Many of the Christians took those extra days to find their way into the city and speak with the locals. The people of Schworick began noticing there was something different about these travelers; they seemed happier than most other visitors: some kind of deep-seated joy.
Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’ spent much of their time speaking with Sim-khaw’. Those men and women who went into the village were cautioned against sharing any outright anti-Luciferian sentiments. That fact would be revealed during their drama. They’d been given a tight window of opportunity and it was best not to spoil it.
With Rashnir in the lead. the group entered Schworick’s limits again. Zeh-Ahbe’ accompanied him with Sim-khaw’ in reluctant tow. The lycan’s brain seemed hardwired against many Christian values. He lacked the ability to understand those same things his new companions—even the Say-awr’ ones—believed. Nonetheless, they encouraged the tribal leader to accompany them and witness the tenets of their faith as they lived them out firsthand.
The acting troupe and a few others from the camp followed their lead. In an effort to attract as big a crowd as they could when they presented their drama, Rashnir played a simple tune on his lyre and the actors sang along. People peered out of doorways and waved to the group.
“Come and see our drama,” one would say as the rest sang, and, “Follow us to see the act,” they invited others.
Rashnir smiled as he strummed the stringed instrument. It had been a gift from the angel, Kyrius, given to him at their parting after the events in Grinden. Another, however, had given the gift of musical talent to him; Kelsa had taught him how to play, the basic fingerings for the easy chords. He smiled and played as he reminisced the late nights they spent together and her whimsical idea that he must learn to make music.
You must have more talents than just killing people, she once said to him. And besides, the man that I marry must be able to play me my favorite song at our wedding.
His revelry fell apart and his fond memory evaporated like vapor. Rashnir’s misstep was bad enough that he had to restart, but he did not let on to his friends that he’d spotted trouble. He’d locked eyes again with the woman that he noticed the last time they’d come to town. The company resumed the merry tune, oblivious to his apprehension.
Rashnir sidestepped out of his group as they passed him by. He could catch up with the rest of them at the location they had picked for the drama. Something strong connected him to this woman and he felt compelled to find it out.
The attention of the crowd remained on the acting troupe. The woman, however, fixed her gaze on Rashnir. Hesitantly the Christian warrior walked over to where she stood.
“What is your name?” he asked her.
“My name is Ly’Orra,” she said. She wore a similar outfit as in her last appearance. She would be hard to spot in the wild. Well camouflaged in her myriad shades of brown, tanned leather and tufted furs were complimented by her tawny hair and bronzed skin. Emerald eyes revealed an inner, jaded edge that burned fierce with iron will.
Ly’Orra leaned on her tall staff as she spoke, though Rashnir noticed various weapons held fast by her baldric. “I believe that I know who you are, but enlighten me anyway.”
“My name is Rashnir,” the warrior bowed to greet her formally.
At the deepest part of his bow, she swung her staff in a swift upper-cutting motion, squarely striking Rashnir in the jaw and knocking him off his feet. He crashed to his back, shocked and betrayed by his own emotions.
“Just as I thought,” said Ly’Orra. “I have heard stories of your deeds, but you don’t have any recollection of mine. I am famous among my people,” she hissed. “I have followed you through story for many years, though I thought your legacy long crippled by the sins of your past.” Ly’Orra baited him with the reference to the false story of him betraying his former commander and best friend, Rogis.
Rashnir’s eyes narrowed, but he kept his composure. The famous Ranger had been more than just a figurehead and mentor to him; Rogis was his lover’s father. When the wicked King Harmarty framed Rashnir for the murder it had nearly destroyed all hope he’d ever dared to gain.
“Among the people of Zipha, I am renowned. In my recent wanderings, I heard a rumor that you had risen from the ashes of despair and joined forces with a dangerous sect of heretics.” Ly’Orra glanced towards the nearby troupe.
