The Temple of Heart and Bone

by Evren, S. K.

  Drothspar nodded and stood up. He walked to the door, opened it, and left. He looked back at the cottage once, noticing the shadows made by her lantern as she moved it about inside. It felt odd to leave a complete stranger in his home. It felt odd to be only bones and walk around. He had to think, had to try to put all of this together. The farm was just an excuse, a reason to walk, to think, and to let the living girl sleep in peace.

  Chapter 12 – Skipping Stones

  As he entered the woods, Drothspar noticed that the coming night was not as dark as the nights before had been. The trees nearby stood out distinctly, the familiar haze remaining only at a distance. The night cast a deep blue veil on the forest, leeching all other colors from the palette. Drothspar felt his feet sink into the cool, wet ground. Though the rain still fell, it was lighter now, steady. Like a messenger who’s already told his tale, it had lost its sense of urgency.

  The rain soaked deep into his old robe. He could feel the extra weight of the water, but it did not tire him. He felt it more as a passing interest than a pressing matter. He realized that he was making no attempts whatsoever to shield himself from the falling water. He did not bow his head to protect his face, nor did he hustle for spotty shelter from tree to tree. The rain, he thought, presented no measure of discomfort.

  Eventually, he arrived at the ruined farm. Darkness filled the sky, so he was certain that morning had not yet come. How long it had taken him to walk the distance, however, he could not guess. He carefully picked his way across the grown-over fields and followed the fences to the buildings. Chance had told him she’d seen bodies in the cellar of the house and the main barn structure. He decided to take a look into the barn first.

  As she had described, blackened skeletal remains littered the charred structure. The horrors that had been inflicted upon the Fern farmstead were scattered everywhere. Something restless seemed to move in the darkness, something just out of his sight. Different from the haze he had encountered before, he saw shadows that seemed to both flicker and roil. There were many of the disturbed shadows, some lingering in the insubstantial air, others sinking and rising in the dirt like fish in the nighttime water. They seemed to have no substance, though one appeared to disturb a hanging chain the way a vagrant breeze touches a wind chime.

  He left the barn and stepped into the house’s cellar. Just as Chance had described, three bodies lie in the dirt. Three skulls, and other missing members, surrounded the bodies like the forgotten toys of a spoiled child. These must have been the Ferns. A simple family mutilated in its own home. Why? Why would anyone do this? What military advantage could there be in the vicious slaughter of a farmstead? Cruelty had done this, he thought. Evil, in its most basic form, had been here.

  Drothspar remembered a question he had once asked his archpriest, Gathner. The archpriest had assigned him various readings to complete in his prayer cell. After reading some of the material, Drothspar felt compelled to approach his master and ask, “What is evil?” Gathner, who had been reading in his study, put aside his parchments and looked seriously at his novice.

  “You’ve been reading your assignments?” the archpriest inquired.

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Why have you asked this question?” Gathner wanted to know.

  “Master,” Drothspar replied, “I read what you asked me to read. In many of these works, the authors talk about evil. They say one must be wary of evil. They say one can be tempted by evil. They say that evil is bad. What they do not clearly say, however, is what constitutes evil.”

  “I see,” Gathner said, nodding his head. His eyes looked deeply into those of his student. “Why do you want to know what evil is?”

  “It is hard to be wary of, or avoid, that which is undefined.”

  “I see,” the older man said again. Drothspar had begun to wonder if he had, perhaps, missed the point of the exercise entirely. His confusion rose immediately in his face, and the archpriest perceived it there. He answered the novice’s unspoken question. “You did not fail, my boy, you found the heart of the matter precisely.”

  “Thank you, Master,” Drothspar replied in an uncertain tone.

  “What, you have asked, is evil? The answer, I tell you, is at once very simple and extremely complex. Very often we think we know what evil is, we think we could recognize evil if it walked up and shook our hand. Your question, my son, I can answer in a single sentence. Understanding it, however, will most likely require the remainder of your life. Listen, my son, and I will tell you what evil is.” Looking intently at his student, the archpriest leaned forward as if to divulge a great secret. Drothspar, caught up in the drama of the moment, leaned forward as well.

