Absinthium only told Frinnig what he was already convinced of: that the Order knew what was best for the people and had the means to act in their best interests. This idea hardened to resolve inside Frinnig’s head; he knew he should use his abilities to manipulate people and force them to see things his way: the right way—the Luciferian way. It was in the best interest of everyone to unify under a common banner, the correct banner, even if they had to be forced to submit to it.
The temple leader had not previously aspired to great things, but these foreign heretics had caused his blood to boil and given him a renewed sense of purpose. Life in the Order was no longer business as usual! His daily life had ceased its mundanity and been given a cause to champion—and oh, how he hated these krist-chins.
Frinnig delved into the texts of his spell books and gathered the proper reagents for a spell. The incantations that he cast would make him a more fervent speaker and make those who heard him more susceptible to his persuasions; his words would take root in their hearts.
He meditated on the atrocities of the krist-chins as he prepared the spell. He planned to rail against them in this sermon, to rally his people. His heart seethed and dripped with spite, malice directed at his enemies. Venomous thoughts circulated through his mind and formed into words that he would assail his enemies with.
Phrases strung themselves together in Frinnig’s brain as he cast his spell. His entire message seemed to form at once. Frinnig harnessed the power of his own bitterness and a sense of euphoria washed over him. He liked the effect of it; he felt powerful beyond measure and a bitter gall formed in his heart, igniting a flammable vitriol which pulsed with rage when he thought of his enemies. The hatred fed him, empowered him like the addictive devilweed extracts sold in the dark Grinden alleyways.
The temple bell tolled. Its resonating knell called to the faithful, alerting them that a service would start in one hour. Frinnig’s face twisted with a sick smile. He relished the part his demon lords had allowed him to play.
***
Dark shadows in the alleyways did a good job concealing the identities of two very disobedient monks. The monks had shirked their duties for the past couple days, now. Minstra, and his close friend Leethan, had not returned to their cells inside the temple confines. They slept in the streets and eluded any who searched for them. To accept a call as a Luciferian Monk meant that you were no longer your own; the Order likely knew that these men’s commitment had wavered: an offense readily punishable by death.
Ever since the recent, vicious execution of the krist-chin woman by the arch-mage’s magic, the two monks had contemplated defection. Their embattled souls cried out, whispering convincing truths that seemed etched upon their very hearts since birth. But, to acknowledge these truths would demand that they enter the krist-chin camp, and that was too radical of a step to embrace so quickly.
Still, there was something they could not explain, something in the krist-chins’ beliefs… some kind of passion that infected their souls. Despite strict orders, the two combat monks had allowed that woman to speak while they detained her prior to her public execution. Not just the words that she spoke—but something about how she said them—pricked their hearts.
That must have been why they were ordered to beat her silent if she spoke. Absinthium would have likely cut out her tongue if not for his hopes that she would scream, beg for mercy. She did neither, but she did speak kindly to the two guards who detained her as she awaited her demise. In those hours, her words were of hope and assurance, not of sorrow or regret.
Neither of the two monks could silence the questions that arose in their minds ever since. Their devotion to Luciferianism could not help them; it only created further inner turmoil. Their doctrines had no answers. Their joint reasoning and discussions could do nothing but continue demonstrating their lack of satisfaction and total emptiness. Deep down, Minstra and Leethan began to respect and even revere the krist-chins.
“How do you think she knew?”
“For the millionth time, Leethan, I do not know.”
“She did not seem to have any magical abilities… how did she penetrate our minds and so accurately reveal the most unanswerable questions that we each secretly asked ourselves? She knew.”
“I wonder, though,” mused Minstra, “are those questions the ones that every man asks deep within his own soul? Of course, that is only if he has the courage to look within.”
“I think you may be right. But haven’t we had this conversation before?” Leethan asked. In truth, they had been talking in circles for many days. “If this hypothesis was accurate, then the woman knew the questions because she already knew the answers.”
“I know, and if she had found the answers, then everything we know is wrong and she died with the truth.”
“Yes, but we know where she found this truth at. She died with the truth, but the truth did not die with her.”
“That’s jumping to a conclusion,” Minstra pointed out. “Even if she knew the answers to the questions that each man’s soul demands, we cannot prove that she learned them from krist-chin doctrine.”
“Well, we could either prove or disprove it by speaking with another krist-chin.”
“And what? You would have us walk directly into the middle of the krist-chin camp in our Luciferian robes and begin to ask them these things? As soon as we get there they would think we’d invaded or come to attack. Even if they did accept us, what if they don’t have any answers? Besides, Jandul would hunt us down himself.”
“You are right, Minstra… so what can we do?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed heavily.
“We could kidnap one,” Leethan suggested wistfully. “We could easily find one.” The monk trailed off, his idea somewhat serious, but prohibited by the subconscious respect which had grown for the religious dissidents.
Leethan and Minstra were shaken from their thoughts by the loud tolls of the church bell. The knell indicated that a Luciferian service was concluding; the bell rang in a benediction sequence. The monks instinctively cast their eyes towards the large double doors of the temple.