Surprised, Rashnir raised his eyebrows at her comment. He was unaware of free people living in Zipha. The country bordered Jand in the west and suffered cruelly under the bands of slavers. He pointed to his friends as they rounded a bend in the road and exited view. “Do they really look dangerous?”
Ly’Orra pulled a dagger from her hip and threw it; the blade buried itself in the soil a handbreadth from Rashnir’s leg. She asked coyly, “Did I look dangerous when you first saw me?”
“What do you want, Ly’Orra,” Rashnir asked.
She laughed as the warrior pulled himself to his feet. “I want to kill you,” she said, “But fairly.” Ly’Orra jumped and delivered a fierce kick.
Rashnir deflected it with his palms as he maneuvered away.
The Christian ducked under a strong swipe of her battle-staff. It might have knocked his teeth out had it connected. Rashnir backpedaled to get out of her range. He did not want to hurt her, neither did he want to draw his sword and startle the townsfolk with the flaming blade.
Ly’Orra pursued him and he dodged her blows. Tumbling past a kiosk, he heard the vendor who ran it chuckle about the situation as if it might’ve been expected. “Looks like one of them visitors made Ly’Orra mad.”
She cornered him and rapped him across the body with her staff. The stinging blow made him turn to defend himself. She swung and struck again with her wooden weapon. Rashnir juked and ducked the assaults as best he could, not able to convince himself yet that he needed to strike his attacker.
Ly’Orra lunged with a stabbing maneuver that would have knocked the wind from his lungs. He slipped the blow and purposefully fell upon the outthrust staff with all of his weight, trapping the pole and cracking it with his force.
Undeterred, she dropped the pole and drew her blade. The steel curved subtly with a certain feminine appeal, though Rashnir knew its edge was just as deadly.
She slashed with the blade forcing Rashnir to dive for cover behind an old market-stand someone had abandoned in the alley. His opponent jumped to the serving area of another nearby booth and pulled a long blow tube from her sash.
“Why do you want to kill me?” he asked, bobbing and weaving to throw off her aim.
She blew forcibly into the pipe as Rashnir grabbed an old barrel lid. A swarm of small, poisoned darts lodged themselves in the makeshift shield with a loud thwap. Ly’Orra shouted and jumped from her position, leaping in for a killing blow.
He tossed the lid to the side and rolled away from her attack. Jumping to his feet, he sprinted away from the battle with the crazy woman.
Ly’Orra screamed in frustration as he escaped. The scoffing and laughter of the onlookers nipped at Rashnir’s pride as he fled the alley, but that meant little to him as the woman pursued him through the street.
“Coward,” she screamed. “Stand and fight!”
Repeating himself, Rashnir yelled over his shoulder, “Why do you want me dead?”
“For the glory! For the renown!” She yelped her answers between puffing, tired breaths.
Rashnir ducked around another corner and into an alley. A towering pile of packing crates blocked his path. He could never scale the unstable heap in time.
She rounded the corner and Rashnir threw a crate at her. Her sword lodged in the soft wood. The warrior yanked the crate backward to throw it to aside but her longsword held fast.
Ly’Orra pulled two shorter blades, one from each thigh, and pressed the attack.
Rashnir tried reaching for another crate but yanked his hand back just before Ly’Orra’s bladed stroke could sever it.
<
br /> Out of options, Rashnir finally drew upon the Lord’s strength and called a flaming blade to his hands. Blue flames blazed with other-worldly glory as his defensive parry burned through both of her assassin’s knives at their hilts.
Without losing a stride, Ly’Orra punched him in the side of the face. The weighted dagger pommel added enough momentum to make it hurt. As he reeled from the blow, a quick leg swipe knocked Rashnir flat on his back again.
She seized the opportunity and snatched her sword, still caught in the crate nearby. Ly’Orra kicked the wooden box from the blade and turned to deliver a final strike.
Rashnir deflected the blow with his own flaming blade. Shards of Ly’Orra’s weapon flew off like shrapnel; she tried to strike again. Each of Rashnir’s ripostes whittled her weapon down further until she stood over him grasping only a useless handle.
