“You must act quickly, but be careful not to jeopardize our current initiative. We walk a fine line at this point. We need to take care to further our current plans, to solidify complete control in this realm, but we also need to put down this threat that has the potential to destroy us. Failure in one area means failure in the other either of which means death for us. This Holy Spirit can exempt a Christian from our powers; this makes them a formidable opponent indeed. However, do not let anyone know how strong they truly are; it would inspire our enemies and benefit their cause.”
“My divinations have shown me that Rutheir and grr’SHaalg have already planned actions to eliminate this threat; it crosses paths with their parts in this great campaign,” Absinthium said humbly, seeing the importance of this new task.
“Good. You must return at once to Jand and take command of the situation. Advise them and pursue a solution in our best interests, ending with the destruction of the Christians. You may save some for sacrifice or as gifts to be eaten by the Gathering if you so choose, but make sure to bind and gag them; you cannot let them speak their words to any other humans. Their message can be contagious, and if the Logos has any truth in it then it has shown that His message can turn a human’s heart to align with Him, and few of those can be won back to us…
“Go quickly and begin this new mission. I have worked for a thousand years to crown myself Lucifer; do not let this rogue band upset a millennium of toil. Go and institute the reforms of the Luciferian order. Use the reforms to manipulate the people and the ekthro. Control them; play them like pieces on a game board. Use them to supplant these Christians at every turn and make them appear as evil ones. Inspire the ordinary devotee to hate them with such a passion that they need not be asked, but will gladly seek and kill any person that confesses Jesus Christ as Lord…
“Leave now. You know what must be done.”
Wordlessly, Absinthium turned and left the chambers of his dematerializing master. The rushing wind caused by the transfiguration extinguished the flickering candles and hardened the drippings into melted beads of tallow.
The arch-mage made for the exit. After the somber trek he descended the spire that connected the land below from the parched heavens where the demon overlords kept their estates. At the notion of meeting a Christian, thoughts of hatred filled his exceedingly black heart. He hoped to soon encounter one so that he could invent new torments to exercise upon him or her.
He grabbed a fistful of hide and pulled his way up the flank of his gryphon and combed through swaths of fur until he located the seat on its back. Hate consumed his mind and he thought about how he would kill every enemy he could locate. The gryphon beat its massive wings against the air currents and rose into the sky, soaring man and beast skyward and onwards to the kingdom of Jand.
Chapter Ten
Kelsa sat on a tree stump. The old, weather-beaten stump barely rose above grasses and creeping flora in the middle glade bursting with colorful wildflowers. An otherworldly light painted the entire scene and willows framed the meadow and dusted it with a dusting of gossamer tendrils.
The young woman sat and sighed. Melancholy, she sadly watched the flowers sway in the breeze; she appeared to be waiting for something or someone. Then, her eyes met his and he instantly knew that she had been waiting for him. Her eyes sparkled like gems and she leapt to the ground and ran to him. He sprinted towards her and they tearfully embraced after such a long absence.
“I’ve been waiting so long for you to come, Rashnir!”
“I’ve missed you so much, my love… my Kelsa.” Rashnir squeezed tighter and whispered, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t fast enough!”
“Quickly then, before they come!” Her voice was urgent. “Take me away from here.”
“Before who comes?”
“The dark ones. Those who come and bring the night; oh, Rashnir—I can’t stand the darkness—it’s been so dark for so long.”
“Let us go then.”
She pulled back against his grip as he tried to flee the glade. “But I cannot leave from here. This is my place now. I can only go if you free me.”
“But how can I free you?”
“Only one man has that power.” She twitched slightly, like a clumsy marionette.
Rashnir peered beyond his beloved; at the far edge of the clearing stood the cloaked man. He leaned heavily on a staff; a crimson cape shrouded his body. With the hood laid back, Rashnir recognized him.
“Absinthium.” Kelsa intoned.