From their seclusion in the shadows, they surveyed a sight uncommon to the church. People poured out from the temple with energy and purpose driving their steps. They seemed motivated and intentional, and very, very angry. They more resembled an angry mob en-route to a lynching than folk concluding a church service.
Minstra and Leethan heard the shouts of the masses as they cursed anyone who might be friendly towards a krist-chin or who could think of harboring or abetting one. They rampaged through the streets. A burly man shouted and pushed over a street vendor, toppling his cart of vegetables sidelong and spilling them across the street.
“This man,” accused a Luciferian. “I saw this man selling goods to a known krist-chin just the other day!” Several nearby men and ekthro joined around him.
The thugs kicked the elderly vendor as he tried to stand; another Luciferian brute trampled his produce in the street. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he demanded.
“What are you doing,” the wounded vendor demanded incredulously. “Business is business. I am a servant of Lucifer too. We have attended meetings together, even!”
“Traitor!” shouted one in the crowd.
“Sympathizer!” accused a seditious looking goblin.
“Weakling!”
“Krist-chin!” one person proclaimed, inciting a frenzied riot.
The mob apprehended the old vendor and swarmed him, pulling and shoving. His choked pleas and cries fell upon hardened ears as the crazed coterie ripped him limb from limb and spilled his innards into the gutter. They tore him apart in the streets over a simple accusation.
Violence escalated and the crowd, feverish with rage and empowered by bitter sermonic words, called for blood. Luciferian citizens roved about the park screaming for action and organizing into groups. Hysterical, they shouted proclamations and death thre
ats. They mobilized and marched down the streets as they raved, looking for anyone with possible krist-chin connections whom they could victimize.
The two monks reluctantly moved into action and ran ahead of the riotous groups. They did not surely know if the krist-chins possessed the answers they sought, but they knew that they did not deserve to die at the hands of this mob; Leethan and Minstra could at least see the hypocrisy in the Luciferian doctrines. Whether or not the krist-chins were right didn’t matter, in that moment they knew that Luciferianism was wrong.
They charged down the alleyways and narrow paths that they’d become acquainted with since their self-imposed eviction from the temple. When spotting those that they knew to be krist-chin, they darted out of the shadows. Before any could react to the presence of Luciferian combat monks, Leethan and Minstra warned them to flee to the safety of their camp and then they swiftly departed. They warned several people before the maniacal crowds could bear down on them.
As they skirted the fringe of the commonly traveled paths leading towards the krist-chin colony, they could hear the intensity of the gangs’ rancor growing. They finally neared the southern edge of Grinden where a stream bordered the city and made the north-most border of the dissidents’ encampment.
Crowds of frantic Luciferians nearly apprehended a pair of krist-chins when the two monks dashed into the streets to rescue them. The frenetic mob nearly seized a known married couple that had embraced the religion of Yahweh when Minstra and Leethan sprinted out of the shrouded passage between two trade houses and snatched them away to safety.
Their actions momentarily confused the crowd. At first, their corporate mind assumed that the two monks participated in the purge of the cultists. Truth finally dawned on them as Minstra and Leethan fled with them, guiding them beyond danger and towing them by their wrists.
“Hey!” a woman shouted, “They’re helping the krist-chins escape!”
The crowds’ fury erupted in new heights of vehemence and the mob chased the traitors with a newly hatred-fueled fervor. En masse, they followed like some predatory, fluid entity.
The monks guided the couple down a narrow path between buildings, momentarily losing their pursuit. At one juncture, Minstra and Leethan paused, sending the krist-chin duo off in the direction of safety. As soon as their pursuers became visible again, the monks headed west, leading the chase away from the krist-chin settlement.
They broke free of the city’s boundaries with the pursuit still giving chase. Leethan and Minstra charged headlong across the western fields and into the wooded areas between Grinden and the Rashet River, losing their ill-prepared hunters. If the mob had prepared properly, they could have struck them down as they fled, or tracked the renegades. If their pursuers left to retrieve some kind of tracking animal, the scent would be long gone should the monks choose to cross the river which lay just beyond the woods.
With their pursuit eventually lost in the trees and greenery, the two monks settled down and reflected on the situation. They’d been fully ousted from their positions in the Order for sure, now. They could not return and keep their lives. But, could they live among the krist-chins? Would they accept them or kill them for their own self-defense if the monks breached the borders of the encampment? Clothes they could change, but they could not erase the tattoos and marks of rank placed on them by the church.
The decision would be easier made tomorrow. For now, they discussed their thoughts from the cover of forest instead of the shadows of city alleys. They had not fully come to grips with their predicament; they couldn’t blindly accept what the krist-chins believed. The only thing they could do was wait.
***
Griq’nnr wriggled through the crevasse where the tunnel emptied into the dug-out basement of the ancient building. Large chunks of old brickwork had crumbled away and the clay walls oozed with moisture like raw flesh beneath an open wound. The structure had been a great many things in its days, including the central courthouse for the Grist district of Ninda.
