“When Lucifer supposedly gave his human followers the account of our creation and the dissention from Yahweh, he lied to us, damning all of our souls and stopping us from learning the Truth. Lucifer is darkness disguised as light.”
Bomarr chuckled. “I am not a Luciferian, but I know heresy when I hear it. If you tell any loyal followers this, the Order will send monks to assassinate you. They have amnesty enough in any country to get away with it.”
“I know, but it is still the truth. Don’t people deserve the truth?”
“It is true,” Jorge finally spoke up.
“This is Jorge,” Rashnir introduced, “Jorge is an angel of Yahweh.”
Bomarr’s expression switched from reluctant to passive interest.
“I watched from my Heavenly post as Lucifer was cast to Earth, barren and parched in comparison to his place in the firmaments of Heaven. The ground withered before him as the curse of death accompanied his fall. I watched him make his proclamation, ‘Farewell, Remorse! all good to me is lost; Evil, be thou my good.’”
The three heard the faint creaks of a door opening. They turned to the main doorway where Dyule entered looking mortified. Plain-looking and forgettable as always, he turned an incredulous circle and assessed the damage and destruction. Furniture either lay overturned or obliterated in the course of the earlier skirmish; walls and fixtures crumbled in damaged piles.
“You.” Dyule pointed an accusing finger at Rashnir and drew a dagger from his waist belt. He paused momentarily as his analytical processes went to work; he resheathed the dagger knowing that if Bomarr had not been able to subdue Rashnir then he didn’t stand a chance with a blade. “Please get out.” He demanded simply with his nasal, insistent voice.
Rashnir stood to his feet. “I am sorry. I had not intended to bring further trouble to your home.” He turned to Bomarr, “I hoped to explain to you what I have learned—this new Truth. I hoped to even invite you to join us.”
“You have already done enough,” Bomarr stated—although not angrily.
“Yes.” Dyule chimed in with a distinctly bitter tone, “You have done quite enough already, now return to your gutters!”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Bomarr said.
Rashnir noticed that while they conversed Bomarr had been drawing on a large piece of parchment. The sketch was a large collection of circled letters and numbers and possible answers to questions such as: Yes, No, Maybe, I Don’t Know.
“Rashnir has shown me how to communicate with Mother.” He turned and commented to Rashnir, “I am much too busy here for anything else. My mother needs me.”
Nodding, Rashnir bowed. “I will honor your request, Dyule. I am leaving.”
“Good. And do not come back,” he said disdainfully.
“I can honor that as well. Bomarr, if you should ever need anything else, I trust that you will be able to find me. Please tell Missa goodbye for me; I will likely never see her again, though I had never expected to see her alive again prior to today.” Rashnir called out for Kevin. Moments later, Kevin appeared flanked by Kyrius. They all left together as Dyule stared daggers at their backs.
***
Kevin, Jorge, Kyrius, and Rashnir sat in a semi-circle in the middle of Grinden’s central park. Despite the curious glances that they had to continually shrug off, they remained unbothered.
Although the incident at Dyule’s had not been any great victory, Kevin had been able to share the message of Christ to Missa, even if he was not quite finished when he’d been called away. Dyule’s interruption was untimely.
Rashnir could sympathize with Dyule’s feelings. After finding his home ransacked, anyone would’ve felt the same. Dyule’s request for them to leave might be quite civil in comparison to how most would’ve acted. They’d tried to leave Dyule’s with grace; the man that Rashnir had been only several days prior would not have.
Kyrius, who’d apparently appointed himself as their troop’s culinary expert, passed around some dried foods he’d prepared earlier. They all drank from a water skin and watched the people of Grinden pass them by, each busy with their own lives.
From their location in the park, they had a clear view of Grinden’s Luciferian temple where it perched on the edge of the park. The building was a local corporate worship center for those that chose to observe the nominal, corporate faith; Luciferian monks that traveled in from a small villa a short walk west of Grinden staffed it.
