by M. E. Thorne
“And let me guess,” I said, “they concluded that anyone who did not believe in their goddess, and their goddess alone, to be evil?”
She mutely nodded, then resumed her seat, tapping the tome of Primeval history. “The last few chapters of this book document the beginning of this change, but it’s as you said. The Luminark, as they started calling themselves, began to chafe under the rules set by the unified church. Supposedly, the people were meant to worship and follow all four of the Primevals equally, but most of them only really worshipped one or two of them.”
“And most of the people were Alruna worshipers?” I surmised.
The priestess gave a small smile, “You are very astute. I knew you would have a keen eye towards history and politics.”
I waved away her compliment, “I’m not denying that, but you are leading me to a conclusion here. The Luminark demanded a right to worship as they saw fit, and broke away from the united church?”
She nodded. “They founded their own nation, the Luminark Empire, on the southern continent, spreading along the western coast. WIth the Primeval’s united church splintered, the followers of the other three gods quickly found themselves overwhelmed. The Goddess of Light, bolstered by her fervent worshippers, expanded her empire.”
Vexile frowned, “Documents during this time indicate this was the beginning of the Luminark’s violent purges, where they began forcefully converting people to their religion for the good of their souls.” She snorted in disdain. “This is when the archangels founded the inquisition, an organization of mortal servants that carried out Alruna’s punishment and purification. They’re supposedly dedicated to rooting out heresy and corruption, but in truth, they serve as the ascendants’ base of power. The inquisition enforces the laws of Alruna, and they have wide discretion on how they do so. This ensures that they are the rulers behind the church.”
They sound like a combination of the secret police and religious enforcers, I nodded, “And whoever controls the church controls the Luminark Empire?”
“Yes,” she confirmed. “The church appoints cardinals, who act as the regional leaders of the empire, led by the Light Lord.”
“Light Lord?” I found the term strangely funny. “I’m guessing they’re my figurative opposite?”
“Yes,” she said, “though as far as I know, the Light Lord is just a figurehead, controlled by the archangels and the inquisition. The cardinals are the ones who hold local power, they are given governance over dioceses, the empire’s districts of governance, and charged with shepherding and ruling their population.”
“With the threat of the archangels and their inquisition keeping them in line,” I summarized.
Absently, she rubbed at her chest, just below her collar bone. “Records state that the early inquisitors were especially zealous about converting or punishing those who believed in the Goddess of Darkness, who they saw as Alruna’s opposite and the embodiment of evil.”
“Revina, seeing the plight of her followers, commanded them on a great exodus to the northern continent. At that time, it was as we see it now, a dusty wasteland, destroyed during the Godsfall. She raised her most capable and benevolent follower, your ancestor, as the first Dark Lord, and he founded the nation of Duskhaven.”
I thought about something that had been bothering me, before asking. “Vexile, why didn’t you raised a new Dark Lord, rather than bringing me here? Not that I’m ungrateful, but it certainly seems --”
“That’s impossible!” she interrupted, shocked.
It took a moment for her to calm down, at my urging.
“After the Godsfall, the Primevals bound themselves to only act on this world through conduits,” she explained. “They feared direct intervention would only bring about the cycle of ruin once again, so now they can only act directly through a single, willing human, like the Dark Lord or Light Lord.”
“So you couldn’t petition her for another conduit?” I asked.
She nodded. “Exactly. The Dark Lords are unique, the power of being Revina’s conduit is bound into your blood. Only those of your bloodline can bear Her power in this world.”
I thought about that, reeling at the implications.
Vexile cleared her throat, “With the birth of Duskhaven, those who defied the Luminark finally have a safe haven from their persecution. Revina and the first Dark Lord declared it would be a place where everyone was free to live and worship as they saw fit, provided they respected the rule of the Dark Lord.”
“Very progressive of her,” I murmured. “Did she actually live up to that promise?”
“Of course!” Vexile replied vehemently, causing her to cough again. “Revina is also the Goddess of Moderation and Balance. Remember that the night must always follow the day!”
I held up a hand, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you or your goddess. I’m just --” I paused, a pain knotting in my chest. “I’m just a bit guarded I guess. I’ve also been hurt by putting my faith into people who didn’t deserve it.”
Vexile took my hand into her own, her fingers warm. “She’s your Goddess too.”
I looked away.
She released me. “The Twin Gods of Life and Death declared that they would found a kingdom between the two nations, hoping to restore some semblance of peace amongst the Primevals, acting as a buffer between them.”
“How long did this arrangement last?” I asked.
“Over six hundred years,” she answered. “During that time, the three nations grew to reach their apexes of power. The Luminark Empire became a militant, oppressive theocracy, while Marshul rose as a land of scientists and wild experimentation.”
“And Duskhaven?”
“We were the greatest of the three, of course,” Vexile answered. “We were a nation of philosophers, warriors, teachers, and crafters. It was said that at the height of our power, under the leadership of the Dark Lords, that we were the most prosperous and advanced society ever to grace Turmont.”
