We each forge our own path, Colt’s voice boomed into his head. As everyone has for all time.
Snow toppled over the mountain in a tidal wave. The sight was startlingly beautiful and momentarily locked Nuri in place. But while he stood there, gaping at the thundering blanket of snow, a Jhrupa tackled him from behind and smashed his face into a hidden rock.
You are always in the crosshairs of the Evil One, his Duri Master’s voice reproached as Nuri gasped for breath ten inches deep in snow. He was already losing feeling in his cheeks and nose. What little sensation remained in them was overwhelmed by the shudder of the mountain against his exposed skin.
“I will not be afraid!” he cried out, thrashing wildly with the laser blade. “Fear is human!” The longer it took for the weapon to find purchase, the more his panic intensified.
At last, the blade buried itself in flesh, although whether it was the flesh of the Jhrupa drowning him beneath the snow or another monster altogether, Nuri wasn’t certain. Either way, an agonized howl reached his ears through the thick layer of accumulation. Then, the pressure on the back of his neck momentarily lessened and he didn’t hesitate. Hesitation was human.
I am not human.
He kicked backward as hard as he could and immediately rolled to his left, slashing with the glowing blade in case another Jhrupa was about to pounce as he landed sideways. He managed to slice through the claws of the nearest snow monster but nothing else was near enough for him to damage. A Jhrupa continued to howl in pain, presumably the one he’d wounded while his head was buried. The other four struggled to maintain their footing while evidently deciding whether the prospect of a fresh, warm meal was worth braving an avalanche.
Nuri left them to work it out on their own, gracelessly staggering down the mountain toward the giant stone doors of the main temple. A lone Jhrupa charged after him, kicking up absurd amounts of loose snow in its wake, but Nuri managed to drop it with a quick trio of shots from his sidearm. The other Jhrupa eventually retreated the way they’d come—the opposite end of the valley from Nuri’s destination—and he never saw them again.
I am Hidria.
The mountain rumbled so loudly that, for a moment, Nuri was convinced it wasn’t a mountain at all but a colossal creature waking from an eons’ long slumber to swallow the planet whole. He felt its long, white tongue follow him down the slope toward the valley where he would certainly be buried alive, not only failing the trials but condemning himself to an icy, unmarked grave on an abandoned planet.
I am Hidria, he reminded himself as he ran. I am Death.
The roar of the approaching snow was deafening, and unnerving enough in its promise of total annihilation that he nearly ran straight past the narrow passageway on the mountainside.
Steady, he thought, planting his feet and leaping back toward the opening as the wall of snow bore down on him from twenty yards away. Stay calm.
It was a difficult charge back to the doorway with deep mounds of snow sucking at his legs. He managed to roll through the cave opening and slam his palm into the glowing blue button on the wall beside the door just in time to seal the hole before snow filled the corridor and suffocated him.
For a moment, he stood facing the opening with his hand still pressed against the controls, panting, waiting to see whether the snow would burst through the door, heedless of his efforts. It had to be tens of thousands of years old, after all, and the avalanche was bigger than any he’d witnessed among the Duri.
It wasn’t until the rumble of the mountain began to subside that he at last turned to face the darkness, unsure what he would find in the shadows or if he’d even wound up where he was supposed to be. Where Colt had designed for him to go.
I’ll find out soon enough¸ he thought.
And so he did.
6
“The world around you is an illusion. Everything and everyone in the universe is a distraction designed to draw you away from God. The trees, the water, the air you breathe, it is all distraction. The true essence of God can only be discovered through a life of service to Him, forsaking all human bonds of wonder and pursuit of corporeal satisfaction.”
Nuri was seventeen years old, kneeling on the wooden floor of his Duri Master’s cottage with the cool, midday breeze whistling through cracks in the walls. His stomach was in knots but he’d recently mastered the calm exterior which all Duri disciples adopted during training. Although the scolding had only just begun, he wasn’t concerned with how long it would last. He had decided to willingly accept his punishment and continue his training as though nothing had happened. It was easier that way. In the end, each of his transgressions was forgiven regardless of the Duri Master’s judgment. That particular dogma didn’t make Nuri any less devout or mindful of morality, but it did make the punishments at the hands of the Duri Masters easier to bear. Physical pain was an illusion, after all, so if he could endure his mind’s trickery while he received his lashings, his soul would be purified and he would achieve paranormal communion with God once more.
“Women are an illusion, just as men are an illusion” his Duri Master continued. “Lust. Impure thoughts. Sins of the flesh. They are all agents of the Evil One and they will enslave you if you are not careful.”
Nuri kept his head bowed dutifully, focusing on the swirled intricacies of the wooden floor so his eyes would not be drawn to the scarred face of his Duri Master. He was searching for any distraction he could find because looking upon those scars for too long was a sin. It sparked curiosity and made him perceive his teacher as a mortal creature capable of being damaged, and those were both horrible sins. Perhaps unforgivable, even with the aid of the purging whips on the Duri Master’s cane.