Typically, booths containing tiny idols and shrines dedicated to various demon overlords lined the Luciferian Temple halls. In all reality, the building housed a pantheon of demi-gods under one overarching title of Luciferianism. With Lucifer in the Earth realm, the people instead prayed to, worshiped, and gave tribute to demonic overlords or minor demons that they appealed to for blessing or hoped to appease.
Kevin sighed at the sight of people walking into the church. Still, the misguided faithful made Kevin smile awkwardly.
“Those people going in to the Luciferian Temple are probably easier to reach than those who just walk past it. These ones at least recognize a higher power and give it authority over their lives; everyone else lives for themselves, lives opposed to the thought of surrendering their will to anything else.”
The other three nodded heads in agreement. An odd, dark figure caught Rashnir’s eye as the creature dipped his head.
The figure was shrouded in a cloak and hood and stood at least a head shorter than the average man. Four similar figures flanked him; they each seemed to slink through the streets, uncomfortable in the daylight. All near passersby seemed to notice them also, but paid them no heed. The group of goblins that passed through would be mostly harmless in the daylight. While goblins possessed their own kingdoms in the subterranean realms and circumvented the infrastructures of most other sentient beings, not all people found them altogether abhorrent. Often enough, trade with goblins who ventured into populated areas could be lucrative.
While most people had a passing familiarity with their kind, goblin culture could be too abrasive or downright offensive for many and so goblins were not universally accepted. Sure enough, in a human city like Grinden, every man within eyesight was keenly aware of the small troop of goblins walking among them.
“I’ll going to take a quick walk,” Rashnir said. With his curiosity piqued, he climbed to his feet and ventured over to the temple building to investigate.
Their presence in town wasn’t surprising to Rashnir, though he was shocked to see the goblins enter the Luciferian Temple. Goblins going into the temple, Rashnir thought, probably planning to rob the coffers? Not that he particularly cared, but he grew even more curious given that they went through the main doors.
While Lucifer created all sentient races of ekthro, only the humans of the realm possessed any kind of reverence for him. Aside from creating them, the fallen angel had done nothing special for the nonhuman races. Everything that he had done, even the creation of the ekthro, was done for the specific benefit of mankind according to Luciferian myths and doctrine. It was unusual to see non-humans going to a temple to worship or pay any sort of homage to the Order; the non-human races usually aspired to deify themselves.
Rashnir pulled his cloak down to conceal his identity. He pushed his way through the large double doors and meandered through the foyer entry area. The floor of the temple, made of polished stone, matched the ornate temple fittings and furnishings.
A few of the people whom the Christians previously watched enter the temple milled about shaking their purses and deciding which of the shrines to enter. A few other visitors gathered near the front altar, offering prayers of supplication and praise to the gold idol crafted in Lucifer’s supposed likeness. A few listless monks roamed about, performing random tasks and offering religious services as needed.
Rashnir crept further through the halls, searching for clues. He spotted no sign of the goblins. Skulking a little further along a stone corridor that boasted
an intricately carved wall depicting events from the first Great War of the varied species, Rashnir passed some cubicles for the monastic workers. He paused and sniffed; Rashnir noticed the musty, slightly spicy odor that usually indicated goblins. Concentrating, he stretched out with his senses and heard the croaking voices of goblins behind the nearby, closed door.
The raspy voices sounded friendly enough as they spoke with the local monastic authority. “This is the tribute that our master bids we send to you,” said the oddly familiar goblin voice. “King Nvv-Fryyg desires to make a lasting contribution to your religious work, especially in spite of recent events occurring in the mountains of Briganik.”
“Yes,” the human voice responded, “You have alluded to this already. Explain that.” A nervous undertone entered into his voice. “I am interested in what you have to say about these events, and I gladly accept your tribute.”
Rashnir heard the clattering of coins.
