***
beh’-tsah and exaporeh’-omahee continued their evil contrivance. They pulled on the lines of power, manipulating the currents that flowed along the ethereal web of magic. As their spells and power interweaved through the realm and assailed the dying angel, they began to encounter an odd resistance.
The harder they worked, the more resistance began to form. It was as if the spiritual lines of energy were somehow becoming corrupted. As they pushed harder on the individual currents, those lines failed like exerted muscles. The lines had weakened a small degree since the strengthening and growth of the Holy Spirit in the realm, but this was altogether different. The magical strings they flexed seemed to evaporate as they worked on them. No amount of thaumaturgy or sortilege that they conjured could cure it.
They worked feverishly. The spells that they crafted miscarried one by one and the spiritual feedback the failure emitted seemed to damage the very fabric of their carefully crafted diabolism.
beh’-tsah’s rage boiled over as divinations flooded his mind. Each resistance they encountered had a name. In each corrupted leyline he found a face—the likeness of a soul who combated his magic through vigilant intercession and holy power; their prayers destroyed his evil machinations. The demons’ sorceries encountered conflict by the prayers of saints. Nothing yet, in this whole ordeal, disgusted the demon more than this one thing. The stronghold he’d built to cage the angel’s essence and smother his life-force systematically fractured in his hands and splintered into a wash of ether as the net unraveled and the demon snatched at the fraying, spiritual cords, desperate to hold on to his hard-won plans.
***
Mid-morning crawled by. Rashnir walked down the hill with little Jibbin riding on his shoulders.
“I thought all these people were dead,” Jibbin said.
A gathering sea of faces had formed at the base of the hill. Many wore pallid and pained looks as they waited for whatever treatment Ersha and her volunteers could provide them with. Most of them still wore smiles despite their wounds.
Scores of faces were achingly familiar. The number had grown to almost four hundred wounded, but wounded was a much healthier condition than dead.
“No, they’re not dead, but they’ve been hurt by bad guys.”
“Bad guys?”
“Yeah, people who hate God and Jesus. They wanted to kill us all so that they wouldn’t have to believe in God’s power or in Truth.”
“But you are ok because I prayed for you,” Jibbin said as Rashnir rounded a corner, stepping over bodies that lay on the ground. Some were wounded and others merely rested, still others were unscathed but bent face-down in prayer.
“Right,” said Rashnir. “God made me invincible… sort of.” Rashnir rubbed one of the many bruises that he had incurred on the previous night.
Jibbin leaned over Rashnir’s head and put a tiny hand on his friend’s face. “Do you think if I prayed again, Jorge would be healed?”
“I think that would be awesome. That is what we are here to do, to pray for our friends so that they’ll get better.”
“Good.”
Rashnir set Jibbin down next to Jorge. They put their hands on him and began to pray. Kevin paced back and forth among the nearby casualties, praying over them, too. A great many people prayed nearby; many of them prayed in tongues, attentively interceding for their brethren.
The place became a cacophony of noises. There was the sound of men and women in prayer and there was the coughing, spluttering, and wheezing of the wounded: the recipients of those prayers.
Jibbin and Rashnir cried over their friend. His deteriorating condition did not look good. It fueled the fervent prayers of desperation that ascended to the throne room of the Living God.
***
In the Babel Heavens, beh’-tsah screamed with rage as he struggled with his last foothold over his enemy. His power suddenly broke; the dark enchantment failed and disintegrated completely.
Shrieking in bitter acrimony, the demon stormed out of his throne-room, searching for someone to kill.
exaporeh’-omahee watched him go. beh’-tsah was rarely one to give into despair for long; he handled his frustrations a different way—with the very bitterness that he fed on. That would, when turned inward, fuel him and drive him on. His friend’s power would return, and soon, exaporeh’-omahee mused. The Gathering would resume in time and all would be well, but not before some creature lost its life in a cruel and torturous manner; for now, that murder would comfort the dark lord.
He smiled; perhaps they would later go together and torture Karoz, the angel who’d long languished in chains under beh’-tsah’s dungeon.
***
Jibbin put a little hand on Jorge and prayed, “God, I don’t know what to do, but please help my friends get better. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”
All around the quarry, wounded Christians began to sit up. Wounds that had been bleeding lacerations moments ago had suddenly scarred over. Healings were reported everywhere; many who were on the brink of death began to stir and rise.
Jorge shuddered under Jibbin’s hand and opened his eyes. The angel coughed and looked at his friends.
“What’s a guy got to do to get a drink of water around here?” he asked in a thirst-cracked voice.
Rashnir laughed and Jibbin hugged him. Rejoicing broke out all around the quarry as loved ones located their revived friends and relatives.
***
In the evening, Absinthium’s gryphon landed in the spacious courtyard of the Nindan parliament building. The piazza had been immaculately manicured and tiled with beautiful stonework. Appearances were everything to the Nindan Lords; signs of weakness could be exploited in their vicious game of political roulette. Absinthium feared none of the lords or sectional rulers, not even as a whole; he’d long ago subjugated the entire will of this council.