When he reached the window to look out upon the wooded valley, the Duri Master sighed and tapped his fingers against the glass. “That girl,” he said, pausing thoughtfully as though something had caught his attention within the windowpane. Perhaps a memory from long ago, back before he’d achieved perfection in the eyes of God. Back when he had still been susceptible to entrapment by feminine wiles. “She is impure.”
“She’s done nothing wrong,” Nuri protested. He regretted the words the moment they left his lips. The Called were not to speak while a Duri Master imparted wisdom. The Called were not to speak in the presence of clergy at all unless it was their direct Master. Nuri braced himself for the inevitable backlash, gripping the hem of his pants tightly and swallowing hard.
Thankfully, the Duri Master did not seem to notice his transgression or did not view it as particularly egregious. “Her actions are not impure,” the Duri Master said, “but what her body symbolizes is impure. Women were the Evil One’s first distraction. In the Garden of Eden, the Evil One used the woman to redirect the First Man’s mind to matters of the flesh and worldly concerns when his eyes should have been fixed on the Ultimate Reality of God.”
Nuri nodded dutifully and bit his tongue.
We were all born of this sin, then, he thought. This impurity.
It was all convoluted. He didn’t see logic in any of it, but the Duri Master’s confidence was jarring. It made him reconsider his own feelings and—according to the Duri Master—that was a good thing. Boys weren’t made to dwell on thoughts and emotions. Only God. Their eyes were to be ever upward, as the Good Book said, never heeding the serpent at their heel. That was the way of sin. That was the way of corporeal concern and the Great Death.
The Duri Master turned back to him, casually flicking a glance to Nuri’s sword at the far end of the hut. It was a foreign object to the Duri Masters, who forsook all matters of the flesh including the blood culling (although they had no qualms ordering it), but Nuri knew the command when he saw it.
“In the end,” his scarred and hideous Duri Master continued. “We must all be purged of our iniquities. We all must face the cleansing blade of eternity.”
No, Nuri thought frantically. Please.
But to deny the culling order from a Duri Master was to spit i
n the face of God, as the Good Book said. So he rose wordlessly from his knees with his head still bowed and retrieved the sword with deliberate slowness. The blade was too heavy for his adolescent arms to wield for long even after years of physical and spiritual training on the holy mountain, but he lifted it over his head anyway because that was what the Duri Master expected.
“You know what you must do, boy,” the Duri Master said firmly. “Go, then, and do it.”
Hands shaking beneath the weight of the blade forged within the mountain itself, Nuri bowed and left the cottage without further complaint. His mind raced as he stepped onto the garden path leading to the valley.
This has all been a test, he thought. A test of my faithfulness and devotion.
The Duri Masters never allowed any woman or girl into the quiet village who was deemed too enticing for adolescent eyes, and certainly never someone as close in age to the apprentice as the river girl.
They brought her here purposely. He hacked angrily at the underbrush once he was certain he’d passed beneath the eye-line of the Duri Master. Did she know she was going to her death? Did he know that he would wind up forcing me to kill her to prove my faith?
Not to him, a voice reminded. To God.
The sun glinted off his blade so stunningly that it momentarily washed away his anger, but it was also a sin to behold the beauty in things and so he quickly averted his eyes. In a universe vast beyond human comprehension, there was only room for the wonder of God Himself and not the fruits of His creation.
We must exist beyond the corporeal, his Duri Master always said.
And so she has to die.
He grimaced and picked his way stealthily down the mountain. He’d been trained well enough not to make noise when navigating wilderness. He was a soldier in the holy army, after all, and though the Duri Masters’ religious doctrine was paramount to the order, combat training was a close second. The Called carried out the will of God, spilling the blood of sinners as tribute for the Holy One, and therefore had to be prepared for any martial situation. The skill had hardly benefited him to that point in his young life, but now he was grateful for the ability to avoid detection by the other clergymen who dwelled on the mountain. He wove between branches, rocks, leaves, and twigs soundlessly, affording ample time for quiet reflection. His mind was elsewhere and well occupied.
All those seen to be impure must be purged by blood to remind them of the Ultimate Sacrifice, which Creator God humbled Himself to endure. It is only through blood that we are saved. It is only through the tribute of suffering from all peoples.
After a time, he gave into impulse and leapt down the mountain in an undisciplined sprint, barely noting his footfalls and not frightened in the least that one false step might send him hurtling to his death in the valley before carrying out God’s will as relayed by his Duri Master.
A test, he thought bitterly. Only a test.
He had never killed someone he knew. He didn’t think he’d have the stomach for it, especially considering he’d never really had the stomach for killing in the first place.
This one was unique, too. She made him feel different than anyone ever had. He wouldn’t dare say that he was in love with her even within the sanctuary of his own thoughts, but he was more than just physically attracted to her the way an adolescent boy is attracted to an adolescent girl. She was light-years’ different than anyone he’d met since being taken from Dublokee. A poignantly startling contrast to the rest of the Duri villagers along the mountain. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t realized she was a test from the outset. No one who stood out so brilliantly from her peers was to be trusted, his Duri Master had told him, because that meant she was tainted by the Evil One. Women strove for vanity, he’d said, and if there was one thing the Duri Masters hated, it was vanity.
She is evil, then, he tried to convince himself. If the Duri Master says that she’s evil, then she is evil.