  “I am ready, Master,” he whispered. Gathner cocked his head slightly and gave the novice a wry smile.

  “Evil,” he boomed out in a loud voice, “is putting self above all other matters.” Drothspar jumped back in his chair, surprised by his master’s shout. Gathner smiled at the reaction. “It’s that simple.”

  Drothspar considered the archpriest’s answer. Evil, he had known from earliest childhood, was the darkness that threatened from outside the corners of vision. Evil was huge and menacing, subtle and deceitful. Evil was a monster that could swallow up the world and sun, or the swindler who cheated a family out of their farm. Evil was vast, slick, and complex. How could evil simply be selfishness? Anyone could be selfish. The tumult of questions showed clearly on Drothspar’s face. Gathner waited to let the new wave of ideas and questions settle before continuing.

  “Drothspar,” he said, “let’s look at some practical examples.”

  “Yes Master, please.”

  “If a man kills another man, would you say, ‘this is an evil act?’”

  Drothspar’s face hardened at the question. Blood rose into his cheeks and his eyes turned to stone. He answered automatically, his voice devoid of emotion. “Yes, Master.”

  “Why?”

  “Killing is wrong, Master,” he replied.

  “Suppose, for our example, a town guard comes across a man in the street about to stab an elderly woman for her purse. The guard has no time to intervene; all he can do is use his own weapon first to kill the man with the knife. Quickly, he does so. Is the act of the guard evil?”

  “No Master,” the novice replied grudgingly.

  “Why not? He has just killed a man.”

  “Master, he killed the man to save the woman.”

  “Okay. Now, let’s remove the guard from the example. The old woman is walking to the market. She has the list of goods she needs to purchase and the money from her pension. Her attacker comes up from behind. He has watched her for weeks, he knows her patterns. She passes into a deserted alley to cut some time from her walk. Catching her alone, the attacker stabs her repeatedly to be certain she won’t cry out. He steals her money and runs away. Is the act of the attacker evil?”

  “Of course, Master!”

  “Why?” Gathner looked at the young man.

  Drothspar had almost said, “it just is,” but held back his tongue. He was uncomfortable with the archpriest’s choice of subject matter. Didn’t the old man know what Drothspar had been through prior to his novitiate? With that thought came the answer. The old man did know what Drothspar had been through, and had chosen his subject matter accordingly.

  The murder of the old woman was an act of evil, he was sure of it. But why was it evil? That was the question he had to answer. Both men had killed. The guard had killed to protect someone. The attacker had killed to steal money. “Evil is putting self above all other matters,” Gathner had told him. The guard had killed, but not for himself. The attacker had killed to steal. He took another being’s life to get something for himself. The guard could have walked away to keep himself from harm. The woman, unaware of the attack, had no choice but to die. The attacker had the choice to kill or to walk away. He had put all other matters aside for personal gain.

  “Master, the woman’s killer had disregarded her
right to life in order to take something that wasn’t his. By your definition, he is evil.”

  “All right,” Gathner said, “let’s continue to alter our example. Let’s say that the old woman is walking to the market, a man follows her closely, and, unseen by the first two, a guard follows them both. The guard has been watching the man for some time. He hasn’t seen the man do anything wrong. The guard, however, has a hunch. From behind, the guard decides he doesn’t want to wait for the man to strike. Drawing his own weapon, he plunges it into the man’s back. The man falls to the ground and dies quickly. The guard finds a knife on the man’s body and little else. Is this act of the guard evil?”

