Nuri held his breath with considerable effort. He was afraid to speak but knew he had to provide some form of refutation for the sake of his own sanity. The girl had gone too far for her radical heresy to go unchecked, even if he couldn’t bring himself to call for help. He swallowed hard and forced a rebuttal, hoping to buy himself some time and traction while awaiting divine inspiration. “Yet, for all your belief that women are the sacred sex and men are nothing but savage beasts obsessed with war and corporeal pleasure, you still refer to God as a ‘He’ when you speak of His designs.”
“True. When dealing with the prejudices of the human faith, one must pander to those predilections or risk complete denial out of shock alone.” She smirked at his obvious agitation and softened her tone. “Relax, boy,” she chuckled. “I’m not claiming that men and women are anything but equal in our sins. I’m merely pointing out that men fight to put themselves in a position where they sin through a desire to control, and that it is this obsession with the seemingly masculine traits of the Divine like rage, wrath, and a desire for conquest, that has driven generations of religious zealots to unnecessary genocide. If the clergy adopted more traditionally feminine aspects of the Divine and allowed the female voice a place within their dogma, the religious institution would become more balanced. The marriage of feminine and masculine into one body would lead to a dramatic transformation of the Duri faith from a church of the Old Book to a church of the New Book. The union would represent the perfect fulfillment of the Divine Sacrifice.
“But that is only a discussion of politics and religious institutions; not God. God is not the figurehead of a governing body. God is not man or woman. God is God. It makes little difference how you refer to Him. Words offend men and women, not God. But since your people insist on assigning one pronoun or another to the Creation Presence, ‘He’ works just as well as ‘She’ or even ‘It,’ and since God did become Man to redeem creation, it is acceptable to refer to Him as such.”
“Then why argue at all? Why forfeit your life to prove a point to me?”
The humor vacated her eyes at once and she locked stares with him across the water. The river had never seemed so wide nor so suffocating. “Because you have your doubts, and because you are not yet beyond saving.”
Nuri glanced over his shoulder reflexively, searching for any signs of villagers who might have overheard the girl. “You should watch your tongue,” he said flatly. “If the Duri or their people hear you, they might cut it off to keep you silent.” He added an edge to his voice he didn’t truly feel just in case they had an audience. The whole conversation could have been staged, he knew. The Duri often tested Called soldiers to make certain they were pure of faith and ready to defend the order at all costs. Even when the dissenter was a girl the same age as he. Even one who didn’t know any better.
“I’m not worried about the Duri,” she replied, turning away and tapping the crate so it would follow her back into the forest on the forbidden mountain. “The only being you need to worry about is God, and He doesn’t fault those who point out injustice when they see it. It might not hurt for you to do the same.” She stopped walking and looked back at him, one eyebrow cocked playfully. Her words belied her lighthearted expression. “After all you’ve done, it may be the only way to save your soul.”
Before Nuri could argue the worthiness of the Duri cause, she disappeared behind the thick line of trees at the foot of the mountain, leaving him to stew over her perceived insults and questions about his faith.
I should report her, he thought, fuming. I should go straight to my Duri Master and make sure she’s punished for the heresy she’s spoken out in the open. Anyone could have heard her. She’s inciting rebellion.
Her voice followed in his head without skipping a beat. Are you worried that someone heard me speak it, or that they might have seen you considering my so-called ‘heresy’?
He frowned and craned his neck to spot her through the trees as she returned to whatever nearby—and unknown—settlement she called home. He told himself that it was just so he could give his Duri Master a closer approximation of where she’d hidden to aid in the pursuit and inevitable punishment of the girl for speaking out against God’s Holy Order, but deep down, he knew he was only curious because the girl intrigued him in just about every meaningful way a person could be intrigued.
Maybe you’re worried because you already know everything I’ve told you is true, or at least suspect it. If you’re not careful, they’ll drown the goodness and compassion from you with demands for murder and the tautological arguments of texts they’ve adapted to suit their needs. If you’re strong, you might one day allow yourself to know the truth of Omega and the end of the universe, where all things are made new.
Grabbing his sword, he rose wordlessly from the riverbank and set out for the cottage. He had to give the village a wide berth to avoid being seen before the Duri Master rose, but he didn’t mind going the long way this time. It gave him an opportunity to reflect on what the girl had said and the doubts that had crept into his heart. He was worried he’d dismiss the unease in time as he grew more comfortable with the Duri lifestyle and his identity became so entwined with being a Called soldier that he forgot Duri treachery.
Your family was killed by these men, the girl’s voice told him. They kidnapped you and brought you here. They’ve forced you into a life of servitude. They may pretend you are an esteemed warrior but you are little more than a cog in the great machine of their Ego.
Nuri bit his lip and fought the urge to turn and pursue her through the wilderness. He could kill her himself, he thought, and no one would know. The best part was that the killing would be justified. No Duri Master would have listened to her heresy without ordering her public execution. He would truly be doing God’s work if he hunted her down and cut off her head.
