by Cody W Urban
“There is a darkness over this land that flows from the throne of Governor Vasilis,” he said in a sermon to the congregation that came to attend his worship devotions. “This shadow creeps over our nation like a blanket of iniquity and robs men and women.”
“Bishop Nicholas!” cried out a distraught father. “My children rebel against me and have run away! Pray for me!”
Before Nicholas could answer a wailing mother chimed in with, “My son did not run away, he was stolen in the night!”
Before he knew it, hundreds of people were declaring missing children and explaining that they were silenced by the upper echelon to continue fabricating stories about their runaway children. Nicholas looked beyond the crowd and locked eyes with Lysander and both of them felt forlorn at that moment for the surmounting troubles the citizens brought before them, and they both wanted to do something to solve these problems.
Nicholas, donning his red garb, and his armed companion Lysander, waited in a small shack with several chunks of coal around them. It was already a late hour and the two men sat silently and waited. Asking that a family stay at a relative’s for the night so that he may pray over their household in solitude was simply a move to set a trap. The night went on and as the moon continued its arc, not long before the sun was scheduled to rise, Nicholas almost nodded to sleep. The moment he caught himself, his head nodding almost onto a table in front of him, he had to stand and shake the sleepiness away. The moment he did, he heard the distinct sound of Lysander snoring.
“Lysander!”
“What is it? Is there a disturbance?” he asked with unclear vision and a foggy mind. When Nicholas went to scold him for falling asleep, the door creaked open and in the darkness they heard something scamper that sounded like a large iguana’s nails scurrying over wood flooring. “Who goes there?”
The scratching claws stopped, and only in the blackness could be heard a soft, deep breathing. Nicholas had faced these monsters before, but was still rather terrified by them. He kept mistletoe hidden under his cloak, figuring he could use the repellent, but wanted to conceal it for now. With shaking hands he lit a candle and raised it up. There was nothing to be seen out of the ordinary. They peered around themselves and where the orange glow illuminated the shadowy figures, they found no creature. Then when Nicholas set the candle down, two eyes like glass beads twinkled by reflecting the light. In a flash, the hellish monster leapt at them.
When the two warriors jumped back, the Krampus knocked over the table and the candle was snuffed out. Nicholas and Lysander were left to fend for themselves in the blackness with a creature of darkness. Nicholas swung his blade at whatever shadowy figure he saw while calling to Lysander to remain aware of who was who and what was what. Lysander grunted and gasped, clearly in trouble and Nicholas dove onto the black mass and felt the rough, hairy, sweating hide of the creature. He grabbed it by the horns and plunged his fingers into what he figured were its eye sockets. The monster beneath him howled and shook Nicholas off violently until he flew back and collided with a wall, knocking the wind out of him. All he could hear was Lysander wrestling and stabbing the creature as best he could, until he heard choking.
“Lysander? How fares you?” When Lysander didn’t reply, Nicholas’s stomach felt a hundred pounds heavier as he was struck with the terror that his friend was not only killed, but he was responsible for dragging him into this situation. He rose to his feet, fighting the terror and pumping his adrenaline, and as he moved toward the spot he last heard Lysander choking, he drew his sword. Nicholas angrily peered into the dark haze and could see slight movement of a gray mass, then into it he plunged his blade. He was thrilled at hearing the loud shrieking growl of the Krampus, rather than the scream of stabbing Lysander by mistake, and he then heard Lysander gasp for air.
Nicholas hurriedly lit the candle once again and they found the corpse of the Krampus. Lysander cheered in triumph with a raspy voice. “We felled this creature and sent it back into the abyss! We are heroes, Nicholas, for we rid the land of this creature!”
“There are more than one, I fear, many more,” Nicholas replied in a sigh.
“How knows you of this? Maybe there were only two!”
“Either way, this was a foolish strategy,” Nicholas said wiping the blood from his blade.
“Why do you put a wet rag on my fire of victory?” Lysander asked, annoyed.
