Forgotten Hero

by Brian Murray

  “How dare you touch my daughter!” roared Rayth, seeing red. He cracked the man on the head with his club. The man slumped on the ground in a heap. Rayth stepped forward to deliver a beating the man deserved, when the City Watch burst into the tavern wearing their distinct bright red coats.

  “That’s enough, Rayth. I’ll take it from here,” shouted Conn, staring into the innkeeper’s eyes and knowing anger controlled him. “Aurillia, come and get your father before he does something stupid.”

  Aurillia came round the bar and put her arm around Rayth’s waist. Looking into his daughter’s concerned violet eyes, all anger drained away.

  “Take that ugly cur out of my tavern, and don’t forget his friends,” Rayth hissed.

  Conn sighed with relief. He could handle himself and fight most men, but Rayth was one man he did not like the idea of fighting.

  “Kilde and Ande, take these men to the office dungeons,” ordered Conn, as he followed Rayth and Aurillia to the bar. The two officers slapped the unconscious men awake and they rose on wobbly legs.

  “Drunken brawl?” asked Conn leaning against the bar.

  Rayth turned, his eyes blazing. “They touched my girl.” He did not have to say anything else. Conn was now seething.

  Following the prisoner out of the tavern, Conn cuffed one of them for moving too slowly. Turning he glanced back into the tavern and watched as Aurillia hugged her father and prised the club from his clenched, white-knuckled fist. After the fear drained from her body, Conn knew Aurillia would chastise her father for being too violent. She loved her father but he was over protective. Waving off his concerns for her, she sat him down so she could check for injuries. Hurt? Very few could get close enough to the big man to hurt him.

  Closing the tavern door, Conn marched the men the short distance to the City Watch offices where he would throw them in the dungeons for the night. A beating from Rayth would be punishment enough, along with sore heads and bruises.

  ***

  Once back at the City Watch offices, Conn charged the men and made sure they were thrown into the dungeons. None of the men gave a name, and all of them gave the Temple of the Path as their address.

  Inside his office, Zorain sat in his chair, his mood melancholy. He spent much of his time between his office and the palace. At the palace, he held talks with the city administrator, Larvicor. The man, a politician, only wanted to hear good news, and frowned deeply every time the captain mentioned problems. Moreover, as a politician, the man never made a decision, using his slippery tongue to avoid giving any direct or absolute answer. He would always say he needed to obtain counsel from the queen or the treasurer, or some other advisor. This made the captain’s job more difficult as he could not obtain clearance for increased coin to pay more constables to patrol the docks. He still worried about the activities in the dock, more especially the lack of activity. As far as he was aware, all contraband was being stifled, and lack of action at night concerned Zorain. None of his men had reason to raid warehouses or homes as all information from the docks, and about the distribution of contraband, had stopped. The day before, two more of his informants had turned up floating in the bay and the rest had either hidden or fled.

  There was a knock at the captain’s door.

  “Come in.”

  Conn entered. “Zorain, I have been to the Flying Vessel.”

  “Yes?” asked the captain, who turned to face the constable.

  “Rayth’s daughter, Aurillia, was being touched by one of the customers, and Rayth – well . . . shall we say, took offence.”

  “Is the man still alive?” asked Zorain, concerned.

  “Aye, only cracked heads and bruises. He and his companions were lucky we arrived when we did or we would have Rayth here instead.”

  “If you could get him here, that is.”

  “Aye. But here’s the funny thing. The men will not give their names and have given their homes as the Temple of the Path.”

  “What?”

  “They gave their address as the Dark Temple,” repeated the constable, shrugging his shoulders.

  Zorain rose from his desk and reached for his red, knee-length coat. This was not the first time the temple’s name had surfaced in conversation. During his last meeting with an informant, the man had also mentioned the temple and some strange things happening inside.

  “Well, I am fed up, not knowing what is going on. We will go to the temple to find out what the hell is happening in that place.”

  “Oh, bless the Divine One; you’re not going there alone at night?”

  “No, you’re coming with me.”

  “Zor, I’m supposed to be patrolling the docks with Kilde and Ande tonight.”

  “Well they will have to do without your pleasant company tonight. We are going to the Temple of the Path and we are not leaving that damned place without answers.”

  Conn sighed and left the room. He ordered Kilde and Ande to go on patrol around the docks on their own. He promised he would try to join them later.

  Zorain and Conn left the offices and made their way to the temple.

  The temple was the other side of Downtown and it took them half an hour to get there. Conn hated the building. It was constructed of dark, gloomy, dull grey stone. The structure had no windows and only one small door at the side. No statues or sculptures graced the outside of the building, only a simple sign with the words:

  Temple of the Path

  All welcomed

  Chapter 23

  The Temple of the Path had started from meagre beginnings several hundred years after the Dark Wars – the battle against the beasts. It was a time when many had forgotten what the Divine One had done for them. Humans were fickle creatures, with selective memories, recalling who had done them favours or even saved their species only when it suited them, and this included their gods.

