Hederick the Theocrat v-4

by Ellen Dodge Severson

  Face me.

  The unheard words filled Hederick. The priest felt his mind expand and contract dizzyingly. His body remained motionless, arrested in the act of lowering the sacred chalice to the altar. But in his mind, Hederick saw himself bleeding on the marble floor below, at the bottom of the vallenwood stairs. The broken Hederick of his imagination lay naked to whatever torture the Presence that shared this chamber chose to inflict.

  Face me.

  "Unholy thing!" the religious leader shrieked. Tremors shook him. "Sorcery's bastard! Show yourself!"

  I am Ancilla. Face me, dear one.

  "You are dead!"

  Alas, my little brother, you are mistaken.

  Hederick shook a tightly clenched fist in the air and shouted again into the vast and seemingly empty chamber. "For decades I walked the roads of northern Ansa-lon, witch, spreading the word of the deliverance to come," he shouted. "I am-I was-the Holy Wanderer of the Seekers. Entire villages joined the Seekers upon my

  inspiration. I worked miracles in the name of the New Gods!" His voice dropped to a piercing whisper. "Always you have followed me, dear sister. And never have you defeated me. Nor will you. I proved that this afternoon. You had never been stronger-but I was stronger still." Hederick placed the crystal chalice on the altar and shook his fist again. "This is my temple. You cannot hurt me here!"

  There was no answer.

  After a moment, Hederick's hands weakened and fell to his sides. He damply fingered the folds of his robe. The ache grew behind his eyes, and sweat trickled through his hair. His heart lurched.

  I'm getting old, he thought suddenly. How many more years of this can I stand?

  Accept me.

  "Never! You are a demon, Ancilla."

  Hederick found himself peering over the low railing that protected those at the altar from the sixty-foot drop to the floor. He saw movement in the depths below. Smoke rose through the solid marble floor of the Great Chamber. It clung to the stone, a purple-gray miasma of evil.

  "Begone!" he boomed. Exultation grew in the High Theocrat. His was the voice that had ensnared more Seeker souls than any other priest over the decades. His was the name that countless followers breathed aloud reverently as they worshiped, believing him the soul of the new church. He had dispelled the witch in the courtyard; he could dispel her here. Hederick's forceful baritone voice shook with indignation. "Erolydon is a holy place! Leave it at once!"

  The words echoed off the gleaming wooden walls. "Erolydon… Erolydon… holy… at once… once."

  The echoes stopped, swallowed by the smoke.

  You must accept me as part of you, if you hope to achieve what you wish.

  The smoke thickened, roiling over the floor.

  "You do not frighten me," Hederick lied, eyeing the four tiers of steps. Perhaps he could race down and leap through the smoke before Ancilla's Presence grew stronger. But he grimaced at the vision of himself bounding down the stairs to escape fog that he was quite sure no one else would be able to see. Dahos could enter at any moment. It wouldn't do to have the priest witness the highest Seeker in Solace leaping and running away from… nothing.

  "You cannot stop me," he said. "You are the dying breath of the Old Gods. You are magic… and you fear me." He forced a laugh. "You fear me! I will end your gods' reign upon this world. I am Chosen. Few believe in the Ancient Ones. Now is the time of the New Gods. We grow stronger with every passing moment." Spittle leaped from Hederick's mouth as he spoke.

  Hederick, you are old, and I… in this form, I am ageless. Welcome me. Turn away from these false gods.

  The fog now covered the first two tiers of stairs. It deepened and grew more purple; streaks of black oozed through.

  Hederick backpedaled to put the altar between him and the Presence. He once again drew out the Diamond Dragon.

  The artifact is useless against me in this form, Hederick. Will you spend your few remaining years with your eyes still closed to the truth? Your lauded Seeker gods are only pathetic wishful thinking. Remember Venessi? Remember our mother's false god?

  "I will lead all the Seekers!" the High Theocrat shouted. "And not just those in Solace! We will destroy all who follow the Ancient Ones. Only the fool Knights of Solamnia, a handful of mages, and a few deluded losers still believe in the Old Gods. Move aside for the new order. Admit your defeat!"

  You cannot defeat such as I. You must accept me, love me as I love you, little brother. I came once to bring you to the true gods and you turned me away. Let me help you now.

