The Pilgrim Stone

by J D Bowens

  “Why must we use the brögs, mistress?” Synara asked unable to hide her disgust. “They are a savage and violent race.”

  “I need them to recover something for me from the Blasted Lands. Besides, we need as many of Nemoth's Blessed Children as we can gather. You may be gifted with Nemoth’s divina magic, but one Blessed Child cannot bring him back to this mortal realm alone. Besides, the brögs are Nemoth's firstborn, a whole race of people willing to fight for his holy intentions.” Zamari sighed and leaned back in her chair. “But what I was once willing to tolerate is no longer acceptable. Failure is not acceptable. Not when we are this close. You remember when I first found you?”

  “Yes, I do,” Synara said. “I was just a slave in the temple’s kitchens. But you and Sister Lorna found me and saved me. It was the best day of my life when I found out I had a purpose.”

  “Yes, it took time for me to train you, but I kept at it because I sensed Nemoth had given you a great Blessing,” Zamari said. She caressed Synara’s cheek like a doting mother. “And I was not wrong. You found others who would loyally follow our great father Nemoth. You’ve maintained the work I’d already begun in this city. So many now have been brought to the truth.”

  “I was so fortunate that you found me and introduced me to the truth,” Synara smiled.

  How foolish she had been to believe in the Quintetta, the false gods created by man. Many of the serving girls and boys in the kitchen had tormented her, saying her red hair was the color Durk, the mythical demon of lust who opposed the Quintetta. “No,” Zamari had said, “Your hair is the color of Nemoth himself.”

  Synara tugged at one of her locks as Zamari spoke.

  “Yes, though I suppose I should be thankful to the ‘holy’ Quintetta,” Zamari mocked. “Their Servants have made it easier for me to find Blessed persons such as yourself and work with other like-minded nobles. Soon we will have an army anointed with Nemoth’s might to retake all of Amarant.” She lifted a finger and pointed it at Synara. “Yet all of this could be undone by just a few simple failures.” She held Synara’s chin between her thumb and forefinger. “You have been a most loyal and dedicated Child to our Father of Shadows and Blood and me. But if you fail now, you shall suffer the same eternal damnation Mugra faces. I also shall suffer such a fate, you would not want that for me, would you?”

  Synara was near tears but refused to cry. “No, mistress. I would not dare fail you.”

  Zamari released her. "Very good then. You will need to prepare a raven tonight," Zamari said. “But after the Purification Ceremony."

  Synara sighed. She hated these empty ceremonies to the false gods. It was an abomination to Nemoth and a barbaric practice conducted by simpletons who hardly understood the deeply complex nature of divina magic.

  "Yes, Mistress," she said. She knew better than to test Zamari after such a terrible conversation with the Brög.

  "It is important that you see this," Zamari said as she changed from her robes of Nemoth back into the gold and black dress. "For the brögs to fail is one thing. They can worship freely among their own people. But for us to fail - for other humans to discover who we truly are - it means a terrible death. For Mugra, death will be swift, but we will not have such mercy."

  They left her chambers and marched back up to the temple. Outside a large crowd of priestesses and Denipoor guards gathered around a large pyre of wood near the temple walls. It rose above the crowd and at its peak was a platform, a tall pole jutting from its center.

  It's barbaric how so many people come to watch these ceremonies. The burnings always drew a large gathering of people. Even for those unable to attend, the burning could be witnessed from the nearby homes in the town surrounding the temple. Zamari and Synara made their way to the back of the crowd and looked up at the empty platform.

  "I thought that the king forbade his guards from attending these," Synara said.

  "He has," Zamari said. "But the conscience of men cannot ignore the ‘will of the gods.’ What he forbids in public, he approves in private. He will not deprive the people of their holy necessities."

  The crowd grew silent as two strong men dragged a young woman clad in no more than her undergarments onto the platform atop the pyre. She screamed and kicked as they carried her over to the pole. Her efforts did little to help her. She bit one of the men tying her to the pole and received a stern, solid slap across her face. She grew silent for a moment, and the two men finished tying her restraints. As they descended the pyre, an elderly priestess walked up to the platform.

