Rashnir did the only thing that he could think to do under the circumstances. He hugged the small, frightened child and returned to the Christian encampment.
Chapter Eleven
Pinchôt paced in the midst of his new appointment. The members who ranked as leadership in the Narsh Barbarian Sect surrounded him. While he stood in stark contrast by physical appearance, they were akin in many other ways. Whereas Pinchôt stood smaller in stature than most of the bulky and heavy handed barbarians, they had the same heart: a desire for personal glory and triumph by overcoming and spilling the blood of their foes. Pinchôt greatly desired blood.
“What we have here,” Pinchôt said, “Is an odd situation. One of the reasons that I have been brought over to lead the Narsh Barbarian Sect is because of the problems in the Rangers—they lack the gall to do certain jobs: ones that the King has an utmost need to be performed at this present time. In years past, the previous two kings each preferred Rogis’ Rangers, which I came out of, to aid in keeping the peace on the eastern front.”
Many groans came when he mentioned the Rangers. A rivalry had endured between them for decades. Grirrg, Pinchôt’s second in command from the Barbarians, summed up the group’s feelings; Grirrg squeezed a porcelain stein filled with mead until the cup broke, splashing the brew all over.
“Let me say this, before I go on. I feel that I have made a good switch. King Rutheir needs us; he knows that the Rangers have waxed impotent for his purposes. He can foresee how the Rangers ‘ethics’ will impede progress. So, now we are the favored mercenary group under the crown.
“Rutheir has long been a lover of combat. He has been a powerful warlord since he was young. For too long he watched the Rangers’ courage dwindle as they feared to meet battle head on. With the way things are set to heat up in the city, King Rutheir will rely on our skills.”
“What’s in it for us?” one barbarian piped up.
“Glory, battle, the opportunity to wield your weapon under a banner of the most powerful warlord of this lifetime—he will undoubtedly look towards expansion, and soon. Ultimately, you get your normal pay and plunder along with the ability to make your name known and qualify for rank with the king. What more could you want?”
“You think we really have a king with enough courage to expand his empire? Are you saying that we might have opportunities for large scale battle in the near-lands?”
“That is where the most glory lies, is it not? It is my desire to do so. I believe that it is what the king wishes. Of course, because of political reasons this is not an official statement and should be kept low-key.
“Right now, we have a dangerous internal threat. You may have heard of the krist-chin group that has formed in the city. They are viewed as an extremely dangerous cult and even has the demonic Gathering scrambling to bring about its destruction. We can’t, unfortunately, just walk in and slaughter them all; there’re politics and such to observe.
“I am sure that most of you are aware that the former hero, Rashnir, formerly of the Rogis’ Rangers, is among their number, plus two unknown beings that appear to be Sons of Anak. We can assume, then, that these heretics have come from as far as the western edge of Briganik. Though our information brokers should be able to find information on two wayward anakim, we are still unsure of their origins.”
“I heard that they have wings,” one man called. “You ever heard of an anakim with wings?”
“Yes, I too have heard that,” Pinchôt said, “But it hasn’t been confirmed.”
“I overheard some people in the brothels the other night saying that they looked like high Luciferian beings. Said it looked like Lucifer himself, all shimmering and glorious.”
“I overheard that you drink too much,” Grirrg jibbed, eliciting several bursts of laughter.
Pinchôt clarified the position, “The Luciferian Order says that these beings are not aligned with the church. They have been officially labeled as extreme threats to the Order, which is now affiliated with the rule of the kingdom. These beings are only here to destroy the way of life that we are paid to fight and protect. You might be religious, you might not, but it will be a glorious kill should you bring down any of this cult’s leadership.”
The barbarians began stomping the floor and rattling mugs on the table to show their excitement at the opportunity to fight such a creature. They chomped at the bit for an excuse to launch into battle.
“We have been instructed not target them just yet, but to gather information and prepare ourselves. King Rutheir assures me that we will meet these creatures on the battlefield. He even claimed that he will hire bards to watch the fray from the hillsides so the glory of the ones who slay them might be composed as a tale for all to hear.”
Many of the barbarians’ ears perked up. Their fighting spirit roused and Pinchôt knew he’d forged a bond with his men. He hoped to strengthen it in the coming days and weeks.
“You are all dismissed; carry this knowledge with you, but tell no one. Lines are forming in this city with every person choosing either allegiance to the crown, or allegiance to this cult. This should be only a brief matter to deal with, and then we may move on to matters of more importance and greater glory.
“For now, enjoy life, get drunk, pull the legs from live chickens—whatever you do for merriment… just keep your lips tight. We hold a royal secret and the trust of our king. This is our ticket to elevate the Narsh Barbarians into the favor of the king.
“If any of you care to join me, I think I fancy a stroll through the city streets before I addle my own brain with spirits.”
***
Rashnir sat cross-legged by the fire. Little Jibbin had remained fastened to him during the entire retreat for the safety of the encampment. Kevin, Jorge, Kyrius, and others had tried to comfort the child, but to no avail. He remained in such shock that he verged on a catatonic state. The one thing that he did communicate, through his body language, was that he had no intention of letting go of his rescuer. Even now, as he slept, he clung to Rashnir’s torso as if his life depended on it.