  Stair after stair gave way before the rising fog. Hederick detected flashes of lightning. He waved the Diamond Dragon at the smoke, but the artifact seemed to have lost its power.

  Hederick's rich baritone was gone now, his mouth dry. He rallied, though his voice cracked. "Magic," he spat out. "The magic of the Old Gods wanes daily. Wizards have hidden themselves in covens and towers, they so fear the new Seeker order." Hederick felt a surge of religious fervor. "Magic is leaving Krynn! But call it by its true names, Ancilla: Witchcraft! Sorcery! Sin!"

  You have but a short time left, Hederick. In this form, I have forever.

  He heard a hiss, as though of fog dissolving. The smell of rotting meat filled his nostrils. The High Theocrat swallowed a mouthful of bile and closed his eyes. Hederick leaned back against the railing and held out the Diamond Dragon again. The altar cloth slipped unseen to his feet.

  His voice still rang with bravado, but the fog deadened the words, stealing their edge. "I will end magic, end witchcraft, and Krynn shall praise only the New Gods. I have slain mages from Haven to Solace and beyond. My spies… The Old Gods have abandoned Krynn. Only fools refuse to abandon them in turn!"

  Carried away by his own rhetoric, Hederick opened his eyes. Purple and black smoke boiled around him, extending to the rafters. Hederick smelled death. His spine convulsed. He pitched forward.

  Crouching unsteadily at the base of the altar, Hederick screamed, "What are you? What evil do you hide?" He scrabbled to the railing, grasped it with a pudgy hand, and hauled himself to his feet. "I will fight you! I am the Seekers! Show yourself!"

  The fog wavered for a heartbeat. Something like a sigh sounded. Then the smoke thinned. One hand on the rail and one on the altar, Hederick stood, bracing himself, and looked downward where he could make out what might have been the silhouette of a woman-or an ogre-or a lizard. It hung in the air, standing on nothing, suspended over the open expanse of the Great Chamber. Clots of fog and smoke obscured its true form. It took a step toward him and seemed to beckon.

  Ah, Hederick. Face me, my brother.

  Hederick's nails carved half-moons in the wood. The scent of magic was everywhere. He sank back into the dimness under the altar.

  "No!" he screamed. "Go back!" Sobbing like a child, Hederick buried his face in the crumpled altar cloth. "I don't want to look. Go away. Go away, please. I'll be good, I promise." He waited, shaking. "Please?"

  He waited a bit longer, then lifted his head. The foul odors were gone. Gouges from his fingernails marred the red-gold vallenwood railing. The altar cloth was tear-stained and ruined. But the fog had vanished.

  Hederick heard a voice, quite an ordinary one.

  "Your Worship?" A slender woman, light hair braided into a coronet, stood in shadow at the bottom of the steps. She held a basket topped by a pink cloth. Shakily, Hederick rose and, gripping the railing, staggered down the steps toward her.

  Had the woman witnessed his humiliation?

  From a distance, she had appeared young. But as Hederick drew nearer, he could see that the hair was white, not blond. The face was wrinkled.

  "Did you see anything?" he demanded.

  "Your Worship?" The old woman gazed up at him in awe. Her words tripped over themselves. "I come now with a gift for the priests. I seen you tending something under the altar, and I waited until I think you was done,

  on the off-chance you was doin' something religious. Your Worship." She nodded rapidly, twice.<
br />
  Hederick, standing on the landing, inspected the hag. She was just like the multitude of other peasant converts who had been drawn to the Seeker religion for comfort in the troubled years since the Cataclysm. They came in droves but brought little money.

  "What is your name, old woman?" he demanded. "How did you get in here?" He suddenly realized that the sun was about to set. Soon the crowds would converge upon the Great Chamber for the nightly revelations.

  "Norah, Your Worship." She smiled tentatively at him and ventured stiffly up the stairs, still holding out the basket. She favored one knee, and her knuckles were swollen. "Your man, the high priest, said as it was all right for me to come in here. He said you was probably near done with your religious duties. So I come in here to wait."

  "And you saw nothing?" Hederick pressed. "Heard nothing?"

  Norah looked around in bewilderment. "Are you all right, Your Worship? Can I help you?" She came closer, hand outstretched, until she stood two steps below him.