  "Amelia," Synara said recognizing the woman tied to the pole. She was an unwed mother of two children who lived in the eastern part of the city. Amelia had come to the temple a few times seeking the blessing of Serun for her children when sick. She was not devout but also not someone Synara thought worthy of being purified.

  These delusional zealots will burn and murder their own believers in the name of a false god. It's too much to bear! She almost dared to look away but did not for fear of drawing scorn from her surrounding Sisters.

  "Many centuries ago," the old priestess began, "the Quintetta revealed themselves to Terrius Falzan, the First Servant. The revelation is recorded in the holy tome, ‘The Mystery of Quintetta’:

  "’We are Serun, Dacos, Mara, Rashnoc, and Weiira: the gods of peace, contentment, love, retribution, and life,’ they said to him in one accord. ‘We have come to you Falzan for you have a pure and seeking heart; a desire to bring all of humanity into an age of enlightenment. We bless you with great power and divine wisdom. Go, therefore, and minister to the people of Amarant and purge them of the demons: anger, hatred, jealousy, lust, and death.'

  “And we continue his ministry,” the priestess continued. “For hundreds of years, we have purified the people of the Northern Kingdom, burning those possessed by demons so that the holy attributes of the Quintetta may be reflected through their people. Glory to the Quintetta.”

  “Glory to the Quintetta,” the crowd said. “Glory to the Quintetta. Peace of Serun, be upon us. Meekness of Dacos, abide in us. Love of Mara, guide us. Strength of Rashnoc, protect us. Life of Weiira, dwell in us.”

  The praise echoed through the crowd for several minutes until the priestess raised her hand. The priestess turned to the woman tied to the pole, who had regained consciousness. "You have been found to be possessed by two of these demons."

  "I am possessed by no demons," Amelia denied. "I have done nothing wrong!"

  "Many witnesses have come forward and have accused you of wielding strange fire in the night. Several women who live near your home who have experienced stillbirths, claim to have seen you in a vision while the wombs burned. Strange fire and unnatural deaths - these are the signs of demonic possession."

  "These are lies," Amelia argued. "I don’t know anything about strange fire, and I’d never harm a child. Please," she said addressing the crowd, "you know it’s not true. Please stop this. Say something!" The smug faces of her neighbors looked at her with disdain.

  Synara knew that Amelia was probably telling the truth. It wasn’t the first time jealous or vengeful neighbors had come forward to accuse another falsely. There were no demons, only evil humans. I should say something.

  Zamari called to Synara’s mind. There is nothing we can do to save them. It is impossible to prove that one is not possessed by a demon after they have been accused. To do so would only draw scrutiny to yourself. You don't wish to be burned with her, do you?

  “No,” Synara whispered aloud.

  Then change your countenance. Do not appear so angry. When our Father grants my army his power, we will establish rulership over this realm that will last for ages. Man will be judged as equal, and we will all worship the one true god, Nemoth.

  Synara’s face beamed at the thought. The priestess continued to prattle on despite Amelia’s pleas.

  "According to the ministry and speaking of the First Priest Falzan,” the priestess said, “the only way to cure a soul of demon pos
session is by oil and fire." She turned and removed a vial of oil from her robes and poured it on weeping Amelia’s head. It flowed down her face and mixed with her tears. Amelia cried, but the priestess ignored her. The crowd ignored her. The city about to witness her burning ignored her.

  I hate this part. She closed her eyes for a moment, but Zamari nudged her in the ribs. I know, I must watch. I wish I did not have to listen at least.

  "This Purification Ceremony will release your soul from your corrupted body and send you into the arms of Serun who will accept you into the realm of the Quintetta," the priestess said. "Accept the flames; they will save you from damnation. Accept the oil; it sanctifies you unto the Quintetta. May Serun be with you, and you with her."

  As the priestess descended the pyre, several others began chanting unintelligibly. They made several swift hand motions and as she stepped off the pyre the wood beneath burst into flame. The fire climbed up to the platform and licked the woman's feet. Smoke filled the air and consumed the young woman tied to the pyre.