Rashnir pulled away, backpedaling towards the darkness beyond the willows, beyond the ghostly light of the glade. “No!” he accused Kelsa, “You’re dead! This is not real; once you’re dead you are gone for eternity. We are forever separated; I am sorry.”
Absinthium spoke, “I can give her back to you… make this a reality… for a small price.”
Rashnir remained silent, but didn’t continue his retreat.
“If you will follow me and forget your new comrades, then all will be restored—position, power, everything… and your Kelsa can be reanimated.”
“No! You are a liar and a devourer of souls. I will never pledge loyalty to you!”
The shimmering image of his beloved stared mournfully at him. A brilliant silver sigil glowed on her forehead and her eyes dilated to the full; her body shuddered, wracked by pain. She whispered one word—and Rashnir was not certain that even the Arch-Mage who controlled this dream heard her, as if Kelsa’s actual soul pushed through for just a moment, overriding this mockery Absinthium had conjured.
“Tartarus.” Her voice failed like an ebbing wind but the word and the sense of her presence pierced Rashnir’s soul.
“So be it, krist-chin!” the mage’s apparitional form spat. His words dripped with hatred. Kelsa’s skin ignited and she screamed curses at him as she burst into flames. Rashnir shielded his eyes from the supernatural inferno and then he turned and ran. He couldn’t outrun the odor of burning flesh, and then he suddenly awoke.
He’d soaked his blanket through with sweat, but he knew he had just resisted a powerful, supernatural temptation. Rashnir lay wakeful near the fire where he slept. The word “Tartarus” looped around in his mind.
Through the flames he could see Kevin approach. Beyond his silhouette, the full moon lit the camp. He’d most likely returned from prayer for Zeh-Ahbe’ and his tribe-mates who had departed for such an uncertain situation. The preacher wordlessly, and promptly, settled into sleep. The night had drawn on long and he looked in dire need of rest.
Rashnir said nothing and tried to return to sleep, purposefully guarding his heart against another intrusion like the one he’d just had. His mind shifted into such high alert, that the whispered word Kelsa’s spirit had spoken was forgotten by morning.
***
“Wake up, you fool!”
The words yanked the king from his sleep—from his dreams of conquest. Rutheir flew into an outrage; no one should dare to speak to him in this manner. After all, he was the king of Jand! His anger immediately melted into submission and fear when he saw who spoke to him.
He rubbed the crust from his eyes and spotted a nightmarish specter radiating foul light at the foot of his bed. It glowed like a bad moon in a misty night. The king recognized it as his Luciferian ally, Absinthium. Rutheir fully awoke at his lord’s command.
“I will be back within two days,” he said with supernatural voice like a stony landslide, “I want preparations made to deal with this krist-chin threat. I know of the plans that you and the goblin made to deal with this uprising. Put these plans into motion.
“Go in the morning and speak with Pinchôt at the mercenary’s guild. You must make him feel like you have watched his career closely, as a mentor would for a prized pupil. Incite an even deeper hatred in him for his fallen hero, Rashnir. Make him believe that you fear for your life: that you think Rashnir will come for your crown next.
“Also, be very careful
to guard your secrecy when dealing with assassins, but hire some and do it soon. Just do not use your normal channels and let there be no connection to you. Do not hire Shimza; there is too much history there and we cannot afford to botch this. We must not look like the villains and instead draw the sympathy of the people.
“Contact the local temple tomorrow, after you meet with Pinchôt. Lead any loyal villagers in a memorial service for the deceased King Harmarty on the following day. We want the people remembering him fondly and with reverence—we are building a new narrative to override what the people think they knew. Let us recast him as a martyr in the publics’ eyes—a servant of the people who was destroyed by these cultists that grope for the throne. This should demoralize any who might harbor sympathies for the heretics.
“In your remarks to the people, hint how you strongly believe that Rashnir was the one to kill your beloved Harmarty. Do try to work up some tears—can you manage that?”