“If we did not slay it, we could have followed it thither to its lair. Doing that we might have found those whom it has imprisoned,” Nicholas said.
“There be only one strategy, then,” Lysander said, scratching his head, hesitating to speak his mind. “We would have to set bait for a trap and follow one back to where it came from. Maybe, though I loath to say it, give coal to Pete and let the devils capture him and we-“
“Bite your tongue, Lysander,” Nicholas said sternly.
“I was only making a suggestion,” Lysander said.
“May you not make another that would place a youngling in harm’s way,” Nicholas told his friend as he moved to clean the mess. “We are up against something massively powerful and terribly vile. It may be a while until we can figure the best strategy. But risking Pete is not it.”
2
Come and behold Him,
Born the King of Angels.
Nicholas had been Bishop for three months now, and still he had not seen a sight of Vasilis. Although he was not without information regarding his dwelling place and cargo routes, and he figured it justified to sack transport wagons bound toward his fortresses. He—always in his red cloak with his hood pulled heavily over his brow—and Lysander—who took to wearing a dark green hood (for he argued that green was even more camouflaging and made more sense)—hid in the boughs over the road toward one of Vasilis’ many fortresses. When a wagon full of goods would stroll on up toward it, the two would drop down upon the drivers and threaten them. To his great joy, Nicholas was never faced with a driver who would take up the fight, and so Lysander and Nicholas rode off with the wagon, unloaded the goods at the church, and would drive the wagon back at the docks and ride off into the night.
Nicholas loathed the idea of stealing, but figured the items of food and supplies had been acquired by unfair taxes imposed upon the people of Lycia by a corrupt Governor, and he was taking back what was rightfully theirs. To those who lived in the shelter Nicholas built, and to anyone in need who came to the church, Pete, Bedros, and Matthias would pass out the clothing, food, and other essentials. “Gifts, my friends. Given in the name of Love and Compassion. Brought to us by your friend the Scarlet Rider.”
Indeed, word spread about a bandit who stole back what was taken from the citizens of Lycia and distributed back to the people and of the burglar who would break into people’s houses at night and leave gifts of provisions—and toys. Yes, after a while, Nicholas kept on whittling trinkets and discovered more and more that children cherished these toys. For if he left a loaf of bread, it filled a belly for a day, maybe two. But the gift of love, in the form of a toy, given to a child brought continuous days of joy, and so it brought hope to the people. And by giving in the disguise as the Scarlet Rider, people gave thanks and praise to God. Though it wasn’t long until some folks began to suspect that Nicholas may himself be the Scarlet Rider. Tassos instigated this notion into a rumor and Nicholas was forced to ask that everyone keep any rumors and gossip within their own heads lest the powers-that-be mistake him for being the Scarlet Rider and arrest him. But also to be extra sure to dispel the rumors, when seen as Nicholas the Bishop, he began to walk leaning upon a staff, which gave a humble impression that he was in no way fit to sneak into homes or fight off mysterious creatures that go bump in the night.
“Too often does a child lose that sense of decency by hands of evil,” Nicholas preached to his flock of people. The whole church was nearly packed, and he gave multiple services per week so that everybody could squeeze into their undersized, out of sight church. He looked out upon mother
s and fathers who were red in the eyes, fearful of their missing children. “There is a fell army of monsters out there that seeks to devour that purity. They stalk younglings and take them to I know not where.”
“The Scarlet Rider will save us from them. I know he can!” declared an enthusiastic woman who held hope that God had sent this mysterious stranger to save the missing children.
“Aye, I am sure the Scarlet Rider will do his best,” Nicholas assured them. It was becoming common knowledge that the Scarlet Rider worked alongside the church, though it was debated whether he was man or spirit. In fact, rumors spread that the way the Rider entered locked homes was by turning into ethereal vapor and drifting through cracks in walls. Nicholas let those rumors spread without argument as long as the focus of his identity wasn’t jeopardized. “Yet these beasts are numerous and foul. Though not without weakness.”