He chewed over the idea as he neared the valley, but it still didn’t taste quite right. The girl was intelligent and strong-willed. Nuri didn’t know how those qualities made her an enemy to God or a servant of the Evil One. She was rarely in a bad mood and always made an effort to greet anyone she passed in the village.
The Master is wrong, then, he decided.
Except the Duri Master couldn’t be wrong. It was impossible. Everything Nuri had learned since he’d been taken to the holy mountain assured him that the Duri Master was always right. He spoke the very will of God.
And the will of God, the Master’s voice spoke into his head, is for you to kill that girl. To purify her and yourself before the poison of the Evil One weakens you.
Grinding his teeth, Nuri passed through the city gates, unmarked and unbidden. He had urgent business now, grim though it was. If he didn’t complete his mission in a timely manner, his Duri Master would starve him for three days in confined, prayerful solitude. Worst of all, the girl would die whether or not he delivered the killing stroke. All because he’d taken an interest in her beyond a stern hand of rebuke and forced repentance. How the Duri Master had detected his feelings, he would never know. He told himself he would do all he could to find out discreetly, but he couldn’t imagine having enough resources to succeed when the townsfolk considered the Duri the mouthpieces of God. No villager who lived safely on the mountain would dare speak against them. For one thing, it was considered heresy, and heresy was (of course) punishable by death. So, too, was attracting the gaze of a member of the Called.
Which was precisely why the girl had to die.
Because I am weak.
Nuri could see her filling a pail by the river as he approached, a menial task among dozens of others designed to keep the villagers honest even though the Duri provided for them in every way. Her back was turned so he was unable to look her in the eye but it felt as though he could. It felt like she was staring back at him already. Even then, he pictured the shining reflection of water on her cheeks, the way it lit her eyes and brightened her hair, and that was why he’d been sent to kill her. Because he could picture it, and because it was all he ever wanted to do.
Lust is the fundamental weakness of man.
What Nuri felt wasn’t lust, though. He would never find the words to articulate what exactly ‘it’ was, but it was near enough, he supposed, to make him ashamed. Spiteful. Confused. All sorts of emotions he didn’t understand in the least because he’d never been given the opportunity to explore them.
The life of the Called is lonesome because that is God’s will. Asceticism is the only true path to knowing Him. It is the only way you will ever reach Prime.
A filthy, stooped old man cut in front of him with a trio of pigs in tow. He cursed them quietly so the Duri Masters would not overhear him, but Nuri was near enough to catch his words. They stunned him. Enough to distract him from the task at hand, and that was no small feat. He’d never heard an open curse in his life that he could remember. At the very least, not since he’d been taken from his home. The other villagers deliberately ignored him so as not to draw his attention or wrath, but the pig farmer’s disinterest was another animal altogether. Nuri had grown used to being ignored by the Duri Masters and their servants (he preferred it, in fact), and he was likewise accustomed to being ignored by the villagers, who were paid to act out the illusion that it was a simple village at the base of the mountain where the equally simple, godly pleasures of a rural life free of technology played out to the satisfaction of the Duri Masters. This man was different, though. His dismissal wasn’t polite deference to his status, nor was it a lack of awareness for Nuri’s proximity. The pig farmer saw him and deliberately cut him off, then had the nerve to curse in front of him on top of it.
Heathen, Nuri scowled.
He’d heard the Duri Master use that word often when referring to a condemned city or species, and it was about as close as any of the Duri Masters came to swearing in his presence.
Incensed, Nuri stopped in his tracks and sta
red at the back of the old, stooped man as he sauntered away.
Distraction, a voice spoke in his head.
The recognition was buried beneath layers upon layers of misplaced anger.
“Farmer,” Nuri called after the man, barely suppressing his rage.
The villagers could no longer pretend they hadn’t noticed the Called warrior in their midst. They continued to play at their monotonous chores but their eyes and ears were fixed on the two men at the center of the village, one young and one not so young anymore.
“Old man!” Nuri shouted when the pig farmer didn’t turn to face him. “Come back here!”
He tried to convince himself that it was the audacity of the pig farmer that spurred his anger and not his own feelings of helplessness, which were greater than any he’d experienced in his life even accounting for the time he’d watched his parents being murdered before his eyes as an uncomprehending child, but the villagers watched him now. So, too, did the girl fetching water from the river.
Still, the old man did not turn.
Nuri passed his breaking point. “Heathen!” he shouted, starting towards the farmer with his sword held out menacingly in front of him.
The villagers stiffened, some doing their damnedest to suppress gasps. They no longer pretended to do their jobs. They were all watching Nuri and slowly backing away from the lethal weapon gripped by God’s Right Hand. They were terrified, and with good reason. From the time he’d been brought to the mountain, Nuri had been indoctrinated with the teachings of the Duri Masters, but he’d also been bred to be a part of the foremost group of warriors in the galaxy.
The Called. The Hidria.
God’s Justice.
He still had years of training left before he would undergo the trials, but the villagers knew he was no stranger to a blade or to killing. Especially for one condemned as a heathen.
Colt: The Cosmic Prayer (Hidria Book 1) Page 4