by Ty Arthur
Killing one patrol had seen the eastern ward nearly cleansed of life before he'd taken refuge in the safe house. Burning down the city's main granary would necessitate an overpowering show of force in response. Myrr found himself wondering if some insane rebel had done it on purpose, or whether the knights themselves had committed this deranged act of pure madness to finally spur on the cataclysmic end Cestia had been teetering on for weeks.
There was no question, the city would now fall into the abyss as both sides had so eagerly longed for. “No choice left now. It's either fight, or starve.”
17 (High Ward, Late True Night)
Divine providence was truly at work. The exultant missionary couldn't believe how easy it was to gain access to the granary with minimal resistance, as the knights seem to be actively abandoning the ward. No sign of the hounds yet either, as his mob fulfilled their role of keeping the beasts busy. He shouted out a praise to the heavens, which was drowned in the sea of noise echoing all around.
The throng of humanity around Erret and Casterly had no idea the pair was responsible for the coming end of the occupation. After arranging barrels of grain around the stone building's support pillars, and carefully placing the burnrot at each juncture for maximum effectiveness, it had been a simple matter of lining up cloth and linen between each deadly location. He'd taken Casterly's torch and dropped it at the entrance, giving adequate time to move to the other side of the street and wait.
When the burnrot lit, the building had collapsed exactly as he'd planned, but the mighty roar of flame as the entire building burst apart with unknown force had been entirely unexpected. The tower of burning heat continued to rise into the sky, singing the glory of the Farwalker with its purity and power.
The rain would have been no match against this overpowering fury of the natural world unleashed and tempered by the light, with the city's food stock destroyed in an instant. It was a clear sign from above when the water had stopped falling immediately, allowing the fire to even spread across other buildings like the growing revolution. All now looked to the sky, where the pillar of fire led directly to the Wanderer up above, passing by on its celestial journey that mirrored man's own earthly path towards the truth.
Cestia's discontented hordes had taken to the streets to witness the spectacle. When they realized what was burning, a few of the truly unwise attempted to smother or drown out the flames, discovering the horrifically potent properties of burnrot. There had been more than a few casualties, and the attempts were abandoned entirely when the next building caught fire.
Erret positively shook with glee, realizing the entire ward would be ablaze in hours. Thwarted only the previous evening, his plans for arson were now unfolding with even greater rapacity than he ever could have expected. While the inner walls might stop it from spreading, the wind could take the blaze over the towers and to the surrounding areas, if the Farwalker deemed it necessary. He had no reason to believe such a miracle would not occur, after watching the rain cease just as his plan was put into action.
Gone were the empty streets they'd prowled through earlier, and there was no need to skulk in back alleys any longer. The city was alive, like a moving organism, as every man, woman, and child concluded their homes were not safe and suspected their tormentors had just destroyed the one reliable source of food in the city.
He reveled in the open wonder and awe on the faces when they pointed and stared at the column of fiery rebellion that led to the holy star in the sky above. They might all be on the brink of death, but every last person in the city now knew the power of the light and the glory of the Farwalker. Soon his work here would be done, and he could finally continue his journey further, as god commanded.
The face of his new acolyte was less joyful, but he was willing to let the affront linger. Casterly had behaved admirably, even if he did still place his faith in a charlatan. His desire to see the knights cast down and the people rise up had overcome his supposedly moral objections to sentencing those same people to death by starvation.
Having passed yet again through the gates of the high ward as the mob pushed forward, this time lacking the mocking disbelief of any apostate guards, Erret was pleased to see the once-mighty section of the city fallen to the same squalor as the other wards. There were no nobles and no peasants tonight, only those who would fight for freedom and those who would die standing in its way.
Casterly's shattered face suddenly lit up with excitement as he shouted over the throng and pointed towards a collector and his knight protector moving quickly away from the surging multitude. Wondering at why these two soon-to-be dead members of the Black Gauntlet should warrant his attention, he stopped in his tracks when he saw the long trail of stygian blackness swirling behind the collector like a second shadow.
The onslaught of bodies behind the missionary wouldn't be denied as a rioter slammed into his back, pushing him forward. He struggled to the side of the crowd, seeing Casterly had already begun the trek without seeking his permission first, pushing through the growing press of rebels to reach the opposite end of the thoroughfare.
Despite making it through the flood about to overtake the Knighthood's prized cathedral and the former market square, they hadn't been fast enough. A group of rebels had already noticed the lone vulnerable pair and rushed away, ready to tear them apart.
Erret's heart skipped a beat and he found himself again stone-still when the shadows coalesced around the collector and his guardian, smothering them out of existence. “Ah, the light reveals....” he muttered to himself, catching up to his wayward apprentice.
Casterly was busy screaming the name of his false savior, and made to rush ahead towards the baffled rebels, but Erret caught his hand and pulled him back. “This is more than parlor tricks and heathen magic. You are wrong to put your trust in that cut-purse, but perhaps I was wrong to doubt you. Myrr is indeed the reason for this glorious revolution. The light does so often work in mysterious ways.”