The warrior looked down at the child clinging to his chest. His skin was dirty and he was barefoot, though that was common for children of his age. Puffy, discolored marks of his bruises indicated that he hadn’t completely escaped the abuses of the alleyway.
Jibbin snored faintly. Rashnir had just wondered if he could find a way to sleep when he spotted his friends approach.
Others tried had vainly to comfort the child until a wise mother of eight children chased them away. She’d noted that nothing could satisfy the child save his parents return from the dead or being allowed to cling to the only safety he knew in this moment. They’d allowed Jibbin to fall asleep upon Rashnir in peace and with the only security he knew.
Kevin and the angels returned, hoping that the boy had fallen asleep in the time since they’d left. They were anxious to hear the details regarding the incident. They were especially curious about the sword of the Logos appearing for Rashnir to wield.
According to what Kevin had said before leaving the warrior and child in peace, Rashnir inferred that a number of other attacks of similar natures against Christians had been coordinated that night by local Luciferians. Rashnir’s friends approached and quietly sat near the fire; they spoke only in hushed tones so they wouldn’t wake the child.
Rashnir told them every detail of his evening, starting with his conversation with Jaker and ending with his return to the camp. Jorge smiled when Rashnir told them how the sword appeared as he had needed it.
“The Lord answered your prayers, Kevin,” Jorge said. The angel gently borrowed the Bible that Kevin carried wherever he went. “You lamented the other day about how we only had one book for all believers to share.” Jorge flipped through the pages and handed the book back to its owner. His angelic finger pointed to a specific verse.
Hebrews 4:12 For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two edged sword, p
iercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.
“Rashnir, look at your forearm,” the angel pulled back his tunic to expose his arm from elbow to wrist. Rashnir shifted Jibbin and did the same as his friend.
Looking at his forearm in the flamelight, he saw that he too bore a matching mark. The angel and warrior had matching tattoo-like markings; each resembled both a cross and a sword. The word Logos was visibly etched upon it.
“Hold out your arm. Expect that the Lord will provide you with all that you need. Seek not the blade, but God.” Jorge and Rashnir both extended their arms, palms upward and expecting. The flaming, spiritual sword materialized in the hand of each warrior.
“It’s as I thought. This is the same sword that we angels wield. It is sharper than any other weapon and only available to those who follow God with every aspect of their lives. This sword is the word of God, the Logos. Do what I do, Rashnir.”
Jorge gripped the sword by the blade and examined the broadside as if he studied it. “Look closely at your blade. Do you see anything?”
Rashnir shifted his weight back on his seat so that Jibbin could comfortably lie against him. He put one hand at the base of the blade and the other nearer the point; the flames extinguished at his touch. The blade was sharp, but Rashnir sensed that the blade would not hurt him no matter how hard he gripped. He looked at the flat of the blade and noticed that there were words finely engraved upon it. The blade’s ricasso had three names written on it. There were other words and text etched upon it. As he examined it more closely, Rashnir realized that he could easily read the words, despite the small size. Miraculously, he also had perfect comprehension of the text. It was the Word of God.
Rashnir could not respond for several minutes. He was so enraptured in this discovery that he couldn’t tear his attention away. He poured through the words of Christ as spoken in His sermon on the mount, the account of His death and resurrection.
After a few long moments, he glanced up at his companions with an awestruck look. “This,” he said, “is incredible. Never have I laid hand upon such an awesome instrument.”
Jorge nodded his head in assent. “It does not only destroy the enemies of the Logos. It is a means to bring hope and peace to the believer and bear the words of salvation to those who are lost.”
Kevin beamed at the implications of the available Word. “Jorge, do you think that all believers will have access to this?”
“I am certain that they will,” he replied, “at least all of those who have been baptized in Spirit would. All believers should be able to understand the writing upon the blade because of the Spirit’s indwelling, but those that have been baptized have been empowered and gifted for service; they should also be able to draw upon this power.”
“Perhaps, then,” Kevin suggested, “the morning’s lesson should focus on the baptism in the Holy Spirit.”
“I think that it would be wise of you to do so.”
Kyrius smiled and quipped, “See, Jorge. I told you the Creator picked the right man for this job.”
Jorge grinned at his friend’s jest. He knew that it would edify Kevin more than they could know. He’d struggled with insecurity the last couple of mornings and this would relieve some of that pressure.
Jibbin stirred a little and the three rose to leave him in peace.
Kevin spoke quietly enough that he would not wake the child. “We will speak more in the morning, Rashnir, if you are able. I want to gather those whom I believe will make the best leaders and form a council. I cannot do everything on my own or I will burn myself out, and there is much to do, much to discuss. We should talk about the many attacks that happened this evening against our fellow Christians. But we will talk more about that in the morning. For now, get some rest. You look like you could use it, and I am sure that you will need it.”
“Curious, Kyrius,” Jorge said as they walked off, meandering out of earshot.
“Sounds like the beginning of a limerick.”
