grr’SHaalg removed a weathered, but finely crafted satchel and removed the contents. Within it were individually wrapped glass vials that emitted a feeble light. [Nawchash,] he explained, shaking the viscous pink serum. Its glimmering sheen seemed to have metallic properties and the vials reflected the flickering torchlight from nearby. [It is impure, not separated from the moglob blood, but your contact will see to its filtration. The only place with access to a large enough supply for our means is in the lair of a necromancer in one of the dead cities of Domn.]
Griq’nnr hastily bound up the unfiltered nawchash as his superior unrolled a papyrus scrap. Heavy ink lines drew a map and directions. He knew better than to take the sensitive document and instead committed its contents to memory.
[I have arranged for a skolax to speed your way to the Nindan border, and paid the proper bribes to ensure that your passage is unmolested. You understand your mission and how it is to end?]
Griq’nnr nodded. [I will have two kinfolk bladesmen accompany me.]
grr’SHaalg flashed him an ugly smile. [You know our methods, Griq’nnr. Just make sure they are neither too adept nor overly intelligent. You’re mission might rest on that.]
With that, grr’SHaalg rolled up the map and instructions and held them into the burning, oily flames of the torch, destroying any evidence. Then, slipping from the cave, grr’SHaalg was gone and all record of any grand subterfuge was entirely erased.
Chapter 1
The day already looked promising. To Kevin, the sun suddenly felt warm and distinctly less tainted by this realm than it normally did. Hearts of people had been changed—a positive transformation was ongoing. People attempted to spread joy and the light of their faith to their loved ones; the Holy Spirit worked in this place where it had been long stymied. Just last night, two new families had been brought into the fold and joined their rag-tag community.
Fortunately, this new dawn helped dispel the trepidation that clung to him from late events. Just recently The Order attempted to assassinate Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’. No doubt they would have used that victory as some sort of rallying point. Riots against believers were more common than any wished.
Luckily, the extreme threat of the highly-trained killers had not reared up again in recent days. If Rashnir found them formidable, it’s unlikely any others could have survived an attack.
Kevin also doubted that many folk knew of the secret, black-clad battle mages Rashnir had reported. No doubt any or the men, women, and ekthro in Grinden would consider the encounter as some kind of wild conspiracy story concocted to draw sympathy for the Christian camp. And yet, Kevin knew Rashnir was a man beyond falsehood—especially after everything that he had been through and what he had become.
Basking a moment in the warm glow of the sun as it beamed through his tent flap, Kevin looked out over his burgeoning faction. In just a matter of weeks this entire movement had grown from a few persons to a disenfranchised micro-city. He wondered how he could mobilize his group and continue pushing towards his ultimate goal: finding the lost tribe founded a couple thousand years ago by the angel Karoz. And they would have to move soon; they were quickly wearing out their welcome in Grinden. As the believers’ leader, it was his burden to bear; he stepped out of his tent and meandered through the camp.
The Christian encampment buzzed with life and light and a sense of peace. The city, in contrast, felt full of darkness and spite; it seemed to reflect the maligned hearts of those who lived within its borders. Despite the contrast, the residents of the camp did not look upon the city with any sense of despair. It seemed that every couple of days things would turn sour and the morale of the group slipped—but then things would turn around overnight and something reinvigorated them. At their last count, the group numbered nearly one thousand and fifty souls.
Every day, though, it seemed like fewer people made commitments to their way. The declining numeric growth was one of the things that Kevin wished to address with his council that morning. They needed to draw up short and long-term plans for their group.
The council assembled, as they did every morning, for prayer and a short thought or word of wisdom. Their place had become routine: a soft patch of grass near Kevin’s tent. Rashnir had already arrived, with little Jibbin seated between him and Shinna. All of their children had a natural affection towards her. Zeh-Ahbe’, Rah’-be, and Sil-tarn, three former werewolves, sat next to Rashnir.
Werthen sat on the other side of Shinna; his favorite pet ferrets romped around Rashnir’s ward. Jibbin still remained silent following the pseudo-adoption by Rashnir. It had not been long since he’d witnessed his family’s brutal murder at the hands of Luciferian rioters. Rashnir had been the one to rescue him. He showed the beginning signs of some emotional healing as he watched the critters; they resembled fuzzy tubes with feet and tails as they crawled around and over him playing with more energy than you would think a creature that small could contain. The blacksmiths, Rondhale and Jhonnic, pointed and laughed as they sat next to Werthen. They, too, were glad to see the little boy’s spirits uplifted by the playful animals.
The farmer, Miklaw, and the animal farrier, Drowdan, sat beyond them. They had known each other from their previous business dealings and become firm friends in the wake of each other’s conversion and shared much beyond a common history, including age and temperament. Between them and Nipanka, the three had formed a solid bond.
Jorge and Kyrius sat next to them, leaving one space left for their leader. Kevin sat down and completed the circle; he opened the meeting with a prayer of praise and thanksgiving.
They paused after the prayer. Miklaw’s nephew, Phent, came to the group as he had done for the past three days and brought the leaders an assortment of breakfast food.