She pointed down at him, fuming with rage. “This is not over,” she said with an accusatory tone. Ly’Orra dropped her broken weapon in the dirt and glared at him as he climbed to his feet again.
With a disgusted scowl, she turned and departed.
***
Jorge and Kyrius kept a close watch on their prisoner. They detained the supernatural being who proved a mystery to them. ekerithia had come willingly and seemed to have no intention of causing harm—and that puzzled them most of all. Still, they took no chances with him.
Blades at the ready, they questioned ekerithia further. The holy glow they emitted bathed their captive in a revealing light.
“Why does your appearance not fully transform under the holy light of the blade,” Jorge questioned. His interrogation had been demanding and ekerithia’s answers were as forthright as possible.
“I do not understand the question.”
“Your appearance… the discerning power of the Holy Spirit.”
His blank stare revealed ekerithia’s ignorance on the matter.
Jorge got closer. Grabbing him, he pressed the flat of his blade almost against ekerithia’s skin. “Why do you not transform fully into your true state, demon?”
“I have always been just as I am,” ekerithia replied. “Only as I am.”
“Well, not always,” commented Kyrius as Jorge relinquished his hold.
ekerithia sighed, forlorn, “No, you are right… not always.” He thoughtfully fingered the slight blemish on his face. “But since that moment so long ago, that moment when hay-lale’ deceived me and this mark formed. I have gone these last several thousand years hating that moment—regretting the decision that I made. I admit he played on my jealousy and persuaded my heart, but for a moment.”
The angels looked at the figure that had once been one of their own like a brother. While the glory of the Lord rested nowhere on him, neither did that foul, spiritual aura that typically wafted off from the demonic hordes.
“I heard of the redemption of mankind. Men have been brought back into the fold of God. Tell me,” ekerithia pleaded. “And what of the angels?”
Kyrius looked at the creature. He knew what ekerithia dared to hope.
“Has our creator made a way for us? Is there some recourse available, some way to repent and recant?
“I have not been twisted and corrupted to the extent of the rest of hay-lale’s fallen host. My heart is not blackened from wicked deeds like the rest. My fall has been the object of an ever-present regret; a mere moment that has haunted me for millennia. My deeds should speak well of me.”
Jorge bit his lip, “Though you may have abstained from committing wicked acts since that time, ekerithia, your heart is still black. I think you know that you cling to a false hope. We were created with a purpose, and that very specifically, as tools of our Lord. He did not make provision for our redemption as he did for His children. They were made in His likeness.. with many choices in their lifetime, each one an opportunity to obey and reveal His glory in some way or to respond to it. You know how that is not so for us. It never was.
“You stood among our ranks and rejoiced with us when He set the cornerstone of the Earth in place. You were there when we sang the praises at the beginning. You were created with the knowledge and abilities to serve Him as designed, and yet you chose to leave that behind.”
Ekerithia’s eyes fixed on the ground, forlorn. “But I was malcontent. It was those deceitful words, whispered like kind counsel… the poisoned words of hay-lale’.”
“But you knew the Truth. For a time at the beginning, He was the only light in the heavens; it was only ever His glory that lit our first abode,” said Jorge.
A long silence passed between them. ekerithia refused to make eye contact.
“Then am I to be damned for my first mistake?”
Jorge wordlessly worked his mouth. All three of them knew it was more than a mistake—even angels made those. This had been sin.
Kyrius interjected, “You are tainted. Perhaps you cannot see… you do not think like one of us anymore.” He added quieter, “You are not one of us anymore.”
ekerithia looked from angel to angel, comparing each one to himself.
“You think like a man, you no longer use the wisdom that we were made with,” Kyrius continued.
“Explain.”
“You think like a human, resentful of your condition—though your fallen condition is only your fault. You refuse to accept your actions as your own. You hide behind your anger and resentment over consequences and hold to a false hope that everything will somehow be fine in the end... hoping that the consequences will just fade away. Those are all very human thoughts and contrary to the laws of Heaven.