But that didn’t stop the Luminark from conquering the known world, I thought sourly to myself. Instead, I decided to probe further about the Primevals. “Guessing as Goddesses of Light and Dark, Revina and Alruna’s relationship was naturally adversarial?”
“Supposedly they had a good, sisterly relationship at first,” Vexile answered, pivoting with the topic change. “But it soured over time, as the Luminark Empire and its followers became more extreme, their beliefs pushing their goddess further and further into puritanical thinking.” She held up a finger. “Remember, it’s the worshipers’ belief that gives the gods their form and function; if enough people believe it, it becomes true.”
“So as the Luminarks saw their goddess as one of purity and intolerance, Alruna changed to match that?”
“Yes,” Vexile tapped the history book. “Which is part of the reason Revina has always preached moderation and balance to her followers. She knows from history that the old gods fell due to the bloodlust and greed brought on by their followers.”
Later that day, I took my first tour of my future kingdom. It was a sorry sight.
Gloomglow had once been a castle at the southern frontier of Duskhaven, the lynchpin of its outer defenses. Vexile explained that it had been hit first by the Luminark during their conquest. Their forces had simply overwhelmed the fortress with sheer numbers, slaying its inhabitants and then pushing north, towards the capital.
The castle’s outer walls had been completely demolished, reduced to nothing but mounds of broken masonry. Any buildings between there and the inner walls had also been smashed and burned, while the inner walls had been breached in a dozen places.
The few buildings left partially standing near the main keep had become shelters for the refugees who had escaped the empire centuries later.
“We were slaves,” Vexile explained, as we stood on a crumbling rampart, looking at the shantytown below. “The Luminark took the people of Marshul and Duskhaven as prisoners, using us to build their empire. They saw us as subhuman
creatures, not worthy of dwelling in their goddess’s light.”
I thought of the earlier history lessons I had received. “They gave up on conversion?”
“They see slavery as a way of conversion, supposedly,” she replied bitterly. “We were working off the sins committed by our ancestors, laboring towards someday being found worthy of Alruna’s love. So we toiled as street sweepers, laborers, miners, farmhands, servants, and factory workers. We were the raw manpower that built their mighty monuments, temples, and palaces, kept their people fed and content. Their great cities are built on our blood and bones.”
She led me down the stairs, into a dusty central square occupied by a long-dried fountain. Several filthy children played in the dirt while hungry-looking creatures, who appeared like a cross between porcupines and oversized house-cats, prowled in the shadows. The few adults that were around were sitting in the shade, clearly exhausted and underfed.
I noticed that there was no set ethnicity amongst the refugees, none of which were perfectly analogous with those on Earth. This made me feel like even more of an outsider. Amongst their numbers were those that were dark-haired, pale, and with lidded eyes, while others were dusky and dark-skinned with blonde locks. The only thing they seemed to share was the same malnourished and forlorn appearance.
“This world had been broken and remade several times before the Godsfall,” Vexile explained when I asked about it. “If there were once ethnic homelands or states, they were long ago broken up and destroyed, their people forced to flee, resettle, and then flee again when their new gods died. Turmont is a world that judges people based upon what gods their ancestors worshiped, not what forgotten homeland they might have hailed from.”
The keep itself was little more than a skeletal hulk, its interior ravaged by fire and time. The few rooms that remained usable, like my quarters and the main hall, were lower in the building, having been constructed from stone. The upper stories, and the remaining turrets, were mostly empty shells, their inner walls scorched black by flames.
As we walked, Gloomglow’s residents peered at me with a mix of curiosity, resentment, and hope. None ventured close but instead kept their vigil from a distance.
I learned that Vexile and the acolytes of Revina were the de facto leaders of Gloomglow. They had arrived first, several years prior, having discovered the abandoned castle and the muddy watering hole that allowed them to survive. Beyond the walls of the ruins was an endless, windswept steppe, barely able to sustain life outside scrub grass and patches of wild grains.
The sun beat down unrelentingly, cooking the ancient stones and anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in its glare. I quickly took off my suit coat and hung it over my shoulder.
The watering hole, as Vexile called it, was little more than a filthy, brackish pond that had formed in a low-lying corner of the ruins, hemmed in by the remains of two of the fortress’s inner walls. Thin, sickly plants grew along its edges; I watched as people, bent back, waded through the water to harvest the plants.
“They’re not tasty, but they are edible,” Vexile explained.
Several of the nearby ruins and half-crumbled buildings had been converted into shelters, their roofs made up of woven grass, old tarps, and salvaged planks of wood. Several families tended to live in each one, huddled together in those filthy shanties.
“How do the people feed themselves?” I asked. The few meals I had eaten had been simple, flavorless gruel, sometimes complemented by stringy bits of meat.
“Outside what we can find locally, we have hunters that go out in the plains, looking for moles and rats,” Vexile provided, as she showed a building that had been converted into a combination kitchen, butcher-shop, and smoke-house. The few people working there looked hard-pressed to provide food for the residents. Pots bubbled with thin soup, made from bones and gristle, while meager-looking sausages and cuts hung drying in the next room.