“No, I keep thinking that I hear a noise—every now and then, just a twinge, like something digging deep beneath us… do you hear it too?”
Rashnir gave a little wave as they departed into the restless night air. He knew deep down that he would not be able to sleep; there was no way he could possibly sleep with the excitement of the evening’s discovery coursing through his body. It overpowered the grief that troubled his spirit, the sorrow for Jibbin’s parents. Rashnir took up his heavenly sword and began to study the Word with an intensity and passion that he never thought possible with reading.
He eventually expended all his energy. Late into the night, he fell asleep mid-sentence while reading. Once Rashnir’s consciousness slipped away his sword dissipated, returning to him as a mark upon his arm; his mind tumbled into a deep dream of “what-if” possibilities.
Rashnir’s mind imagined a world where Kelsa lived and the two raised Jibbin together. They made a life together where Rashnir no longer found passion in war, but in worship.
***
Rashnir awoke the next morning to find the sullen little boy curled up at his feet. His face was dirty and stained where tears had streamed down his face, cleaning little trails as gravity pulled his tears to the ground.
Rashnir gave him an apprehensive hug to reassure him. “Good morning, Jibbin,” he said, getting on his knees and looking him level in the eyes. He took him by the shoulders. “Do you know who I am?”
The boy nodded.
“I am Rashnir. I’m going to take care of you.”
Jibbin looked a little frightened.
“Do you remember what happened last night?”
A nod.
“I’m so sorry, Jibbin. Do you remember when your parents met Kevin, the preacher, and were so excited because they found Jesus, how that changed their lives?”
Another nod, more vigorous… a better memory.
“Well, I know that it is very sad to lose your family. I too, lost all of my family, several times in fact. I think that we are similar like that. I’m gonna protect you, Jibbin. I promised your daddy that I would.
“Your parents died before they should have, but they are in Heaven now and you’re gonna see them again at the end, I can promise you that. And you don’t need to worry about bad people or ekthro hurting you; I am Rashnir. Perhaps you have heard some of my stories or songs?”
The boy nodded.
“Oh good, you’re a fan.” Rashnir scooped up the mute little boy and took him off to breakfast while he told him a well-known story about his time with Rogis’ Rangers.
After breakfast, Rashnir found Kevin and his group of chosen leaders forming a circle. Rashnir sat in a place near the preacher’s seat where Kevin directed him. Jibbin sat cross-legged next to Rashnir, mimicking his guardian’s posture.
***
Kevin surveyed his teammates. Gathered around him were Jorge and Kyrius, his angelic protectors and confidants; Rashnir and Jibbin; Zeh-Ahbe’, Rah’-be, and Sil-tarn, the three werewolf clan mates of the displaced Say-awr’; Nipanka, a large bearded man who, prior to his conversion, owned a very successful store in Grinden; Miklaw, a wiry farmer from the outskirts of the city; Shinna, an old widow and mother who had a gentle way with women, and who owned a tailor business before her conversion; Drowdan, an animal farrier who worked the outlying areas surrounding Grinden; Rondhale and Jhonnic, twin men in their thirties, both blacksmiths known for quality craftsmanship; Werthen, a well-liked young man with a magnetic personality and a charming craft. As a ferreter he knew many of those in the Christian encampment, having previously visited their homes, businesses, or farms to exterminate rodents with his small, furry hunters.
“You all know why I have gathered you here: because I need to delegate more of my work to others whom I feel I can trust and whom I believe people will have confidence in to do an adequate job. I believe that you all h
ave special talents, good connections, or certain gifts that would make you a good leader.”
Kevin laid out his plans. The people on this leadership council would be responsible for many duties and would, to the best of their abilities, settle disputes or mediate where it may be needed, take leadership burdens off of Kevin and advise him on cultural concerns and more. They’d be responsible for leading certain groups, discipling, training, evangelizing, and helping when needed.
The leader’s time also needed to be guarded. He couldn’t be directly responsible for each and every individual—that would eventually wear him down.
After giving his team some instruction and encouragement, Kevin moved on to the more weighty issues. “I had hoped that we could have had this meeting without bringing up any bad news, but we are unwanted strangers in a foreign land. In fact, this matter is what prompted me to gather you all as soon as I did.
“You have probably heard accounts of the attacks that many of our people endured last night. In all cases, the attackers came from either street gangs or faithful Luciferians mobs who hate our very existence because of our devotion to the Savior. Many of our brothers and sisters were attacked and a few were killed. Many were mocked and assaulted; some of them are still missing, even now. Remember them when you pray.
“We should expect this persecution. You all know about this place’s Luciferian heritage. Everything about this realm fights against the truth of a Savior even more than the Earth does, and the Earth is very hostile towards Christ. While Earth was twisted and corrupted through the curse that Satan helped introduce, this satanic realm is even more so.
“On Earth, despite the persecution that Christians endured, the message always spread. In fact, wherever persecution was greatest is where the most phenomenal growth always seemed to occur. When you study the Word, you will find references to the world being hostile to those who stand for the truth of our Savior, Jesus. You will find it is not any different here in this place.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 23