Rutheir nodded solemnly.
“Erasing this threat from our memory is my new priority. By lulling the people back into the religious control we should be capable of stopping any advances they’ve had; we will contain them and then crush them. Only when every professing krist-chin is destroyed can I relent in my quest; this is a prime directive of beh’-tsah himself.
“Make what arrangements you must to fulfill my command. Soon, you must reorganize the country’s army. While the western front relies heavily upon the military to protect them against Ziphan threats, the eastern contingent is a joke. There is barely any military might in this half of your kingdom; the crown is poorly protected. Do not place too much faith in the care of mercenaries. But, you must not destabilize support in the west by tapping them for forces.”
The arch-mage could see the machinations of Rutheir’s mind.
“You fear discord on the borders if you lighten their provisions?”
“Yes, if you remove any of the military protecting the western people, we will lose countless others to the orcish slaver bands roving Zipha, and the people will resent you for it.”
The mage took his comments in stride. “You must find a creative solution. We can deal with Zipha in the near future as plans expand. We are training Luciferian missionaries even now to proselytize that country’s ekthro. It will not stop the fact of the slave trade, but it may open new doors for political dealings through which we can eventually either crush that threat or stabilize the region.”
Rutheir nodded and mentally logged his future plans for that front.
“Mention the need for more soldiers in your memorial. Have the service transcribed and sent out as an edict; make it seem an honorable thing to become a soldier in service of the king. Form soldiering university to train new initiates; this might swell your ranks and protect your people.
“We will need this military support in the future; mercenaries will be in too short of supply as we deal with this krist-chin movement. I foresee it may come to a military stand-off if they continue such a rapid rate of growth.”
“These things will be done,” Rutheir vowed.
“See that they are,” the apparition threatened and then it faded from existence.
***
In the heart of Grinden, the apparitional form of Absinthium reappeared in the chambers of another man.
Frinnig looked up from his late-night studies and noticed the shimmering, ethereal form waiting patiently for his attention. The monk fell silent when he realized the identity of this spectral form.
“My Lord, Absinthium!” he exclaimed and bowed. “What is it that causes you to appear to me in this manner?”
“Rise, my loyal brother. I come with a request for your help aiding me and the Order’s goals for advancement throughout your realm. You are placed in a strategic position, bridging the boundary between Jand and Ninda. For the time being, we are concentrating a great deal of effort in the kingdom of Jand, of which you are now a part.
“It would benefit our cause to hold a memorial service for the departed monarch, Harmarty. Hold it in the exact same location as the heretical meetings that the krist-chins recently held… that should send a message.”
Frinnig bristled at the mention of Kevin’s recent evangelistic service.
Absinthium continued. “Let us regrow a fondness and rejuvenation for our faith. We must shape the minds of the people in the Grinden area; it really is the hub that connects the people of Ninda, Jand, and even the goblins to the immediate north, whom we now welcome as brothers.
“We must reach out and rekindle relationships with all those who have any kind of connection to our religion; many have not participated in ritual for so great a time that we have forgotten them, and them us. We should incite a frenzy of religion. If we fail to revitalize our church, then this krist-chin cult will overtake us and destroy the truth of Luciferianism forever; the Gathering has foreseen this and the cause of my visit is that grave.”
“I understand,” Frinnig said. “With a threat of this magnitude we must inspire the masses. We must make them understand the threat posed by the very existence of these anathema heretics. We will make them see themselves as warriors in Lucifer’s grand army.”
“Yes!” Absinthium smiled warmly. “That is exactly what we need. You are a true leader and visionary, Frinnig. I will keep my eyes on you and your ministry.
“Tomorrow, King Rutheir will arrive and you two can plan the details of the memorial service in the evening which follows. Inspire the people above all else; what we need now is loyalty—renewed commitment. Send out criers to encourage people to attend this memorial.