The mage’s gryphon wandered over to another of its kin that sat waiting. Absinthium had, that morning, dispatched his one remaining acolyte to assemble the Nindan Parliament. All of his acolytes were thought lost, but he’d discovered the unconscious body of Wynn when he’d chased down that traitorous thief, Leethan. Absinthium dispatched the battered acolyte with just enough time to gather the council.
He was fine with giving their prey more line for the moment. However, they had to move quickly so that their enemies would not slip beyond the reaches of their traps and escape entirely.
Absinthium walked confidently into the aesthetically pleasing structure. Many of the Lords and their sectional rulers had already assembled; some of them were just now arriving. None of them possessed means of travel as swift as the Luciferians had, so several absences were expected. Enough of the council had assembled to form a quorum, though, legitimizing any decisions that might be made and that was all that mattered.
He greeted his political pawns; the mage wore his charismatic face for show. Because of enchantments everyone on the council regarded him as a deeply personal friend, anyway, and in Nindan politics, personal friends and contacts were the stuff that fueled debates and adjudications.
The council had a passing knowledge of the politics and happenings in neighboring Jand. Since Grinden had been a joint interest in the recent past, they still kept an interest in news from the city. The arch-mage provided them with the details of how their armies uprooted the krist-chins, trampled their settlement grounds, and scattered them to the wind like dust.
“Since the death of Jand’s monarch, I have been asked by the royal court to see that protocols are put in place for the country. We will see to it that the country is run correctly and efficiently. My servant, Dyule, who has been in charge of the stewardship in Grinden, will likely be appointed to run the country in the stead of their departed royalty,” Absinthium said, referencing his plans to install a pliable figure on the throne. He appreciated Dyule’s bitter spirit, even if the man was an abject coward. Those attributes made a perfect puppet ru
ler. “We plan on taking care of the necessary ‘house cleaning’ and keeping our problems within our own borders. The krist-chins killed King Rutheir, something that had been a goal of theirs from this cult’s conception—ever since they assassinated Rutheir’s predecessor. The guilty men will be dealt with.
“We have divided them, and now we will conquer them,” the mage stated to the committee. “My friends, I know that you have seen the wonderful things that have happened in Jand since the meshing of religion and government.” All of the people in the council chamber stared back with blank faces; the dark manipulations of the wizard stroked their enthralled minds with a gentle suggestion. “I know that you would pledge me troops for support in this campaign, if I asked.” Absinthium chuckled. Every person in the room laughed with him, as if on command. “I ask merely that you send armies along your western borders to prevent this band of cultists from entering your domain. We want you to be protected.”
The men on the Nindan council immediately made the necessary decrees. Absinthium smiled as they voted, each seeking to please their friend. Their minds were even more firmly clutched within his grasp.
***
Kevin presided over the masses that gathered on the grassy area which had once been used as their settlement. The countryside was dotted with patches of dirt that formed mounds above the green grass. The place became a cemetery where they’d buried the bodies of so many fallen friends.
A little more than four hundred holes were dug on the previous evening. With such a tight timetable, the council of leaders had set a strict itinerary. They wanted to respectfully bury their dead but they also wanted to make haste with their travel arrangements, not wanting to give their enemies time to block their movements again. The graves were prepared and camp moved to prevent any diseases that might arise from so many exposed bodies.
Kevin performed a corporate funeral for all who had sacrificed their lives on the night before last. They died to further the will of God and the preacher choked up over their sacrifice—but perhaps more than that, the coming separation grieved him.
This funeral would be the last service that they would attend as a whole body. After this, they would each leave in separate directions; plans had already been made to coordinate the efforts of the individual missionary groups.
They would each be led by a shepherd who was selected by the leadership council for his or her qualities of character and each leader was trained in what to do. They’d been appointed because they were the most knowledgeable regarding the Logos and most apt to understanding the Word of God. The other important duty that the shepherds had was in caring for the messenger falcons that Dri’Bu had provided them with. Their communication lines were precious, especially in such a hostile world.
The Christians came to the corporate funeral already gathered into their separate groups. Their departure would follow immediately. All preparations were made; this ceremony was all that remained to be done.
There was an absence of tears in the funeral portion. It was not so sad of a thing; the Christians fully embraced the promise of immortality beyond the veil of death and they knew that they would see their friends again in time.
Kevin reflected on how the departed had done the most noble of things for them. They laid down their lives so that others might live.
They ended the service with communion, just as it was described in the Logos.
“My friends,” Kevin told the large crowd, “ours is similar to Israel’s Exodus… perhaps moreso because of our timing. We are escaping this place to do the will of God and we do not even have the time to make bread.
“It was in memory of this event that Jesus took His disciples and celebrated the Passover holiday. When He broke the bread, He told them to remember His sacrifice, how He was broken for us; when He drank the wine, He told them it was like His blood, poured out for us. When we, as Christians, remember this event of communion, we remember what He did for us; we proclaim the goodness of our Master who made the ultimate sacrifice to save our souls.