Nicholas then lifted up a piece of mistletoe. He had recently hired Illias on one of his seafaring expeditions to return mistletoe to Myra and he paid him handsomely for it. Now it was time to arm his flock with a ward against those who stalked their lambs. “This plant that grows up north is a natural repellent for those repugnant monsters.” With his church growing, and Bedros and Matthias running day to day functions, he was even more informed on who was in need of what and was then out to make the miracle happen.
One morning, after a long night of gift-giving, Nicholas returned to the backroom, his forehead still sweating from the physically exerting methods of scaling walls and climbing through windows, and found Lysander had just arrived from a nightly outing as well. “Lysander. What news?” he asked.
“I heard screaming from here and raced out in the night and saw that a father very nearly lost his life fending off a Krampus from stealing away his daughter. He saved her and the monster retreated anon. So, I followed the abomination, as best I could, into the woods and lost it among the shadows.”
“So, you found nothing new then?” Nicholas sighed and continued to remove his red garment.
“Nay, I would not say that,” Lysander said with a look of cunning in his eyes. “I went to Vasilis’ gala, and moved among scoundrels, yet little could I find. No sign or knowledge of Nysa’s whereabouts or livelihood. I did finally see Vasilis. He was casting lots with other wealthy dressed men bearing prostitutes sitting on their laps. ‘Twas a hive of avarice and debauchery, you would have hated it.”
“Any useful information gathered there?”
“He keeps his palace guarded by Roman soldiers and the Lycian League does seem in cahoots with him. Yet a weakness I may have found—gambling. I can tell a man with the itch for a wager. He fits it. He gambles recklessly for posterity.”
Nicholas pondered this information and had little idea of how to put it to use. All he could think of was finding Nysa and his hatred of Vasilis for stealing such a fair rose from him. She had such a beautiful quality of purity when Nicholas last knew her, but his last sight of her was the vision Kenalfon granted him and he saw she was robbed of that purity. It made Nicholas cringe, his stomach nauseous, at how Vasilis seemed to live for wreaking havoc over those who still held that illusive quality of innocence. How could he change the world to one where children could mature, protected from hungry lions that would seek to devour their wholesomeness?
What he could see immediately was that he shepherded an ever-growing congregation of believers who came to him to learn of the King of Angels. And he could mold them into a society of people who preserved life, love, and hope and from them this concept could spread. What a grand opportunity he had there, and he was bent on using it to the advantage of making a better world, one where the plots schemed by despicable men like Vasilis would be as a river dammed.
His search for Vasilis proved exceedingly complicated for the longest time. He would hear tidbits of information regarding his whereabouts and, without more ado, would search these locations to find that Vasilis had moved to another place, usually unidentified. One day after a church service entered a mysterious man who caught Nicholas’s attention for reasons he didn’t fully comprehend. As members left at dusk this hooded fellow, carrying a hefty duffle bag and dressed in coifed attire beneath his shabby cloak stood beside the door silently and waited.
He looked at the church members departing with shy, veiled eyes until the last had left and only Nicholas, Matthias, Lysander, and Pete remained. He then walked closer to the group and set down his bundle. “Salutations to you all. I beseech you,” he said with a refined tongue, “who might be so kind as to inform me who the Bishop is?”
“I am he,” replied Nicholas.
“News has spread of your exploits, sir. I am come with an offering borne for the charity work wrought by this church,” he said and then opened his duffle to reveal a good amount of coins and jewels. “Gratify me this: I give in high expectations you should honor me in orisons on my behalf that I might find redemption in Divine Eyes.”
“May I have your name, good stranger?” Nicholas asked.
The man faltered and took a step back. Matthias then spoke up and said, “His voice, I recognize, Bishop. ‘Tis none other than Orestes Pancras, representative of Tlos in the Lycian League.”
“Forsooth, I am he,” he replied in a hushed tone. Nicholas gasped, shocked to see a politician in his humble church, let alone one bearing gifts. “I am one acquainted with the Way, yet my occupation endows me no option to live candidly my faith.”