“This is what Jorge has been trying to tell you: we are not men, stop thinking like one. We love our Master, but the way that we show Him is through our obedience; we choose to show Him in every moment of every day.” Kyrius chuffed, “And we have it so much easier than these humans: we witnessed most of creation, we have intimately known our God. As tools, however, if we choose to go our own way then we become useless to our Master, broken and lost.”
“And what! He cannot fix us? Of course, He has that power, so why won’t He,” ekerithia ranted.
“But why should He? You have spurned His love and refused Him. Worse, hay-lale’s kind has systematically worked to drag mankind further into the pit since the fall.”
“But not me, personally!” ekerithia’s words echoed in his own ears. Even he heard the human, childlike whine of them.
Jorge spoke more softly than normal, “Maybe not, but the refusal to act in accordance with His wishes, which are to redeem mankind, only benefits the cause of death and darkness.”
Kyrius put into understandable terms, “You have changed, ekerithia—perhaps less physically, but you have. Your decision was a final one. When either a good or wicked man’s choices result in his own death, he changes. His essence no longer resides in the body that his family will bury… but it carries on in another form. He cannot return to his body—sinner or saint, his choice was a final one and his soul goes to judgment, just like every other creature. Your decision, too, has changed your very being from one state to the next. There is no return, only judgment, and one void of the mercy that He shows to his true children.”
ekerithia stared off into emptiness. A somber look shaded his face as realization sunk in. His old fears had been correct: ekerithia was beyond redemption, but worse, his mind had been distorted. The angels were right, his thought processes had somehow fractured, and he no longer possessed the wisdom of the Lord.
For a moment he glimpsed that wisdom again through the angels’ insight. He saw himself from their point of view. All of the spirit beings in the Host of Heaven were created with both great intellect and with great moral responsibility, when he had faltered, his mind shifted… no longer Christocentric. ekerithia realized that all his thoughts from that moment onward were consumed only with himself, his own needs, and his own plight. Selfishness ruled him and he saw no remedy. ekerithia’s mind had been overthrown
by sin.
Staring at his feet, his hopes dashed, ekerithia asked, “Will you kill me now?”
Jorge looked ready to affirm that, but his friend interjected. “No,” said Kyrius. “You only have the here and now to live for, and you know that. You might try and take what comfort that you may while you still have the ability to do so.”
“Thank you,” ekerithia nodded his head soberly—his fallen mind working like a clock, suddenly wound up. “I know that this is worth nothing to you, but I give you an oath that I will not lead men astray with the enticements of sin, like the rest of my kindred.”
Jorge acknowledged his statement, bobbing his head in affirmation. His body language clearly indicated skepticism of the demon’s vow.
“I need some time to think, to gather my thoughts. Before I go, would it possible to speak with this man from Earth, with Kevin?”
“He is preaching to the townspeople right now, a very receptive audience. He displays his love for Christ by doing His work, bearing His message,” said Jorge. “It’s almost ironic.”
“I think that their passion and zeal is why hay-lale’ hated them so much,” mused ekerithia as he scanned the distant group of humans. “They do such simple things, but it demonstrates love for Him beyond what any of us were ever capable of.”
***
Jandul shadowed Krimko as he wandered the halls of their accommodations. The Nindan Parliament had appointed them an elaborately furnished guest house for personal use for as long as Absinthium required his servants’ presence in Ninda.
Krimko snatched a rock from the pavement and hurled it at a bird. The sinister Luciferian grew bored. He had amused himself for a while by torturing small animals, but there were no more to be found.
Walking into the courtyard, he found his bodyguards engaged in some sort of gambling game. There wasn’t a sober man among them. Jandul frowned in disapproval; these guardsmen were all that remained of the mercenaries’ guild members after the incident at Grinden which toppled the Narsh Barbarians guild and disbanded the Rogis’ Rangers faction.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 66