Miklaw, practically drooling, reached for one of the baker’s signature pastries. He’d always braided them a certain way so that everyone knew where they’d come from. As generous as he was, Phent also took pride in his work.
Phent’s sandy-colored hair shined in the morning sun. The young man owned a bakery with his wife prior to conversion. She’d died the previous winter, and though he was only related to Miklaw through marriage and they hadn’t yet had children, the kindly farmer still treated him like a blood relation. After providing the council with breakfast, Phent departed with their thanks.
Kevin smiled as he shared an inspirational scripture with his leadership council. After that, he opened up discussion of current business. Their next actions as a group weighed on their thoughts. Open doors in the community became fewer and fewer.
“We must turn our thoughts to our future,” Kevin said. “By this, of course, I am referring to our immediate future and how we can fulfill the commands of our Lord. We are aware that we have a two-fold mission. We must evangelize this place and we must exit this plane of existence before the destruction. Every day we remain in Grinden I feel this sense of urgency in my spirit. Fire and judgement are coming—we mustn’t tarry long.
“We have less than seven years remaining. I chose Grinden to begin this mission because it is the best location on the eastern roadways and for a complete search of the lands an eastern start-point is the most logical. We will stay here for a little while longer so that we can properly train as many disciples as possible—but we will be leaving soon… and not all together.
“In the future, it will be up to you leaders to disciple your own converts and preach the Word in parts of the realm that are far removed from me and the roads that I will travel. Do not fear this, and do not dwell on it. We still have a short time together before we must come to that crossroad, but I tell you this so that we remember our goal. Be thinking of ways that we can complete our mission.
“While we focus on the goodness of God in our mission, we must not forget that there is great opposition. They grow stronger each day as do we. In fact, this call for Luciferian reform is probably our fault in some small way—perhaps a defensive response to what we have done here. I’m s
ure it’s not so simple as that, but I’m sure it plays a part. There is much manipulation and control in the Luciferian Order; it’s a political entity with no home country—its scope and reach is far broader—and much more deadly.”
Kevin mused, “It reminds me of things I have seen where I come from. It was the same in my land.
“Yes, our enemies hate and persecute us, but remember that they have been manipulated; their minds have been twisted around by far darker forces. Neither hate nor fear them. Even I do not know exactly how to treat them—do we fight to preserve ourselves, flee and live, or die as martyrs? I am still praying about it.
“On Earth, there was a great man named Wurmbrand. This man did what Christ called him to in the face of a corrupt government which had complete control of its people; it stole their possessions and tried to steal even their very minds by regulating and censoring what they could see and hear. They outlawed certain beliefs. Satanic forces undoubtedly controlled this regime which outlawed the belief in Christ. Simply admitting belief in our Savior was punishable by prison, torture, and death.
“Wurmbrand was a minister and did not lose heart even when he was arrested and sent to prison. He went to prison many times in his life, but each time that he went he found himself among friends. Just because they placed the man in chains and confined his body, God’s message was not silenced. The people in the prisons got saved; believers multiplied behind bars and those who tortured Wurmbrand saw Christ living through this prisoner and repented. Many souls on Earth were saved because of the humility that he showed.
“The struggle I have, though, is the fact that this is not Earth. On Earth, when a believer was humble and endured persecution by Christ’s enemies, people were drawn to their example and would find Jesus in that process. If a man was murdered because of his belief in Jesus, his story would spread and rally others to the cause and countless others could find and live out that faith which he died for. Faith is contagious.
“Here in this place, however, such is not necessarily the case. There are Christians here; very few of them have existed since Christ’s sacrifice. If contagious faith of the persecuted ones existed here, then Christ’s message should have swept across the land long before I came. I will have to pray about these things. Conditions are unique here, not at all like Earth.
“For now, respect those who persecute you. If someone wishes to do you harm, try to get away. They may have hardened their hearts, but might still be reachable later. If someone wishes to kill you, flee and ask God for guidance as you run.
“On the part of Earth where I came from, there was very little persecution, but this was not true of the rest of the world. Because of this, I am unaccustomed to enduring the trials of oppression like so many other Christians who have gone on to be with the Lord.”
Kevin paused. His eyes seemed to wince as he reflected on his personal failings. “Honestly, I feel like the Lord could have made a better choice when he picked His only missionary for this land. I know His will and knowledge are perfect and that His decisions have their reasons, but I can’t fathom the logic.
“For now, we can only pray begin to make plans for the future.”
***
Kevin had just concluded their morning meeting when a mounted messenger rode into the encampment. His horse trotted lazily and meandered nonthreateningly through the collective campsites; he halted at the edge of the ring formed by the Christian leadership.
The rider’s gilded clothing shone immaculately in the light, cleverly interwoven with his protective armor. Manicured and handsome, he wore his fashionable cape swung to one side. He was undoubtedly a man of great importance and he did not dismount as he addressed them.
“I am looking for the one they call Kevin,” he stated warmly.
“That is me,” Kevin volunteered more quickly than any of his protectors would care for.
The man smiled as he dismounted. He did not appear threatening. Kevin stood to greet him.