A small mill, worked by a team of laborers, ground the few wild grains that could be gathered, making flour which was carried over to the kitchen.
I discovered that the rash covering Vexile was the norm amongst the refugees, apparently brought about by dust mites and fleas.
Before I can even think of building a kingdom, I need to think about these people’s basic needs, I concluded. Food, water, shelter, and sanitation. We’ll need to find a clean supply of water, and begin organized agriculture. If things keep up like this, these people will likely exhaust what food is available in the area and starve to death.
Not these people, I told myself, my people.
I tried several times to speak to the various residents, but most appeared to give me the cold shoulder, only grunting or giving me a small nod to acknowledge my presence. When I tried to ask them about their lives and what they saw as the best way to make improvements to Gloomglow, they ignored me.
I quickly got the impression, despite Vexile’s assurances, that these people did not want a Dark Lord.
“They're just wary of being hurt again,” Vexile claimed during the next day’s lessons, which were focused on customs and etiquette.
“There’s something more,” I said, certainty forming in my mind.
Some of her acolytes, supposedly those most devoted to the goddess and the legacy of Duskhaven, had given me the same suspicious looks I had seen from the refugees. It was more than just jaded expectations, they were on guard.
I was more than familiar with that kind of pain. They had been hurt and betrayed, and recently.
“Vexile, you are lying to me,” I accused her.
She froze, hands hovering above her precious books, “Dark Lord?”
“Do you know that hiding the truth is a form of lying?” I leaned back in my chair, the wood creaking as I moved. “You might be hiding the truth out of shame, or as a way of protecting someone, but it won’t work. The truth will come out and at the worst time possible.”
I glared at her. “What aren’t you telling me?”
She deflated, sinking into her seat. “You aren’t the first person we summoned here.”
I clicked my teeth together in frustration. “You should have told me that right away. What happened?”
She looked miserable. “When we first discovered the artifact your great-grandfather left behind, we were determined to use it right away, even if we didn’t fully understand how it worked. We reached across the gulf, to Earth, and made contact with another carrying your family’s bloodline.”
My heart lurched in my chest as the pieces clicked into place. “My cousin, Charles.”
She hung her head. “We weren’t careful, we were stupid, blind. We reached out to him, offering him a place as the Dark Lord, believing that his bloodline made him a suitable candidate.”
I leaned forward, wiping my hands across my face. “What happened?”
“He was eager to be summoned here, to claim kingship over our fallen realm,” she shuddered. “But once he met our people and discovered our hardship,” she bit her lip, “he crumbled, his false confidence quickly giving over to fear. He fled in the middle of the night, stealing one of our pack beasts and taking off towards the south, abandoning us.”
I cursed loudly. Vexile only sunk her head further.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I yelled, a rage building up in my chest.
“We were afraid you’d do the same thing as him,” she cried, tears dripping onto her lap, dampening her notebook. “We made sure to watch you before reaching out to you, but we had no way to be sure.”
My anger blazed even brighter. “What, you were waiting for me to hit my low before offering your benevolent offer? Am I just a pity case to you?”
She was openly weeping then, her shoulders heaving. “No, I swear it. I saw what a good man you were, how you were willing to do the right thing, no matter the cost to yourself. That’s what convinced me that you were the right man to be our Dark Lord.” She threw herself down onto the ground. “Dark Lord, please, don’t abandon us!”
&n
bsp; Standing above her, my rage suddenly dissipated upon realizing her pitiable state. I was screaming at a weak, ill woman, who despite everything, had put her faith into me, who believed I was to be her ruler and savior.
I felt sick at my sudden outburst.
Kneeling, I put my hand upon her still trembling shoulder. “I’m sorry. Please, get up.”
Carefully, I helped her back onto her seat. Reaching into my coat, I pulled out a handkerchief, which I offered to her. She used the square of cloth to wipe at her face.
“Vexile,” I said gently, “I’m still mad at you, but I understand. Desperate people make poor decisions. Still, I can’t afford to have you lying to me, even if it's to protect me.”
I placed a hand along her jaw, raising her face so I could look her in the eyes. “If you are going to serve me, then I need to be able to trust you, to have faith in you, just as you trust me.”
“Dark Lord?”
“I want your promise, sworn on your goddess, that you will never lie to me again,” I found myself staring. Even with snot running down her nose and her eyes swollen and red, she was still beautiful.
“I swear it,” she said, cupping my hand with her own.
“I need to know there is someone in this world who will always tell me the truth,” I felt a strong conviction welling up in me. “Vexile, I am giving you the most important role in my kingdom.”
“Dark Lord?” She leaned in closer. I purposefully had to look away from the opening of her robe and the rounded curves of her breasts.
“Back home, on Earth, the most trusted advisor to the ruler was the person who owed them absolute honesty.” I thought back to all the history books back home, and how countles great figures had been brought down by their hubris and pride. “Their job was to tell the ruler the truth, to point out the glaring mistakes and failures, to poke at their character flaws, to keep them human and humble, to remind them that while they were a ruler, they were also a servant of the people.”