“That is what we are doing now. We remember that serving the Lord is our highest priority. Following Him is worth more than our own lives,” Kevin indicated the graves behind him and the people who represented this concept.
“We are about to embark on the most wonderful of adventures, that is, a life led by the Holy Spirit and guided by God Himself; we are called to do His work. Who could believe that the old life holds such an exciting journey with rewards to compare? I am pleased to be among you people, and I will be pleased, if it is required of me, to die amongst you fine people. None of this is about me; it is all about Christ.”
The people participated in the communion ceremony with each other.
“It is the fundamental right of every human being to hear the gospel message before he or she dies,” Kevin told them. The people firmly believed this, taking the responsibility upon themselves to preach the Message.
They departed, each missionary team heading its own way. They branched off along the roads that stretched outward from Grinden. Each one had their own missions and directions.
There was a whole world yet to be saved.
Epilogue
Kevin felt pleased with the way things shaped up so far. He’d met up with his group some distance north of the monastery where Shinna sacrificed herself. The team waited for him on the road north of Grinden where they’d decided to regroup.
The travelers found themselves near the poorly constructed goblin holes where the original team encountered attackers when returning from Gleend. This time, all remained silent and nothing moved through the crumbling apertures.
Each missionary group had split and traveled in groups of about twenty people which met along predesignated points as the larger groups reassembled. They hoped to keep the public eye away from them and confuse any Luciferian spies who might try to track the groups’ individual movements. A band of several hundred men and women passing through an area would certainly draw attention; small groups of travelers wouldn’t be quite so noticeable. They had hoped to put at least one day’s travel between them and Grinden before the traveled openly. With any luck they might escape any fallout from Grinden’s anti-Christian sentiment.
Every traveler made sure to avoid Grinden. There were no longer any reasons for anyone to travel through it. All groups that traveled east looped south and crossed the Rashet River; they entered the farthest southern corner of Ninda where they kept beyond the watch of Grinden and the people of Jand.
Nothing was south of the quarry except weather beaten plains and hard, packed earth. Nobody bothered attempting to cultivate the land or establishing anything in that area. The southerly heaths had been desolate for decades, making a relatively safe path to sneak eastward.
Kevin’s group, though, headed straight north. He’d promised to return to Driscul and meet up with the Christians there. They intended to pass through that region and return to Gleend. He hoped to work with the royalty there and see what could be done in the country before resuming the search for the lost tribe. Others would travel through Jand, evangelizing in the western half of the country where the monarchy had diminished influence and interests—even when they still had a central ruler, Rutheir’s rise to power had hacked away much of the power structure of the aristocrats who governed the far side. Presumably, they would be slow to answer call to any unsavory demands by whomever took the throne.
After a couple days travel, Kevin’s group noticed a slow pursuit in the distance. As they continued northward toward their goal, their followers became more noticeable: it was an army of Jand. The tailing contingent made no attempts to catch or capture them. They merely monitored the Christians.
One evening, Kevin sent a rider out to greet the army’s commander. The military warned them that that they’d been instructed to escort the Christians out of the country. Kevin responded cordially and sent word back he intended to do just that and cause no trouble.
***
grr’SHaalg crept up through the basement access tunnel which he’d dug into the royal castle in Jand where he’d been given access to every facility and freely walked the halls of the building. He came to the designated place where he occasionally met with Absinthium. The mage had taken up a residence within the castle so he could act as a constant advisor to Dyule, the newly installed head of a unified religion-state.
“Things go well with the construction,” grr’SHaalg informed him. “We will finish the tunnel systems sometime this week and our cities will be fully joined. The giant access point between Grinden and Under-Grinden will provide the means to a more perfect union between brother Luciferian races.”
The arch-mage smiled. “Excellent, grr’SHaalg. I am pleased that you would even phrase it that way, especially in light of the news I am hearing of our goblin clerics who have been proselytizing in the other goblin kingdoms. Word has reached me that they are having a significant impact on those communities.
“I must tell you,” Absinthium said in a cheerful tone, “that you are on the right side of this bid for power. Only those who fully accept the Luciferian faith will survive the purging that my lord will bring. He will soon be crowned as new Lucifer. Every knee, tentacle, and wing will bow before him when this campaign is completed.
“beh’-tsah will be light, and those who have him not will be darkness. Light always destroys the darkness.”
With his most diplomatic bow grr’SHaalg bent low. “The newly emergent race under my rule shall walk in the light, then.”
The arch-mage nodded and accepted his pledge. He shared other tidbits of information with his goblin minion and established a loose set of goals and objectives for tracking and destroying the cancerous krist-chin cell groups as they moved about the realm. They would eventually confront and destroy all of these dissidents. First, they had to assign priority threat-levels to each, determining which were most dangerous.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 56
