriage to Kelsa. They thought they could reason with the corrupt Harmarty. Rashnir explained how the king blindsided Rogis, how even though Rashnir had defeated Shimza the Greater in combat, he was still captured. He related how the delusional monarch rode off to claim a bride who refused him at the cost of her own life and of the accident as explained to him by his servant, Dane.

  “Kelsa was everything to me,” Rashnir stated flatly. “She was my reason for living. I ended up in the gutter because I had lost my taste for life once Kelsa left it. I had no reason to exist any longer. The desire for vengeance consumed my life—it was all I lived for, until now.”

  He told him about his encounter with the Christians and how he had made a choice that changed his life. Rashnir gave his best evangelistic message, using his life as the subject matter.

  “I admit, when I first encountered Kevin, I saw him only as a means to satisfy my dark urge for revenge and bloodshed, to satisfy my selfish desires. I did it. I killed Harmarty; and I do not believe that it was right of me, but I do not know that it wasn’t an act of justice, either. Knowing what I know now, though, I would not commit to the same course again.

  “When I returned to fulfill my part of the obligation to Kevin, I recognized that taking revenge did not satisfy me—it did not quench my longing for something more. I felt hollow inside; I needed something bigger than myself in my life, something I missed all along. I tried to fill it with other things before, like the glory of battle and the love of Kelsa, but even those things could not fully satisfy this longing for God, the yearning
for hope and the security of my soul. Kevin showed me this.”

  “Prove this to me,” Jaker said, “I do believe that you have spoken the truth to me, but if you truly rely on this Jesus Christ for your strength, then give me your sword as a testimony of your faith that your God provides.” Jaker extended his hand.

  Rashnir handed him the weapon, hilt first.

  “I do believe you,” Jaker admitted; tears nearly welled up at the memories of the woman they mutually loved. “I believe you, but I cannot join your faith. It is just too much... too much to accept right now.”

  “I understand.”

  “I can also do nothing to help you openly. But you should know that Rutheir came here today to convince me to pledge the Rangers’ assistance in eradicating your religious group. He is bent on physically destroying you as soon as solid evidence indicates criminal activity. He believes that you are all dangerous, Rashnir.”

  “Of course we are. Light is dangerous to the darkness.”

  “Yeah, well, be careful because he’s trying to snuff your torch, and now that he has annexed Grinden as a part of Jand, he holds even greater sway.”

  “What did you say?”

  “He thinks that I have been too lax in my investigation of you. I knew deep down that you killed Harmarty, but I guess that I always knew he deserved it, too. I figured that if you hadn’t done it, it would have only been a matter of time before Rutheir did the deed himself.

  “I told him that I would not mobilize the Rangers against you. You are not a military threat nor a danger to the community and the Rangers always had standards for the type of jobs that they accepted.

  “He put a lot of pressure on me; we have new laws to obey now that Grinden lost its neutrality. But I told him my answer was adamant. He fumed and said that he would find the proof that he knew existed. That’s when he assigned Pinchôt to take over the investigation; he inflated that guy’s head so much that I thought it was gonna burst.

  “You do not need to fear the Rogis’ Rangers, but Pinchôt, at the encouragement of the king, has been reassigned. He accepted a position as the head of the Narsh Barbarians. You know as well as I do that they have no scruples about the jobs they take; they love violence and intrigue for the sheer thrill of it all. They see as much honor in stabbing a peaceful old man as they do in defeating opponents on the battlefield.”

  “Thank you for standing for us.”

  “As long as I control the Rangers, we will not take arms against your group, but you’re still in for a lot trouble in the days to come. Watch your back, old friend.”

  ***

  Rashnir moved through shadowy alleys and side streets. Cloaked by darkness and well hidden, he wanted to do the best he could to protect his friend’s reputation. It was important that he leave no verifiable connection between the Rangers and the Christian cause. He might need to rely on that contact later.

  Once safely away and roving the streets, Rashnir concentrated on the sound of his own boots striking the packed earth. He picked up another sound on the edge of his senses: the sound of distress, the sound of weapon against flesh; the hum of conflict grew louder with every step. Rashnir quickened his gait.

  He rushed past local stores that had long since closed; most sensible people retired for the evening hours ago. He ran past a textile shop he recognized; the store belonged to a family that had recently joined the believers. They made them his brothers. Rashnir saw light in the alleyway beside the shop—where the noises came from.

  Running headlong around the corner, he found seven beings, both man and ekthro, as they assaulted the family of five trapped in the alley. Four of them held torches while the other three vandals beat the bodies of the fallen family members. Rashnir assessed the situation as he charged headlong into the conflict. He assumed that the fallen were already dead or dying.

  He howled angrily as he dashed into the torch lit alley. Sizing up his opponents as he flew into the fray, he knew that he could beat them easily. Two of the torchbearers in the back were goblins; the other two were men. Two other men abused and kicked the fallen father and mother and a devious kobold poked at their flesh with a broken arrow shaft.

  Rashnir reached for his short sword as he screamed his battle cry. He only grasped air instead. He skidded to a halt as his enemies howled in response and charged to meet him with weapons ready. Rashnir skidded to a stop and mentally berated himself for forgetting that he had just given his sword to Jaker half an hour ago.