  Drothspar grimaced inwardly. The old man continued to press the issue close to home. He sighed and considered the situation. The guard would, most likely, have much experience. If so, he would be able to “sense” a criminal. Drothspar had done it any number of times in his past. The man, however, had done nothing criminal. There was nothing illegal about carrying a knife. Many men and women carried one for work or defense. The guard had never seen the man do anything criminal. His act wasn’t defense, it was simply murder. Why was it murder, though? Because the guard became impatient. He wasn’t willing to see what choices the man might make. The man might have attacked the woman, or he might have gotten cold feet, or found God. That was it! The guard had stolen the man’s choices.

  “Master, the act of the guard in this case was evil. He stole the man’s ability to make a choice. If the man were the same man as our other example, he could have chosen to attack the woman, or to not attack her. By acting prematurely, the guard prevented that choice. He took a life in order to steal a choice.”

  “And what if the man would definitely have attacked the woman?”

  “Master, how could the guard know what the man would definitely do? If there were some way to gauge that, if the guard could have been entirely certain that the man was going to kill the woman, he could have stopped the man and disarmed him. In the first example, the guard had an immediate need. There was no other way to stop the attack. The man’s knife was out and his intentions clear. In this example, the man’s knife was still hidden.” Drothspar looked at the old man seriously. “Was there some way for the guard to know for certain?”

  Gathner shrugged at the novice, his face emotionless.

  “Master, if there can be no certainty of what the man would do, then what the guard did was wrong. It was evil.”

  “Let’s look at one more example,” the archpriest said, “one that should be clearer to you. Are the Fallen evil?”

  Drothspar looked incredulously at his Master. Of course the Fallen were evil, he thought to himself. They were evil. He paused for a moment and considered that idea. The Fallen, in his mind, had become synonymous with evil. What, however, made them “evil?” Their acts were common knowledge, not only to the priesthood, but also the populace in general. Stories of the Fallen were told to frighten children into obedience. He thought back to what he knew of the Fallen.

  The Fallen had been servants of the Maker, angels, some people called them. When the Maker had created all things, He took rest and considered all He had done. Some of His servants, however, decided to improve on their Master’s work. These servants began a Creation of their own, creating life without the guidance of their Master. These angels had brought about a race they called Men.

  In the beginning, Men had been little more than mindless automata. They served the needs of the angels who created them. The Maker, returning from His rest, asked what His servants had wrought. The servants who had created Men went quickly into hiding while their Master surveyed their work. The Maker had brought life to other races, beings of form and light, of spirit and body. These beings were immortal in body and soul. Men, however, were mere collections of dust, the scrap of creation. Their bodies were quite mortal, and they had no souls.

  Taking mercy on the abomination before Him, the Master gave of Himself, and breathed the life of soul into the errant creation of His servants. The life of these beings, He knew, would be a great trial, a conflict of dying flesh and living spirit. The Maker returned to His throne in the Heavens and sent His faithful servants out to bring the makers of Man before Him.

  The servants in hiding resisted those who were sent to retrieve them. First a few, then, in ever greater numbers, the disgraced servants fought with those who had been sent to retrieve them. It was in these battles that the first blood of an immortal servant, the first blood of an angel had been spilled. Realizing what they had done, the disgraced servants fought with greater fury. They were certain there would be no mercy shown them, thus they chose to show no mercy to their former comrades. The familial War of Angels threatened the very essence of Creation.

  Thus it was that a great call went up among those in battle. The Maker called all of His angels to Himself. The Faithful returned. The disgraced, those who came to be known as the Fallen, remained in exile. Yet a third group segregated itself at this time. A group of angels, swearing loyalty and allegiance to the Maker, turned aside from the call of their Master. They were certain that, unchecked, the Fallen would destroy all of Creation, all of their Master’s work. Banding together, they chose their exile, saying, “Thus we give all that we are, ever were, or shall be in Love and Defense of the Master!”

  The Faithful had returned to the realm of the Maker. Creation was divided between the True Fallen, those who had caused the Creation of Men, and the Rebel Fallen, those who had sworn to Love and Defend their Master and His Creation, even at the cost of their union with Him. The True Fallen walked among the men of the world as gods, still possessed of Immortal powers. The Rebel Fallen walked in the shadows, rarely interfering in the affairs of men.