“Greetings,” the man bowed his head, “I am Havara. I bring a request to you, Kevin, from my brother Lo-sonom, the king of Gleend.”
The remark raised eyebrows all around the circle. A moment of silent speculation hung in the air.
“What is this request?”
“My brother asks that you would come and see him. He wishes to learn more about this message that you preach, about what you claim is Truth. Word of your dissention with the Luciferians has come to us.”
Havara looked past the group and then over his shoulders to watch for anyone who might be listening.
“Can I trust these people here?” Havara indicated the ring of leaders.
“Yes, these are my closest advisors.”
He spoke a little quieter nonetheless. “For a long while now, my brother has been under great pressures from the Luciferian church and their allied persons in our lands. While my brother views this as disrespectful at the least, he fears that they are trying to wrest rulership of the country from him. This is not to be repeated, I caution you all. I am placing much confidence in your reputation by sharing this.
“It is our desire that you secretly come and speak with my family. If the Luciferians fear you so much, then we would like to know why. Perhaps this information will benefit the whole of Gleend, as well as help your people in some way.
“It’s no surprise that you are less than welcome in Jand, but we might be able to find you a home in Gleend. Tolerant coexistence is dyed in the very fabric of our country.”
“We are not a political organization,” Kevin said, but with compassion for the man. “We seek only to rescue individual souls from an eternal punishment and to glorify the one true God. However influential a particular king or government could be means nothing in the big scheme. In less than seven years this land, Jand, Ninda, Gleend and all the other countries will be destroyed. We are interested in rescuing all people.
“But you are correct about the Luciferian church. They have control of Jand; they control its king, and it seems Grinden too. You are right to fear for your brother.”
“Are you saying that you will not come?” Havara asked.
“I am not saying that,” Kevin replied. “I think that we could arrange for a meeting. I have some plans that would bring me near your borders; I could arrange to move those plans to a closer date. I am not moved by power, or by politics or positions, but I am greatly moved by the condition of any man’s heart. I will speak with your brother, but I will tell him about the truth: about the all-powerful God.”
“Excellent!” Havara grinned. “This notion, the concept of the soul, is something that has greatly intrigued me. I would love to hear more of this, and I am sure that my brother would also desire to hear you, to see if this is truth that you speak.
“Perhaps you have heard of the wise King Lo-sonom?”
Kevin returned a quizzical look.
“I have,” Rashnir spoke up. “They say that he is the wisest man in the land. They say that he can see the plain truth of the matter. His wisdom strikes at the heart of men and his judgments are fair, though sometimes harsh.”
“This is true,” said Havara, “He is not extremely intelligent, and has difficulties grasping many concepts, but he has a keen sense of wisdom which runs deep—it’s his gift and curse. He and I have often talked deep into the night about concepts such as the afterlife. It is as if we know in our core that the world we have been shown is wrong. The truth lies behind a thin veil, and yet we cannot quite grasp it.”
The preacher nodded, recognizing sincerity. Kevin prayed in his heart and mind that this potentially significant conversion would become a reality.
“Please,” Kevin said, “stay with us for a little while. Learn while you are here and I will discuss this trip with my counselors. We will make some arrangements.”
“Yes, I would like that. Will it be possible for you to depart within the next few days?”
Kevin nodded, “I think that it coul
d be arranged. I have confidence in my team of leaders to manage things during a short absence.”
“Good, then I will return tomorrow. I must go and tell my men in the city to return to Gleend without me. I will return and we may speak more plainly once my escorts have departed. I will stay with you after I see them off. I can escort your contingent to the capital, Xorst, in the following days.”
Kevin nodded again, “Alright, then. We will see you again soon.”
The rider trotted off in a meandering path that led him back into the city.
Kevin adjourned their meeting for the time being, despite the immediate need for planning and discussion. He knew that before he made any new plans with his advisors, he should first be silent and listen for the voice of his own Master.
***
Frinnig sat in his spacious office and contemplated the sermon that he would preach in a short while. The words of his beloved prophet, Absinthium, burned in his ears. The head of the order had inspired Frinnig to preach with vigor that he had never before displayed. A message of total inclusivity appealed to him at such a base level, finally flinging wide the doors to many cultural taboos.
Tapping his thumb at his desk, he planned to speak with Zilke as soon as he could. The anomalous goblin had unofficially been trained in many ways of the Order. He was a perfect bridge between the races. Zilke was raised by a human couple beyond the border of Grinden as some sort of perverse exchange that might always remain anathema, even if the old priest had entertained certain proclivities in that area and had indulged in such dalliances during the course of overseeing the goblin’s training.
Absinthium desired more than just mere vigor, however. He’d recommended to Frinnig that he use manipulatory spells to enthrall the people. Simple charms would make them more agreeable, and thus, more easily inspired.
The temple leader had never thought to do this before, but the words of the prophet seemed to make perfect sense to him. Frinnig, for a moment, wondered if his level of enthusiasm indicated that a spell might have been uttered over him as well by the more powerful sorcerer; that thought passed as briefly as it came, quickly forgotten.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 30