“You speak skillfully and with conviction, just what we need and we need so much. Those loyal to the church should be remembered and feel empowered—needed. The forces of this realm are a delicate balance, a balance disrupted by this new heresy; it may come down to a fight for our very existence.
“Make sure that you have monkish support as a show of power from your local monastery. You never know when the krist-chins might attack or threaten local Luciferians with violence. You would be wise to keep a visible deterrent, my friend.”
“Agreed. I will have my aide, Jandul, call on more support from the monastery. Though, we would almost welcome an attack. It would give us a great reason to wage open war upon them and extract vengeance for sullying our flock of souls.”
“That time is coming very soon. The krist-chins are even more dangerous than you realize and the Gathering is taking the necessary steps to destroy this threat for all time.”
“You have the full cooperation and support of us in Grinden,” Frinnig pledged as the ghostly form of his hero vanished.
***
Zeh-Ahbe’ and his two kinsmen, Rah’-be and Sil-tarn, flitted through the woods under the full moon. They ran like the wild, bathed in the astral light which bled through the trees. The Say-awr’ knew the way to the meeting place of the kil-yaw’. They retained a sense of direction instilled in them and honed through a lifetime of nomadic travel. The trio knew when they headed in the proper direction.
Despite that, their senses felt muted to a great degree; the smell of the undergrowth and the shifting of the vibrations in the air no longer provided them the information they could have gained through access to their lupine form, but they found their way, regardless. Despite their reduced capacity, their hearts burst with joy and the knowledge and assurance of a secured eternity through the benevolent God of wonders.
The threesome had traveled on foot since that evening, heading due west of Grinden, into the Quey forests, which seldom saw sentient travel. Neither human nor ekthro had much reason for going through when the trade routes of Grinden passed conveniently around it.
In the deep of night, they burst into a clearing lit by an enormous fire. At the far end of the clearing, a weathered wagon parked next to an old animal skin tent: the tent of records. The Ahee-sthay-tay’-ree-on had, since the dawn of the kil-yaw’, been the tent’s keepers. They r
ecorded the events of the kil-yaw’ and the deeds of the individual tribes, maintaining the history of the werewolves.
Assembled in a circle around the central fire the gathered heads of the nine other tribes of the kil-yaw’ waited in their seats. Behind each tribal leader sat their two aides. Many of the gathered werewolves bristled at the show of disrespect when the non-wolf forms stepped into the kil-yaw’.
Zeh-Ahbe’ knew that things would only get more difficult. They’d already arrived late, not making nearly the kind of speed that they would have in lupine forms. The kil-yaw’ would certainly be upset by his tardiness, but even more irritated at such a breach of protocol as appearing in human form.
The bellicose head of tribe Kaw-bade’ stood in outrage and pointed an accusatory talon at Zeh-Ahbe’. “What is this insult by the Say-awr’? How dare you mock our sacred gathering! For that you must die!”
“Sit down, Mil-khaw-mah’!” demanded Sehkel-saykel, the head of tribe Ahee-sthay-tay’-ree-on and current leader of the kil-yaw’. With mere words, the elderly werewolf forced Mil-khaw-mah’, the largest and most vicious werewolf alive, back into his seat. The leader of Kaw-bade’ turned his ten foot frame of rippling muscle, hide, and sable fur back to his seat and resumed a cross-legged posture.
Mil-khaw-mah’ was not happy at all, though he only acted on the same impulses fueling many of the other tribal leaders. The others retained enough control to restrain themselves.
Zeh-Ahbe’ humbly took his seat, positioning his human body in his rightful place in the kil-yaw. Rah’-be and Sil-tarn dutifully and silently took their places behind him.
“Now then,” said Sehkel-saykel in his dominant, even voice that always masked his emotions from the remainder of the kil-yaw’, “Zeh-Ahbe’, tribal leader of clan Say-awr’, the kil-yaw’ demands to know the reason behind your… condition. Protocol demands you alter form; we cannot begin our council until you properly present yourself.”
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 20