  It was a time of change for many people – a time of suffering. During this period, the southern areas of Rafftonia in the foothills of the Great Mountains were plighted by a deadly plague that spread rapidly, killing countless people: young, old, men, women, and children indiscriminately. Those who contracted the plague greatly suffered: their flesh wasted away, and large white blisters that riddled their skin would burst, releasing thick pus that crystallised on their hot, fevered bodies. They endured excruciating pain and the accompanying screams of the infected were spine chilling. And in the end, every one of them died.

  However, in one remote wooden shack, in a village in the foothills of the Great Mountains, an old healer had started to cure the people. As he healed them, he started to teach them of the Path:

  “As you can see, She has not come to your people’s aid during your time of need. The witch has given up on you as She always does. She is not strong enough to help you, as She is pitiful and Her magic is weak. I follow the teachings of the Path. Nothing that is mysterious or sinister – there is nothing dark about our religion. We call it the ‘Path’ because our followers are follow a path to Paradise. A warm cloak of comfort will shield us as we take our journey and reap its rewards. I have proved by being here and healing people that the Path stands for good. Our magic is stronger than She is and only we can alleviate suffering. Unlike Her we do not leave our people in torture or torment. We live following a blessed route and it will lead us to a new, better life after His coming.”

  No one knew who the old man was, but they listened as they were being cured. Many people found some comfort in what the old healer was saying and his words soon spread through the surrounding regions. More and more people came for healing, and he continued to preach. Soon some of the people stayed with the old healer and in turn, coin started to be collected for the old healer by his new followers, who built him a wooden hall, the first Temple of the Path. After the plague died out, people still flocked to the old man to listen to his preaching and the religion of the Path laid down its first roots. The temple grew and the old healer taught his skills to followers who possessed talent. These
men and women left the Temple with coin and ventured out across the lands. They settled in areas where the plague was still strong and started their own Temples of the Path, spreading the message. Over time, the cult grew and eventually it crossed over the Great Mountains to expand into Rhaurien. Many flocked to the new temples and the religion thrived, spreading throughout the lands like ripples growing outwards on a still pond. People listened to the priests’ teachings and began to believe, so tributes poured in.

  After eighteen hundred years, an old man wearing a travel-stained, deeply hooded robe entered the Temple of the Divine One in the Great Mountains. The temple constructed of grey stone was carved into the side of a cliff. With two defensive walls, the temple resembled a fortified keep rather than a place of worship. The fortress was built before the Dark Wars yet much of its past had been forgotten, and the blood spilled on its walls in the killing ground was never mentioned. The Priest of the Divine One welcomed the old man and he spent his time discussing with the priests the power and blessings of the Path. He told them of a great coming and gave them a black crystallised drug made from balamine plant extracts.

  Many priests rapidly became addicted to the intoxicating properties of the plant extract and more and more listened to the old priest’s preaching, spellbound. After many months of brainwashing sermons, a revolt occurred within the temple. After a brutal, bloody battle, those wanting to follow the Path gained control and the Temple of the Divine One was converted into the Temple of the Path. Those who did not follow the new teachings were sacrificed, or tortured to death in a maddened frenzy. Within the grey walls of the temple, new, darker teachings were expressed. Sacrifices and tortures of the foulest kind were freely practised. The teachings and preaching became wildly hypnotic from the effects of the balamine plant . . .

  “The Dark One will come to us and we will all see the true meaning of the Path. Only when He arrives will we feel true pleasures and witness His glory. Our kind will feast in His name and everyone else will be at our mercy. Everyone else will fall before us.”

  The former Divine One’s priests became priests within the new cult, or where the blood craving was high, started the order called the Dark Brethren and became warrior priests – Protectors of the True Path. The new ritual within the temple was set – a ritual of drug-induced, bloodletting orgies. The old man gave these men and women new scriptures; hidden among them, the Resurrection Ritual to bring back the Dark One. He then left them. Not once did the old priest mention the Dread, the Dark One’s army of beasts, nor the Dark War or the battle at Rhamagabora – these were best left unmentioned.

  This now became the mission for the Dark Brethren, within the Path religion. They had the method to raise their master, but they needed a leader. For two hundred years, the priests and priestesses continued to practise their foul teachings, waiting for a leader to arrive to guide them. When their bloodletting and hunger for blood was at its highest, an old stranger shuffled into the grey temple and started to preach. He quickly mesmerised the men and women in residence, with his words and desire for action. The sect had found its leader, who came to be called the Darklord, and soon its members began preparations for the Ritual of Resurrection.

  In the other temples around the Kingdom, the old traditional teachings were still being preached. There was no teaching of the Dark One’s true nature and no use of the addictive hypnotic drugs. However, most of the high priests and priestesses were initiated and taught the darker teachings at the fortified temple, and they merely curbed their yearnings before their congregation. Only in privacy, deep within the bowels of their temples, did they practise their vileness.