  Hederick hesitated. Sympathy glowed in the old woman's bright blue eyes. For a fearful moment, he wanted nothing more than to lay his head on her shoulder. Once again his hands shook, and he hid them in his robe.

  Norah continued to reach a knobby hand toward the High Theocrat. "You look awful, Your Worship, if you don't mind my sayin'. I could make up an herb charm for you, a tea or poultice, say a few special words over't. My mother used to make 'em, and my grandmam afore her. It'll fix you right up, sure." She smiled reassuringly. "A bit of harmless family magic, y'see." Her hand picked at his sleeve.

  "Magic! Witch!" Hederick cried out, recoiling. "You are Ancilla! You are the witch in mortal form."

  "Ancilla?" Bewilderment crossed the woman's features. "Who? But I told you, m'name is…"

  The flat of Hederick's hand struck the side of Norah's startled face. Her basket soared over the stair railing. A dish shattered. She pitched backward and careened headlong down a flight of stairs to the temple floor. There were a few groans, a luckless attempt to rise, then… nothing.

  Hederick waited on the stairs.

  The double doors banged open under the pulpit. Dahos hurried into the room and stopped short. Two temple guards, arrayed in their ceremonial blue and gold, followed. "What has happened?" the high priest asked, alarmed. "Your Worship, you are harmed?"

  "No, Dahos," Hederick said.

  The tall priest knelt over the crumpled figure. Large hands moved deftly. Dahos loosened the woman's clothing and chafed her hands. He gently tapped her face, then bent close to see if she still breathed. Finally he sat back and sighed. Blood stained his face and robe. "She is dead." Dahos bowed his head and began the Prayer of the Passing Spirit. "Great Omalthea, accept the commitment of this guiltless soul…"

  "Stop," Hederick snapped. "The hag was evil. She deserves no final blessing."

  Dahos's head shot up. "Your Worship?"

  Hederick made his way past the high priest, moving toward the door. "She was a witch, Dahos," he spat over his shoulder.

  "A witch?" Horror showed on Dahos's face. He edged away from the corpse. "This is Norah Ap Orat," he said. "She baked bread and blended special teas to sell in the marketplace. We were one of her customers, Your Worship!"

  "Be quiet." Hederick replied. "Have the guards remove her. Burn her-no, better yet, have her fed to the materbill; the creature likes carrion." Hederick watched the high priest as a pair of guards hefted the woman's slight body and bore it out of the room. The High Theocrat felt the strength of leadership rekindle within him.

  "Personally oversee the destruction of any of this witch's wares in our stores," he commanded. "And order all who have partaken of her wares to undergo immediate emetics and begin two days of prayer and fasting." A thought occurred to him. "Was her tea served at my table, Dahos?"

  The priest shook his head. "To the novitiates, mostly."

  "A week of prayer and fasting, then. Tell them immediately, Dahos." As the high priest rose, Hederick stopped him. "Wait. Bathe first. And change your robe. It disgusts me."

  Dahos nodded mutely.

  "You are dismissed," Hederick finally said, and the high priest hurriedly left the chamber through the doors beneath the pulpit.

  Alone again, Hederick glanced upward and around the Great Chamber. Statues of Omalthea and the pantheons stood behind the top tier of benches. There was no sound, no sign of Ancilla. The sun was sinking low. It was the sweetest, holiest time of the day. Usually.

  Hederick.

  With no warning, the thing stood before him. Part lizard, part dragon, part woman, part smoke, its shape shifted ceaselessly. Whatever Hederick tried to focus on melted and was no longer there, or became something else. The only way to see it, apparently, was out of the corner of one's eye. He did not doubt that if he reached out to touch Ancilla's apparition, his hand would pass right through.

  The shadow Ancilla held in its filmy claw a lance the length of a man. The lance was real enough, and the monster seemed to have strength enough to wield it.

  The lance began as green and purple mist and solidified to terrifying sharpness just under the High Theocrat's breastbone. The tip of the lance severed the fibers of his robe, but stopped short of pricking him. If Hederick moved at all, if he shouted for help, he knew the projectile would pierce him through his heart before anyone could rescue him.