  Synara could no longer see her through the thick column of smoke, but she could hear her screams and smell her roasting flesh.

  “This is the price we shall pay if we are caught,” Zamari whispered to her mind. “A terrible death and an eternity of paying for our failure. Unending torment. But if we succeed, life eternal and the world will worship the ground we walk upon. These fools will be our slaves.”

  The risk is great, but the reward is greater.

  "Death is only the beginning," Synara said.

  Chapter 4

  Eleanor Blackwall, the sheriff of Normead, examined the brög head that sat in a sack on her desk. She picked it up briefly and turned it in her pale hands, its jaw moving slightly as she did. "Well by the peace of Serun," Sheriff Blackwall said as she placed the head back into the sack and rose from her chair. "I guess the rumors were true then. You say you only found five, though?"

  The Edderick brothers stood on the opposite side of the desk. The room was large enough to hold a bookshelf, a table, and a few chairs. The flag of Grenloch, a white gryphon on a green banner, was displayed on the wall above the sheriff. Trophies of deer and bear heads were mounted on plaques looking down at them.

  I wonder if she intends to add the brög heads to the display. He imagined the brög head sitting on the wall greeting people as they entered the office.

  "Yes," Kyran said. "I know there were ten reported, but I’m not sure where the other five are. It may be there were not that many, to begin with. People are given to exaggeration when frightened. Who would have thought we would have found this many so far west of the Gate?"

  "We made short work of the gray-skinned monsters," Ewan said. "Took a while to track them down."

  "How did you manage to find them?" Sheriff Blackwall asked.

  "We followed some suspicious tracks from the highway," Consus said. “Kyran and I stumbled upon them and almost got killed ourselves.”

  "Ah, don’t be a sourpuss," Ewan said. "You only almost died. That’s what’s important."

  "Well, I thank you for your courage," she said. "There are quite a few homesteads that’d thank you too. Weren’t it for you, they might be a meal for the brögs. I'll be sure that the captain sends a patrol that way to investigate. If there are any other brögs out there, then we'll find them. You brothers have done more than enough." She moved to open a draw in her desk, unlocking it with one of the many keys on a ring hanging from her belt.

  "The matter of your payment," Blackwall said as she lifted a large leather purse from the drawer.

  "Thank you," Kyran said as she handed him the purse.

  "You should trust me better than that," she said as he counted it. "It's all there."

  "I just wanted to be certain there were no mistakes," he replied with a smile. "We'll be on our way then."

  "Before you leave, you should know there were two women here looking for an escort to the Nor Sea," she said. "I recommended you since you are all familiar with the area. I told them they could find you at Pig in the Pot."

  Kyran clapped his hands. "Ah, more work then." Consus groaned inwardly, but his expression must have been visible to his brother. "You weren't hoping we would take a break, were you?"

  "I was hoping for fewer nights sleeping on the ground.”

  Ewan tousled his hair. "Aye, we shall toughen you up yet, little brother." They stepped out of the office and walked down the corridor that led to it. The sheriff's office was in Grokken Hall, a large building of stone and plastered wood, just inside the wall of the city. While there were signs of aging, it was not nearly old as those located near the centermost part of the city, around the Darmund Keep.

  Newer homes were built closer to the city’s edge and outside the great walls of Normead lived the poorest residents, a district often referred to as “Rat’s End.” The dingy shacks and abysmal huts seemed a cruel juxtapose to the finer homes on the other side of the gate.

  Consus walked down the wooden steps of Grokken Hall onto the cobblestone streets where Ewan, Altin, and Milo now stood facing Kyran.

  "My brothers,” Kyran said, “I have good news. We are halfway towards paying off our family debt."

  Consus cheered with his brothers and Milo clapped his hands. “Alright, share the wealth,” the eager halfling said. “I want to go to the Pig in the Pot and enjoy some ale and stew.”