Having lost interest in the disappearing quarry, the small pack of bloodthirsty rebels moved on, searching down the opposite alley for any knights foolish enough to be caught alone. The collector with the cloak of living shadows and his knight companion remained unseen, swallowed up by the darkness somehow. A quick scan of the closest building, an opulent mansion by the standards of any of the lower wards, revealed what he sought.
It only appeared for a moment, but he was certain the reflection of light in the window above was a torch quickly passing one side of the room and disappearing on the other. He pulled the dumbfounded acolyte with him when approaching the home that hadn't been ransacked yet, and gave an order to his new subordinate. “Enter carefully and call your friend's name. We don't want any unwelcome surprises.”
Erret was most pleased when his budding disciple nodded and entered the large double doors to the estate without question, already hoping he would be able to groom this one into a better follower of the light than his last. The Cestian stock provided to take the position had been of poor quality, paling in comparison to his previous congregation. Although only located a few days away, they may have well as been all the way back in Desh amongst the apostate priest kings. His most faithful flock yet, Erret longed to know of their fate, but trusted them in the Farwalker's hands while he brought this city to the light.
While ruminating on those former parishioners, it didn't take long for his newest convert to complete the task at hand as the expected shouts came from within the building, one that seemed to be of alarm. A few heartbeats later he heard his acolyte call down to enter, and his wolf smile returned. Cestians were a lazy, unreliable lot, but he'd managed to find at least one who would do as told. Finding usable tools for spreading the faith was among his most crucial of callings, looking even to the seemingly-broken and useless, seeking out those that would be otherwise discarded without a second thought and turning them into beacons for the light.
Ignoring the ostentatious display of the home that would have housed a
dozen citizens in the eastern or southern wards, he moved through the foyer and up the building's central spiral staircase, entering into an opulent study now devoid of books or scribes. Seeing the blackened parchment in the nearby fireplace, he suspected the owners had taken to burning their expensive collection to keep warm in the winter that had recently ended.
In other cities he would have lamented the pointless loss of potentially enlightening texts, but not here. The nobles of Cestia were not known to collect religious texts that contained any grain of truth. Their words would have been of no consequence, and there was no regret to be had in the destruction of false knowledge. As he knew all to well, sometimes words and beliefs could be more dangerous than spears.
Beyond the fireplace and into the back end of the study was exactly what he'd known would be waiting. Near a window on the southern side of the room stood a thief possessed by wickedness and destruction given form, along with his faithful new acolyte and someone poorly masquerading as a soldier. He was baffled that the rebels hadn't seen through the deception of the ill-fitting armor, or noticed what little of the face visible beneath the helm was badly bruised.
A look of shock came over the thief, and Erret suspected it was brought on by unexpectedly meeting him again in this unlikely venue after he'd aided the coward in hiding from the authorities. Erret broke the stunned silence by stating, “I see why my disciple insisted you would bring freedom to these wretched laggards who refused to fight until now. This is all your doing, and you don't even realize it, do you? Even in the darkness, there is always a glimmer of light.”
Overcoming his initial confusion, Myrr had the gall to shoot back an accusation at the missionary's holy work. “This madness outside isn't my doing. We've been starving in a cellar for a week, while you've been hatching plots and sending out men to die in pointless attacks on soldiers.”
The one in the armor set a hand on the thief's shoulder as Erret set about teaching these poor lost souls the true nature of things. “Pain is life. The people here are truly living now, and they're going to take the true meaning of life to those who afflict them. I've ensured those who survive this occupation will have taken themselves to the absolute brink of human experience. Everyone here now treads a sacred path, whether they admit it yet or not.”
Consumed by a darkness worse than most men would ever know, he wasn't surprised when the thief choked out a laugh and continued to deny the truth. “There aren't going to be any survivors. The knights and rebels are going to kill each other, and whoever remains in the rubble will starve to death.”
The priest held his temper in check, knowing it would be difficult to reason with one so closely aligned with the enemy, pulling on his years of experience preaching to those resistant to light's truth. “This city is a grand test of our faith, and it will be freed from the yoke of the Knighthood. If it has to die to live, then so be it, but do not place the hysteria outside at my feet. The urge for sadistic destruction grows under your influence. I could smell its taint on you before, but now that you've made the colossal mistake of giving into its desires, I can see it riding you like a flea on a dog.”
Erret frowned when the swindler displayed no astonishment at the revelation. Instead he kept fighting his only hope at salvation, struggling to run the wrong direction on the path the Farwalker had set for them. “This thing inside me didn't ask permission before taking up residence,” Myrr obstinately insisted. “Its name was only called on to save lives from more pointless slaughter.”
This time the missionary laughed, not caring if he pushed too far, charging ahead with the truth and trusting that all in the room would accept it when stated plainly.