“The goblins have found their place in Lucifer’s grand plan. You would know, better than any other man in Grinden, no doubt, that Lucifer has orchestrated his grand plan to overthrow the great foe, Yahweh. Up until now, this plan has primarily been for, and through, mankind, chiefly using humans. There is a teaching from Lucifer’s prophet; it includes the Goblin race. It provides all with access to the eternal Paradise.”
“Anyone can get to Paradise,” came the reply, “You just have to pay the toll at the Temple of Light and ascend the stairs of Babel.”
“Yes, I know, but not how Paradise is now…barren and destroyed, crumbled under years of decay and abuse. The disrepair of Paradise will be renewed when Lucifer returns to claim victory over the forces of Yahweh.”
“What you say sounds like a twisting of current prophesy, Goblin. Your kind is beyond the grace of the Light-Bringer, so calling you a heretic does no good. Tell me, who is this prophet? Is he some goblin with grand hopes of currying favor with Lucifer upon his grand reentry to our realm?”
“It is no goblin. It is your prophet, Absinthium, and I also bring you this.” There was a pause and a rustling sound, “A scroll from the arch-mage himself.”
Rashnir only heard a pause, but he imagined that the monk whispered Absinthium’s name with a certain fear and reverence.
“There is one more thing,” the goblin said, “Absinthium is coming here for a visit in the coming days. He sent me as his courier rather than a Luciferian runner to reinforce this new doctrine coming out of Briganik’s Temple of Light.”
The conversation wound down, and with nowhere to hide, Rashnir retreated down the hallway and took a seat in one of the stone pews of the main sanctuary.
Moments later, the goblins walked behind him and found the exit. Things fell together in Rashnir’s mind as he realized he knew one of the ekthro. He recognized the goblin who had been speaking in the office as grr’SHaalg: the same goblin from Harmarty’s castle.
Luciferian machinations had been put into motion in Grinden. Perhaps there was more to the plot than what he had overheard in the Harmarty’s castle.
Chapter Eight
Rashnir left the temple building and found Kevin surrounded by a small crowd of people. Kevin’s angelic bodyguards seemed relaxed, so the crowd must not have posed any danger. The preacher had apparently found an opportunity to share his faith with the locals as Rashnir trailed the goblins.
As he neared the growing crowd, Rashnir noticed a young monk in the audience, shifting on his feet but listening intently. His coarse, dark-brown robe and shaven pate indicated his devotion to the combat disciplines at the monastery. The tattoos on his head designated him as a third degree monk; that was the fourth level of the Order, beginning level initiates had no rank--only after achieving full monk status did one became a first-degree monk. Second degree followers choose a training specialty from the branches of the Order and levels progressed from there up to the thirty-third degree.
Only four thirty-three degree monks existed at any given time, one of whose decisions counted twice when voting at Luciferian High Council meetings, making him the head of the Luciferian Order. Rashnir mulled over what little he knew of the order as he walked—he was quite certain that this Absinthium character was a member of the High Council for a simple name-drop to the local leadership to have so easily and resolutely changed a long-held prejudice.
Rashnir pressed in towards his friends. His and the young monk’s eyes caught each other’s; the monk quickly looked away as if he’d been caught in some great disobedience. The Luciferian pulled his hood up and promptly departed, pretending he’d only been passing by, rather than listening to the story of a heretic’s hope.
***
Over the following days, the Christian foursome returned to the same location, inviting others back; every day, more people came to listen to Kevin speak. Most of the locals regarded him as nothing more than a brilliant storyteller, a colorful heretic at worst, but they appreciated the entertainment.
For his part, Kevin simply told stories that intrigued the people who came to listen—only snippets of the larger narrative he’d taught Rashnir. Kevin embraced his role as an entertainer and the people learned his stories, ingesting Truth without quite realizing it. Kevin understood that he planted seeds and invited them back time and again, and they kept returning, often bringing friends. Over the course of a few days Kevin had amassed a regular following.