  Ewan tapped his knuckles on Milo’s head. “Yeah, but make sure the ‘little man’ gets a half share. He doesn’t need to eat as much.”

  Kyran laughed as he divvied up the coins. He poured half of the coins into a large leather purse and the remainder into four smaller cloth purses. “Catch,” he said and tossed one to Altin and to Consus. Milo caught his purse and gleefully examined it.

  Ewan raised a hand to catch his share but Milo jumped up and snatched it out of the air. “What the--,” Ewan said, “you give that back, you little thief.”

  Ewan’s blustery demand was lost to Milo’s ears. He was already darting through the crowd towards the inn, laughing at his deed. Consus and Altin chuckled as Ewan struggled to follow the halfling through the streets.

  Kyran started down the stone and dirt road. “Well, off to the bank to take care of the debt collectors.” Consus walked beside him with Altin.

  The homes around them were some of Normead’s finest in the Market District, where the well-to-do merchants and shopkeepers resided and conducted business. Many of the popular inns and taverns were also located here, and it was a haven for traveling traders and merchants. The further into the city they traveled, the grander the buildings became. More structures of stone than wood stood on either side of the streets, and the residents strolled through the streets in finer attire.

  “Father would be proud of us,” Consus said. “Halfway done with the debt and only after a year of work.”

  Kyran nudged his shoulder. “He’d be very proud of you. Look at you, almost a swordsman holding your own in the world.”

  Consus beamed at the compliment. It had been a year since their father, Richard Edderick, had died. He had succumbed to a sickness obtained in his travels as a merchant to the Southern Empire. His death had called his sons home to bury him in the family graveyard. While Richard had been a successful and ambitious merchant, his passing left an outstanding loan in the family’s name. By law, the brothers were obligated to pay it or be sentenced to debtors’ prison.

  Kyran patted the leather purse now tucked inside his tunic. “All we need is a few riskier missions, and we’ll be done with the debt in no time.”

  Consus tried to avoid bumping into people. “I’d prefer a few less risky missions.”

  “Nonsense. The greater the risk, the greater the gold.” Kyran did nothing to avoid running into people. The crowd flowed by his large muscular frame like a stream passing a boulder in its path. He noted how their dark skin made them stand out from the other residents of Normead. Most people were of a paler complexion and with straight yellow straw-color
ed hair. Only a few other people around them were of the same dark color with cotton puff hair, a signature of those whose ancestors were of the Southern Empire.

  Chimneys stretched upwards from the rooftops, puffing columns of smoke into the sky. The thick insulated walls and peaked roofs were a stark contrast to the humble thatched roofs and wooden huts located on the outskirts of the city.

  “I think I could live here,” Kyran said, admiring a grand home they were passing by. The mason work on the building was so fine that it seemed to be made of one stone. Statues of mythical creatures decorated the roof and balcony.

  “I don’t think you have the coin,” Consus said. “You hardly have the coin to live outside the city walls.”

  “Ah, but I might one day,” Altin said. “Kyran’s new trading company might be a successful venture. Lucky for us, he didn’t sell father’s trading rights to the Southern Empire. Not too many merchants have that-”

  “What do you mean?” Consus was perplexed.

  Altin’s eyes widened with sudden realization. “Oh, Kyran. You still haven’t told him, have you?” Kyran shook his head with vigor, the smile on his face replaced with a dark scowl.

  Consus glared at him. “Why didn’t you sell it, Kyran? And why didn’t you tell me a year ago?”

  Kyran shrugged his shoulders and raised his stubborn chin. “It was my inheritance and my right. I’m not required to tell you.”

  Consus made no attempt to hide his anger. “We could have sold those rights to almost any trading company in the Northern Kingdom and paid off the debt in full by now. Why would you make us toil so needlessly?” His voice shook with frustration, and he was overwhelmed by a sense of betrayal. He shrugged Altin’s calm hand from his shoulder.

  “It was for the good of our family. Our father worked hard to obtain permission to trade in the Southern Empire. If we sold that, what future would we have? True, the debt would have been paid off but what of our lives after that?”