  These were part of the stories of Creation, stories that had been told to Drothspar by his parents and by generations of parents from time immemorial. Most children could recite the stories, in some form, in their earliest years of speech. The great battle of the angels was a favorite of playground re-enactors, at least until adult supervision interposed.

  Gathner had asked him, “Are the Fallen evil?” Drothspar thought back on the story he had recounted in his mind. His Master had not segregated between the True and Rebel Fallen. Drothspar, however, did not see the two as the same. The True Fallen, he thought, created without the will of the Maker. Their creation was not only imperfect, but incomplete as well. The first “Men” of creation were mindless drones, slaves to the servants that had made them. The word “slaves” sounded in his mind like the after-tone of a bell. The Maker had brought Creation into being as an act of Love and Sacrifice. The True Fallen had made men to be slaves, to serve them as they thought they had served the Master. A servant, he thought, has a choice. A servant may chose to serve, or choose to leave and take up life in some other fashion or with some other master. A slave has no choice. A slave has no enforceable will of its own.

  The Rebel Fallen had sacrificed all that they were or could have been to continue to serve their Master. Many theologians said that they were no better than the True Fallen, because they had disobeyed the Creator of All. Drothspar, however, had always admired the Rebel Fallen. They could have washed their hands of the responsibility of Creation, but they did not. They refused to leave the True Fallen unwatched, fearing for the world their Master had wrought. Little was known or told of the Rebel Fallen. Their few stories were held up as lessons against disobedience. Drothspar had never agreed with that view. They had stayed to protect, not for themselves, but for their Master, for His Creation, and ultimately, for Men.

  Gathner watched Drothspar as the novice wrestled with the questions in his head. Behind his desk, he leaned back in his chair, his hands folded on his chest as if in prayer. His eyes studied the young novice. His face showed nothing, but his mind was afire with curiosity. Would this young man understand? Would he come up with ideas of his own, or would he spout off the “party line,” as it were. Excitement built up within the archpriest, though hi
s appearance gave nothing away.

  “Master,” Drothspar said, “I think I am ready to answer.”

  “You think you are,” Gathner asked, “or you are?”

  “I am ready, Master.”

  “Then, by all means, please go on.”

  “Master, the True Fallen created Men out of a selfish desire for slaves.” Gathner became more excited as he listened to the words of the novice. Few of his novices even made a distinction in the Fallen, preferring, as most, to group them all together. Keeping his face and body neutral, he listened as the young man continued. “They did not seek the consent of the Maker of All. They did not give Men the ability to worship or know the true Author of Creation. Because of this, I would say that the True Fallen are evil. As my witness, Master, I attest to you that I am not fit to judge the least of men, let alone any immortal being, as good or evil, but only label them so to answer your question.”

  “Very well, Drothspar, I will accept your answer.” In his time as archpriest, no novice had ever excused himself from the right to judge in speculation or in fact. Gathner mused on the subject until he was interrupted by Drothspar.

  “Master, may I continue?”

  Gathner looked at the novice before him, certain his excitement must be showing. His self-control, however, was complete as he told his student to go on.

  “Master, you asked about ‘the Fallen,’ and I have given you my answer on the True Fallen. I would now like to give you my thoughts on the Rebel Fallen.” Drothspar waited for the old man to respond.

  Gathner’s eyes had opened wide and he stared at the boy for a moment, almost, but not quite, losing his composure. “Proceed,” he told the novice.

  “The Rebel Fallen disobeyed their Master. They did not know what His true Will was, but took it on themselves to stay amidst Creation.” Drothspar paused, sorting his thoughts to continue. Gathner, however, felt the taste of disappointment in his heart. The boy was simply repeating the theological definition of the Rebels. This novice had shown such promise, he thought to himself, regretfully. He was about to stop the interview when Drothspar continued.