  He did the only prudent thing possible. Rashnir turned and ran back around the corner of the alleyway. He fled down the street, ducking down any route that could conceal him from the arrows whizzing past his ears. He ran, and as he ran prayed.

  Lord, I surrendered my weapon as a sign that I placed my faith in only You for my protection. Lord, I need Your help now. You are my strength and my shield; You are my weapon now. Be my sword.

  He dodged around a corner into another alley just as an arrow drove itself into the storefront where Rashnir sprinted moments before. Strengthen me my God. Rashnir vaulted onto a balcony that rose above the alley.

  A righteous anger overtook him as a goblin, scimitar drawn, and a human with a bow burst into the alley in hot pursuit. Rashnir heard them speaking as they over pursued him into the passage. They ran right below his position on the balcony. They laughed and jested about killing Christians for sport.

  “That one was Rashnir, the fallen one. We have him on the run, girk-RahL. Imagine it! We will be the ones to have assassinated the great warrior and traitor, Rashnir the Ranger!”

  Rashnir launched himself from his position above and targeted the goblin with a flying axe-handle smash; he howled as he dropped, “I am the sword of the Lord!”

  In that moment, the Holy Spirit manifested with power. A sword suddenly burst into being in the grip of the godly warrior as he brought his blow down on the unsuspecting villain. The force of the slash sundered the goblin from crown to crotch and he fell in two lifeless halves. The holy blade drove deeply into the ground, splintering even the foul creature’s scimitar.

  The force of his landing made Rashnir roll upon impact. He tumbled into the legs of the human archer and knocked him off balance. Rashnir spun to his feet as the archer tried to right himself and dropped his bow to pull his sword. He only had time to loosen hilt from sheath before Rashnir fell upon him and separated body from soul. The holy weapon gleamed in his hands.

  Rashnir stood over the corpse of the murderer who spoke so fondly of killing the innocent children of God. Amazed that the most perfect sword he’d ever wielded had materialized within his hands, Rashnir glanced at it and read the deeply engraved word that had been etched across the quillion. “Logos,” Rashnir read aloud. Brilliant blue flames burst into being, sheathing the blade in a holy, azure fire.

  Rashnir heard the footsteps of others in pursuit. They would likely be drawn to the light shed by the blue flames of his sword. Let them come, let me be the Lord’s sword arm tonight!

  Seconds later, four more pursuers rounded the corner into the alleyway where Rashnir waited for them. Moments later, the torturers lay dying.

  Rashnir sprinted back to the alley where he’d initially found the wounded family. He boldly stepped into the torchlight of the one remaining oppressor who taunted the broken family for their faith, chiding them for departing the Luciferian Church.

  “You murdered them for that?” Rashnir demanded, startling the single human from his revelry. “You cannot quench truth!”

  “Truth!” he replied, “You know nothing of the truth, heretic. Your only use is for the table of the Gathering, fodder in the mouths of carnivorous demons! Only Lucifer has power here!”

  “No. You are wrong. Jesus Christ has crushed his power, and I come to crush yours.”

  The man threw his torch through a broken window, into the Christian family’s store. He pulled a dagger from each of his hips, holding them as if he were a seasoned bladesman. The f
iend charged towards Rashnir, a blade in each hand.

  Rashnir nearly pitied the fool who’d been so blinded by his hatred that he futilely attempted to destroy the message of hope. The Luciferian rogue risked his life in a battle that he could not win for a cause that was already lost.

  The Christian warrior feinted and then thrust his sword into the attacker’s midsection, striking vitals and ending the confrontation. The sword seemed to dissipate the moment Rashnir thought to sheath it; he ran to the fallen family.

  Among the fallen were a woman and her husband; she was dead and he barely breathed. Two teens, a boy and girl, also lay dead. A little boy, perhaps four years old bore bruises and shook with fear, but was otherwise alive.

  Rashnir hovered over the father and bent over him, praying. The father coughed and spluttered in such a way that Rashnir cringed; it was a sound he had heard before, the death rattle of someone with internal injuries.

  The man’s eyes opened and caught his rescuer in the growing flamelight from the burning textile shop; he spoke as soon as his eyes recognized Rashnir. “Thank Jesus.” He looked intently at Rashnir and squeezed his hand more tightly than a man in his condition should have strength to. “Promise me,” he coughed, “Promise me that you will take care of my son. Teach him about Christ and protect him.”

  Rashnir started to cry over his dying, anonymous Christian brother. “Yes, I will guard your son.”

  The man smiled as bright blood soaked through his shirt. His face glowed and he spluttered, “Lord, go with my little Jibbin and with Rashnir,” he prayed aloud.

  The light faded from his eyes when he smiled again and said, “Thank you.” The man relaxed in reassurance. The light of life faded completely from his eyes and the inner glow turned to a peaceful, ashen pall.

  Rashnir scooped up the crying child. He held the boy to himself and turned to take one final look at the man who requested this thing of him.

  The alley grew light as yellow and orange flames burned through the fuel of the family’s building; it had already consumed a large section of the store’s interior. Flames poured out from the windows and doors, slowly eating their way through the building’s exterior.