The township’s headquarters rested on the edge of a forest which crossed into Jand’s borders: a forest rich with the right sort of fungi, minerals, and herbs for the work which happened in the building now. A faint yellow mist emanated from the place as its owner churned out his strange brews.
The goblin cleared a small path and then signaled his minions. Grr’nurl and kH-ngnh ferried a chain-gang of a half dozen goblinoids they’d held in detainment for some time now. The prisoners wheezed through clenched jaws which had been wired shut to keep them silent and minimize potential bites.
Griq’nnr’s bladesmen strapped them into the benches that awaited their arrival while a wizened, old man excitedly strutted in to meet them. He wore dirty bifocals and two tufts of white hair sprouted from the edges of his head as if they’d tried to escape long ago with the rest of the missing hair.
Tables full of beakers and tubes rested in racks. Notes detailing formulas and recipes littered every spare inch of space.
Leafing through the pages near what appeared to be a nawchash filtration device, Griq’nnr asked, “Is this the formula?”
“Yes,” the apothecary said enthusiastically. He picked up a handful of tincture vials and displayed them to the goblin. “This one is the anthrofusis!” He pointed to another nearby table. “That one is the antidote. It’s called katadoolu.”
“Show me how to make it,” Griq’nnr said in his guttural, clicking version of the common tongue. “There must be no mistake, and I must see its effects with my own eyes if we are to pay you such a large sum as you requested.”
The potion maker meandered over to the captives and handed the bottles to the guards. Grr’nurl and kH-ngnh peeled back the lips of each prisoner, revealing the busted out front-teeth they’d used for a feeding hole. The hostages struggled, but Griq’nnr’s minions forced them to choke down the viscous liquid.
The apothecary grinned with his toothy smile and explained the serum’s workings. “Within days, the disease takes ahold causing violent tremors and vomiting. Sweating becomes profuse, followed by bloody leakage through the pores, even rupturing of the eyeballs as the untreated body continues to both pressurize and liquefy as massive hemorrhages take hold.”
“The cure?” Griq’nnr asked.
“None, and it can be engineered to afflict any specific ekthroic race, but it cannot cross breeds. Elves and dwarves would be immune to the goblin variant, for example.” The apothecary reached for a container on the nearby table. “Treatment is possible, however. As long as the afflicted take a daily dose of this, the sickness is kept at bay—but never cured.”
He shook the liquid-filled container. “Whomever controls this supply source could make himself a very rich person, hence the high nature of my fees for such a commission.” The mixologist looked at the goblin. “Final payment is on its way, right? I have a great deal invested in this concoction and I have my own debts to pay.”
“It will be delivered,” Griq’nnr replied. “You will be paid.” He grinned wickedly and turned to regard the doomed prisoners they’d just infected as test subjects. “You payment is currently on the way, and I will not depart until we have settled our account in full.”
Griq’nnr looked around the room, taking quick stock of the inventory, planning exactly how he would make his reparations in the next few days. Disembowel the mad scientist, leave the prisoners to turn to mush as their bodies melted from the inside out, and rip the vocal cords from his guardian bladesmen once they returned to their skolaxis mounts? They could be delivered to King Rutheir for his own sport and there would still be no risk of loose lips.
The devious creature grinned. “Show me how to brew both the poison and the serum to relieve the symptoms.”
Chapter 2
Despite the fact that it was mid-day, Kevin still remained in his tent. He’d felt compelled to remain in prayer for an extended period of time. He felt a tugging at his heart, a spiritual unsettling that called him
to remain steadfast each time he tried to stop.
Kevin almost broke away and finally left his tent when he overheard Rashnir receiving reports from the city, the details of last night’s disturbances. Apparently no one was injured. Two Luciferian monks, of all people, had rescued many Christians who might not have made it out of Grinden alive without their intervention. Despite the break in attention, his calling to remain in prayer held him firm; he had faith Rashnir was capable of handling the local problems.
Kevin also prayed for those monks, too, that they would somehow come to salvation. He also prayed for the safety of Havara and his brother, Gleend’s king, Lo-sonom.
Three hours had passed, and still he felt compelled to remain—distractions came and went. He knew he needed to further quiet his heart so he could hear God’s voice. Kevin felt like he should cease speaking to God, and merely listen.
Midday sweat clung to his body and his mind began to tremble and tire, like a fatigued muscle. Finally, after a considerable amount of time, his mind and heart stilled before the Master of the universe. Kevin suddenly understood. It felt as if he’d just left a conversation with God. In fact he did; when he concentrated, Kevin could remember everything the Lord had told him as if it had been verbal.
When he meditated on what the Lord had spoken to him the memories came flooding back to him in a sensation like he had entered into another realm. Kevin concentrated and could see things as they happened at that very moment, all around him—like his soul had detached from his body and wandered through the lives of those connected to him.
With the impact of the holy palaver still fresh in his mind, Kevin raised his tent flap and called to his most trusted advisors to share what the Lord had shown him. Rashnir, Jorge, and Kyrius were in this close group. He also invited in Zeh-Ahbe’.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 31