  Before, the Presence had appeared as smoke; this was a more solid emanation. "You are forbidden here," he whispered. "I blessed this chamber in the name of Sauvay and Omalthea themselves." Sauvay's Diamond Dragon has failed to protect me here, he thought in panic. What have I done to offend the New Gods?

  Do you remember the Garnet Mountains, Hederick?

  He dared not move. The creature's whispery voice continued.

  They stood to the east of our village. Sunrises in Garlund village were nothing to boast of, but we had sunsets to inspire the gods. I see you continue that tradition here.

  When Hederick again refused to answer, the sibilant voice resumed.

  Remember, little brother? We were refugees. Con, our father. Venessi, our mother. A handful of lost souls from Caergoth who believed that a new god had spoken to our parents. Do you remember the tales of that time, Hederick?

  "I forget nothing," Hederick muttered. "Ever."

  Alas, I have watched you for years, and I believe you have forgotten much that matters.

  Hederick realized the numbing terror that the Presence originally inspired in him had lessened. "It is time for my evening revelations, lizard." He turned his back on the Presence and made his way toward the pulpit stairs.

  Will she kill me? he thought. He risked a glance back.

  The Presence was gone.

  Dahos stood at the double doors. He had donned a fresh robe, as ordered, and waited for Hederick. Novitiates were making their way up the aisles. The audience would be seated before the Seekers began the nightly procession. Hederick hurried to join his high priest.

  Tonight, as always, he would prophesy for the New Gods.

  Chapter 9

  People crammed the benches, knelt in the aisles, and squatted on the floor of the Great Chamber. Children sat on parents' laps, but did not chatter or fuss. Everyone watched the High Theocrat as he busied himself in the pulpit above.

  Hederick sipped yet another chalice of mead and examined the sinners below him. The crowd sat mesmerized, like fat blueberries, ready for plucking in late summer.

  The High Theocrat imagined himself harvesting souls- a handful for Omalthea, a bucketful for Sauvay, a basketful for Hederick… He resisted the urge to giggle. Truly the mead was working miracles tonight. Hederick swayed in the pulpit, lightly touching the Diamond Dragon. All was going well.

  The High Theocrat had delivered the greeting, encouraging Omalthea and Sauvay and those of the pantheons

  to enter the hallowed ground of the Great Chamber. He had already downed two goblets of mead… or was it more? His head was swimming devoutly.

  He'd gone on to ex
hort the crowd to abandon sin, to reject magic and spellcasters, to ferret out and punish all who continued to show fealty to the Old Gods. And, especially, to report the sins of their neighbors.

  The crowd had followed the novitiates' lead admirably, nodding when they did, weeping when two neophytes burst into noisy tears of repentance, and surging forward when Hederick issued the call to the converted: "Come to the altar. Receive the blessings of the New Gods. Join with them, O Faithful Ones."

  "Join with them." The priests, led by Dahos, echoed the response.

  Converts moved their lips: "We come to the altar of the Seekers, O New Gods, to receive the blessings and to mingle our wealth with yours."

  They presented their offerings-coins or precious stones wrapped in parchment and purchased at exorbitant prices from the Seeker peddlers who roamed Solace and the rest of Krynn. The peddlers, in turn, handed over most of the proceeds to the Seeker organization.

  As always, High Priest Dahos handled his offices with aplomb. He looked each convert in the eye, and remembered to follow the sipping of the mead with the welcoming handshake. "The eyes of the New Gods smile upon you," Dahos intoned to each penitent, directing them toward the two priests who would retrieve the chalice, take down each individual's name, and receive the pledge of further money and goods for the holy cause.

  Hederick looked down upon the winding line of would-be Seekers and swallowed more mead, always tilting the glass first toward the marble-and-gilt statues of the members of the pantheons that stood by the slit windows at the upper back of the chamber: Omalthea-tall and forbidding, with an unsheathed broadsword in one hand; Sauvay-broad-chested, with flowing hair and implacable visage; Ferae-pale and womanly, one hand stroking a doe and the other cradling a basket of grain; Cadithal-the laughing god, hands on hips and head thrown back; and Zeshun-earthy and sensuous.

  Excited signs from the two priests told Hederick that people were far exceeding the usual gifts this evening. There was a sense of tension and excitement in the air. "Nothing like an execution to increase the pledges," he murmured.