Each afternoon, Kevin left them with a teaser, telling the audience that he would share his favorite story on Saturday night. Audience members assured them that they would come for that story.
On Saturday morning, the lounge of the Green Serpent Inn, where Kevin and his companions shared a meal, buzzed with activity. Weekends were generally a night of over-indulgence and led to many guests inadvertently spending a night at the inn, making Saturday and Sunday the only days of the week with early crowds. The patrons all seemed to talk about the one topic: the murder of King Harmarty.
The nuanced political tension of the conversation made Rashnir apprehensive; he prayed his pseudo-celebrity status as Harmarty’s enemy would not damage the group’s ability to do good. He did his best to conceal his identity in the lounge as he ordered breakfast for him and his friends. A nearby conversation so consumed the waiter that he took it without so much as a glance in Rashnir’s direction.
It did not take long until they were also engrossed in conversation about politics and the potential connections between the goblins, Luciferians, and monarchies. A short while later a young busboy brought the Christians their breakfast.
The boy asked them, “Have you all heard the news about the King?” He didn’t wait for a reply, “They found his body yesterday morning; they found him ‘cuz of the stink. Someone assassinated him and strung him up inside the dumbwaiter in his bedroom.”
“Tell me,” Kevin asked, shrugging off the brutality of the news, “What talk is there of a successor?”
“Well, I heard that there are a few people who claim they should be the heir. Harmarty didn’t have any kids and wasn’t married. The strongest claim is by Rutheir, his man-at-arms.” He shrugged. “I guess he’s got a couple of reasons. I hear that he’s got a will or sumthin, plus he is claiming that he was Harmarty’s partner. I guess it’s like he was his man-wife or something, and a lot of the aristocrats are backing him.”
The bartender whistled, calling back his extra hand. The boy dutifully returned to help in the kitchen.
Changing the subject, Kevin discussed the immediate plans for the day, “By this evening, the town could be a very different place. Tonight I will present the people with the message of faith. Over the last week we introduced them to the character of Jesus; they know who He is and they know the miracles that He did. People think the lands of Israel, Jerusalem, and other biblical places are in some fictional realm. Tonight, they will discover that it is the truth, and that Jesus still does miracles—even here.”
“What of the Luciferians?” Jorge asked, always
thinking about logistics. “Should we be wary of any threat on their part?” The question seemed directed to Rashnir, the only native to this land.
“I am not very familiar with the Luciferians. I really only have a cursory knowledge of them, like most people, but my guess is that you could encounter opposition. We may have problems if the Luciferians feel threatened, especially since it looks like they are making some kind of push for political power.
“Hopefully, the plans that I overheard so many nights ago were ruined with the death of Harmarty. I don’t think, though, that we’re so lucky. It seems like the Temple visit by the goblins indicates that their plans are still in motion: with or without King Harmarty. Evil is forging new alliances.”
“I think you’re right,” Jorge stated. “We will need to be prepared in the event that things turn hostile. What do you know of Absinthium?”
“I asked around a little bit,” Rashnir replied, “He is one of the Council of Four; he is a thirty-third degree Luciferian. Actually, he’s the thirty-third degree Luciferian. The other three members of the High Council appointed him a few years back. A short time later, he became the leader of the council when Jang’uul, the previous leader of many years, mysteriously died. Absinthium is the member with double votes and basically guides the Order. He’s a powerful sorcerer, by all accounts.”
“He will cause trouble,” Jorge said.
“I know. Tonight’s meeting, coincidentally, is the same time as the weekly Luciferian service. People will be curious,” Kevin said, “and I expect to steal away several of their people. I predict some tertiary conflict with the monks. If there is conflict it will generate publicity. This could help broadcast to those existing Christians that the message is being preached and it might draw even bigger crowds on both sides of the fence: negative and positive observers, both. We’ll just do our best to get a crowd and let the Holy Spirit sort them out.”
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 14