“Wished for or not, you are possessed by the enemy of life all the same, and now the consequences of your actions are visible for all to see right through these walls. Everywhere you tread, the love of slaughter rises. It led my apprentice to bash a man's skull into pulp, and to abandon his family without a second thought to aid me in burning the granary to cinders.”
He knew it was a dangerous ploy to let on that he'd been the architect of that turning point in the city's history, but the results would be worth the risk if he could learn something useful in the admission. Emotion finally hit the thief's face then, anguish and remorse by the looks of it, as Myrr shot a glance towards his former cellar companion.
The devotion wasn't just one way then. Erret knew that knowledge could be useful, along with the understanding of Myrr's misplaced desire to avoid more pain. The fools didn't understand that pain was growth, but he'd find a way to put their failings to good use.
“Sometimes the darkness can work for the light. You are the reason the city rises up tonight, and why the Knighthood gives in fully to blood lust. Only those covered in the true light will be protected from your taint until it is removed... or you are killed.”
That notion brought his attention fully back to the missionary. Obvious longing was etched on his face when the pickpocket asked, “It can be removed?”
Something passed between the thief and the false knight then as they looked at one another, and Erret found himself wondering at what enigma was before him that he didn't full understand yet. That would be a question for another time though, with a riot currently brewing all around. “The Farwalker has been generous enough to show me a glimpse into this future. A path has been opened to use the enemy against itself for the glory of the one true god.”
Obstinate as always, even in the face of his deepest desire, the heathen couldn't help but blaspheme and test Erret's patience when he replied, “If there are any gods, they've forsaken Cestia.”
He'd heard worse from the soldiers and even the non-believers among the local populace. Such petty impiety wouldn't get the better of the missionary. “You may not believe in the Farwalker, Myrr, but he knows who you are, and you work towards his eternal glory whether you wish it or not.”
The next quip strained his long-suffering nature nearly to the breaking point. “Your god can return the favor then by buying the first round when we get somewhere that isn't a graveyard.”
Through gritted teeth the missionary prophesied, “Mock and jest all you want now. You will eat those words when we are long gone from here and that darkness inside you has been extinguished.”
18 (High Ward, Market Outskirts, Late True Night)
After the reunited band of conspirators had time to digest the situation and come to terms with the bizarre situation they found themselves in, Myrr peeked his head over the open window sill to look down, waiting for a gap in the still-growing procession. Open battle broke out periodically below, with one side or the other gaining the upper hand and pushing the enemy back before losing ground as reinforcements arrived. The entire crowd seemed to be moving in one inexorable direction, towards some altercation occurring further into the ward not visible from their current vantage point.
He focused on the lack of sensation in his gut, still in disbelief as its absence. It had been very pleased when he'd summoned the shadows to avoid the crowd on the street, but immediately demanded more, wanting to be sated by unleashing death. He'd nearly killed Casterly at the man's unexpected appearance, but the sensation had dissipated entirely, as though the artifact had gone into hiding, as soon as Father Erret entered the room.
He couldn't imagine that the mad priest truly had any ability to permanently remove his unwanted companion. Myrr had encountered priests of the Farwalker and many other faiths before the occupation, and they'd all claimed to have the one true power to work wonders courtesy of their divine patron of choice. In his experience, all had been purveyors of parlor tricks or open con men whose work rivaled his own. The witches who had seen to the spiritual needs of the city may have had the means to see him rid of his possession, but none he knew of had survived the intervening years since the people abandoned faith altogether.
Tales had always been spread, typically in taverns by men who had given leave of their senses, of true magicians in other lands that
controlled the primal forces of chaos left over from some other world that existed before this one. Neither charlatan nor wizard, Myrr's power came solely from the thing that leeched off his soul and refused to leave his body. He'd been eager to be rid of what he thought of as a black parasite, but now found its abrupt absence to be disquieting.
Yet for all his doubt of the potency of the priest, the darkness inside clearly wanted nothing to do with Erret, who was somehow capable of seeing its form. When he pushed his focus he could feel it there, always moving just out of reach, a thought away but somehow down deeper within himself than before. For the first time since discovering the void, it no longer lurked on the surface waiting to strike.
He looked across the room to Casterly, who appeared even worse than when they'd been hiding beneath Otta's storefront. He was thankful to always be viewing his friend in dim torchlight or through only shafts of obscured scintillation, as he had not fared the occupation well. While his wound from the mace back in the alleyway had been bandaged and packed, no one had bothered to see to his fractured head or gaping eye socket.
Myrr was concerned by the proximity he kept to the priest, but when their eyes met, Casterly lit up with a ghastly smile, his broken face splattered across with blood. The sight sowed further doubt, and made Myrr entertain the notion that there was a kernel of truth to the priest's ramblings. Was he really responsible for the open war raging all around? Casterly should have been recovering for days or even weeks in a safe house somewhere after that wound, but instead he showed eagerness to be back into the fray, continuing his familiar pattern of clutching at the air when restlessness set in.