  In the Rhaurien capital, Teldor, a new temple was founded in the poor district, much to the displeasure of the Divine One’s priests, although they could not stop the temple opening. Many avoided the dark windowless building, but it did not take long for some curious folk to venture inside. Those who entered the temple were disenchanted by the Temple of the Divine One and soon became seduced by the illusion of power and the new teachings. Only the young, talented, and capable were given the balamine plant extracts. Once addicted, they were invited into the bowels of the Grey Temple to witness or be victims of the sadistic side of the religion. Many of these men and women became the new priests and priestesses form other temples or joined the Dark Brethren’s ranks.

  The remaining men and women of the congregation were taught about the power of the Path, the Route through Life with its rewards and gains, and His coming. None of these people knew who He was. Moreover, none thought to ask, as life for them had much improved, and in most cases their wealth grew. Over the following years, many of the smaller temples closed as rumours of strange goings-on in small communities spread quickly, leaving only a few scattered throughout the Kingdom, the main ones being in Teldor, and the fortified temple in the Great Mountains.

  One of the men to recently join the congregation was a baker. He had become dissatisfied with the teaching and spiritual help received from the Temple of the Divine One. One day he and his wife entered the Temple of the Path. Quickly he was seduced into its flock, and his business simultaneously started to flourish. He believed this was due to his change in beliefs, not his change of produce, and so contributed coin towards the growth of the temple. Soon, he became a junior priest, but one of those priests who would not see the bowels of the temple. The man did not witness the sacrifices, the vileness or the hatred.

  ***

  Zorain and Conn walked by the building, down a gloomy alley. There were torches hanging by the door but the almost palpable blackness that settled in the alley seemed to be squashing, compressing the orange light to small orbs, barely illuminating the surroundings. Using his club, Zorain pounded the door with its hilt. They waited for a long moment. He lifted his club again, but stopped when he heard shuffling from inside.

  “Who’s there?” snapped a muffled voice.

  “It is Captain Zorain of the City Watch. I want to see the high priest now.”

  “We’re in the middle of a sacred ritual at the moment, come back later.”

  The reply annoyed Zorain. “Open the damn door and we will wait for him to finish,” he barked.

  “You can’t come in,” insisted the voice from inside.

  “Are not all comers welcomed to your temple?” shouted Conn, also irritated. “Now open the bloody door before I break it in.”

  “There is no need for that language,” said the small priest, as he opened the door and peered out. “Come, come, I will show you to the office.”

  “We’ll watch the ritual in progress,” offered Zorain, to Conn’s horror.

  “No. Only those who have been initiated can witness the ritual. It is our right to have privacy within our temple. As long as there are no human sacrifices we can be left alone.”

  “You know your law, priest. Show us to the high priest’s office.”

  The priest hid his wry smile and escorted the men through the gloomy building, with only sparsely placed candles yielding light. They reached a plain wooden door, which the priest opened, and they entered. Once inside, the priest offered the two men a seat and left.

  The room was dimly lit, with two candles on the cluttered desk, and had shelves covering the wall, so stuffed full of scrolls and parchments that they were spilling onto the floor.

  “I don’t like this place, Zor,” whispered Conn.

  “Neither do I, but we need some answers.”

  The two City Watchmen waited in the room for the high priest to arrive.

  ***

  Kilde and Ande left the City Watch office a few minutes after Zorain and Conn. They turned right and walked down the cobbled street towards the docks, carrying their lanterns with shutters fully opened, cocooning them in large orbs of welcoming light. The pair had been partners for two years and in that time had come to know each other quite well. Their families spent the previous Midsummer’s Day together, swapping presents and sharing a large picnic.

  Kilde
was a tall man, not big in the chest or shoulders, but lanky, with lifeless, wavy brown hair and dark brown eyes. He was strong and could hold his own in any brawl, being particularly skilful with his club. Ande, on the other hand, was a small stout man with a rotund potbelly, shaggy black hair streaked with silver, and blue eyes. Ande, unlike Kilde, was a former soldier. He also loved to brawl, with or without his club, and was as handy with his fist as with the club.

  The pair walked down the streets, checking doors and peering into shop windows to see if anyone loitered inside. They reached a cloth shop and Kilde stopped.

  “That’s what I would love to get for my wife.”

  “What, some cream cloth?” asked Ande, holding aloft his lantern and peering into the window.

  “No, you oaf, to have it made into a dress for her. I have been saving some coin and intend to have a dress made from it for next Midsummer’s Day.”

  “Now, that would be nice.”

  Kilde laughed at his smaller partner. “What are you getting your wife for Midsummer’s Day? You see I know the answer already; you will wait until Eve Day and buy her whatever present you can find.”

  “Of course, when else are you supposed to buy it?”

  “Have you not heard of planning?”

  “What for?”

  “Oh never mind,” said Kilde, smiling.

  “No, what?” asked Ande, truly perplexed. Kilde was about to answer when they heard a noise further along the docks.

  “About time for some action,” said Ande as he moved towards the noise.

  Kilde looked around and shook his head. Something did not feel right, he felt it in his gut. Cursing softly, he followed his smaller partner into the darkness of the docks, secure in his comforting sphere of lantern light.

  ***

  Zorain rose from his chair and stomped around the room, annoyed at having to waiting for the high priest.