“What have you done to seek such redemption and bring so lofty an offering?” Nicholas asked without a hint of judgmental inquiry, but honest concern.
“Primed, I am not, to reveal the wilting garden of my heart before others, good Bishop. I wish to support you in your endeavors. For I too see the plight of the orphans, widows, and all betwixt. The homeless and infirmed veterans. For that too, this offering I bear.”
“Thank ye, Orestes,” Matthias said. “Our works are done for the Most High and He shall receive honor by your bequest.”
“Sir,” Nicholas said at sight of Orestes moving away from them hoping to depart quickly. “Tell me if I am off track, yet I sense Governor Vasilis is at hand in your quandary.”
“He is the heart of it; my career being the flesh around it. ‘Tis a joy to have word of that cherry-toned character about sewing justice as a farmer sews seeds. The weeds ought be hewn; weeds of those corrupted by Vasilis.”
“Then leave not. Remain here and we can work together. I know you have deep counsel of the foe’s dealings,” Nicholas said. Orestes thought. Under the hood his lips pursed and his eyes moved in a lost daze. Orestes wanted to defect, but posterity held him from such a rash decision.
“I will not in huggermugger this decision make,” he said and then stepped toward the door. “Bishop Nicholas, your words I will consider. There belike a day when we work in accord, yet that day I am not organized for.”
Nicholas and his companions watched the mysterious politician depart quickly with wonder. Nicholas dreamed this relationship would bear fruit to meet the end he sought. Until then, his generous donation was put to good use.
3
Sing choirs of angels, sing in exaltation,
Sing all ye citizens of Heaven above.
“The little town of Bethlehem will go down in history as the sleeping city,” Nicholas said before his congregation. It was now early autumn and Nicholas’s work was going rather well. He knew the Scarlet Rider became an enhancing thorn in the side of his enemy and was a rich blessing to the needy populace of Myra. People from all Lycia were making pilgrimages toward Myra to see Nicholas the Wonderworker—as the folks were coming to call him. “It was the town that had no room for the King of Kings, and on the night of all nights, the point in time the whole of all dimensions of space and time revolve around, when God became flesh, the town simply slept right through it. And while they slept, there was no room for Him other than a stable filled with dirty animals and their dung. Can you believe that was the place the King was born?”
/> Nicholas looked around for a moment to allow listeners to follow him. Indeed, since he was established as Bishop, his relationship with God was returning to a place it had been when he was a youth. And he felt this was a very heart-felt message he wished to bring to his flock, a message about making room in their hearts. “When He knocks on the door of your heart, do you have room for Him? Do you place Him in the best suite or into the fly-infested, dingy manger? And what do you do when He is at work? Do you sleep right through it?”
At the crescendo of Nicholas’s sermon, the door slammed open and in marched armed Roman soldiers with stern bloodthirsty expressions. Flanked by four soldiers on each side, in through the door marched a higher-ranking official with thick sideburns and rich hazel eyes. “Make not the slightest move, not anyone.”
“What is the meaning of this?” asked Nicholas.
“This organization is holding unsanctioned, illegal religious activities,” said the official. “By decree of Governor Vasilis, we are to take record of every man and woman present and they shall be charged a precise sum; that if not paid, they shall be placed in the stockade. And by his decree, all activities of illegal religious nature shall cease and desist henceforth.”
There was little Nicholas could do. He kept everyone calm as the soldiers took the name of every man and woman who had attended. While the official’s eye was off Nicholas, he turned and had Lysander and Bedros ride off to warn others not to come to his church. After everyone’s names were taken, they left with glum expressions. Then, as many of his members exited, the officer darted into the hall toward the back room. Then Nicholas’s heart stopped like a ball that lost all bounce. He followed and watched as the officer and his underlings searched the remainder of the premises, including the back room, where Nicholas kept the red robe. Nicholas watched through the doorway as the officer opened the trunk, and he watched the officer paused for a moment that lasted for hours to Nicholas.