Instead, he picked his way through the heavy underbrush beyond the village and hiked around to the cottage on the mountainside. His Duri Master was still asleep when he arrived—it had been a long night of spirits and leafing through his forbidden copy of The Divine Incendiary—but Nuri knew he would be awake before long.
Still, he wandered into the Duri Master’s room with his sword drawn and stood over the scarred, middle-aged man as he snored. He stayed there for a while, contemplating the advantages and disadvantages to killing the Duri Master and then attempting to escape the planet to begin his life anew. To take back what the Duri had stolen from him in the name of a god he’d never heard of prior to his family’s slaughter on Dublokee.
If you kill him, you may escape, but you will be doing exactly what he’s trained you to do. Remember that the true nature of God is Peacemaker, not Sword-Wielder. Never forget that and you will do His work. Never hesitate to spare a life when it can be spared, and never allow yourself into a situation where a life cannot be spared. Let God alone pass judgment as He sees fit.
The Duri Master finally stirred.
Nuri sighed. His grip on the sword relaxed by degrees. He backed quietly away to his room and closed the door behind him. It wasn’t until he collapsed onto his bed that he realized he’d been sweating profusely and his hands were shaking. It wasn’t until the Duri Master awoke and yelled for him to fetch eggs and water that he realized just how close he’d come to killing the man.
After that, the girl never left his thoughts entirely, even while the Duri broke his spirit into submission.
5
Nuri knew the cold desolation on the other side of the door immediately, even if it was a planet rarely visited by humans or any other Galactic species.
Shehoora, he thought, preparing his laser sword and his blaster rifle for the enemies he knew he would find among the tall trees and rocky cliffs.
Shehoora was a planet of special import to the Evil One. It was the site of his original temple, which had been constructed long before his banishment from the realm of humans by God, and therefore, long before his captivity in Tscharia. This was where he’d forged
a legacy through the blood of billions led to torture and slaughter beneath the mountains, where evil creatures older than time lurked in chasms that dropped off into deepest unreality.
This is different, Nuri thought, shivering in the cold. No trial has ever taken place on Shehoora.
He trudged through the deep snow, grateful at least that he still wore his ceremonial armor save for his helmet, which was forbidden during the trials, anyway. Scanners and projected images were an affront to God’s Holy Presence, or so the Duri Masters taught. Nuri wondered how much they’d experienced in the trials themselves or whether the entirety of their knowledge originated in the Divine Revelations of Colt. He further wondered whether any of them had seen Shehoora.
Likely not. It is a bad place.
That much was certain. In fact, he could feel the fundamental derangement of the planet radiating through the snow. The Duri claimed the endless white curtain before him represented God’s great purge of the Evil One’s stain from the planet. Unspeakable horrors still dwelled beneath the surface in places where the Creator’s light could not reach, but the visual effect was impressive enough. Sufficiently fear-inducing and awe-inspiring. All the aims of the Duri Masters, in other words.
Fear is the gateway to human spirituality, his Duri Master had once told him. Humans can only be made to know God through the catharsis of fear and suffering.
Nuri shivered.
It was impossible to survive Shehoora for long without a breather. By all rights, he should have been dead already. The frigidity of the planet’s surface should have frozen him instantly with so much skin exposed.
I am not human, he reminded himself. I am Hidria.
He could think of no greater proof than surviving the frozen wasteland.
We are not meant to survive.
Forcing the contradictory doctrine from his mind, Nuri continued aimlessly through the thigh-high snow. If he was meant to discover a new doorway or to face evil incarnate, it would find him eventually. The natural, guided path of his steps would bring him exactly where he was supposed to be.
That’s not always how it works, the voice of his Duri Master reminded him. Sometimes, you must bring about God’s Will for events to occur as pre-ordained.
It was yet another nonsensical teaching—at least, in Nuri’s mind—which he suspected had been designed specifically to muddle his thoughts, but there was no point in pondering the merits of the Duri teachings now that he was committed to their trials. He’d already made his choice and wagered his life upon it. The faith of the Duri was now his faith. It was the only true path to God in existence, and that made it the only thing that mattered. The issue of whether free will could ever truly be free as long as God had a plan and knew every choice before it was made was one that had bothered Nuri immensely, primarily because he could not imagine such a glaring oversight from an omnipotent being. More likely, the Divine existed outside of the human conception of space and time. In that sense, he supposed Colt’s seemingly ludicrous assertion that there was no such thing as time held some merit for the faithful. Since Nuri existed within those constructs, however, and everything around him was likewise stuck on a linear progression, he was incapable of imagining anything different.
Focus, he told himself, or nothing will matter one way or the other. You’ll be dead. Rotting in Tscharia.
Indeed, the cold had already worked its way into his blood. He could barely move his legs, and not just because the snow drifts were so tall that he could not properly discern his proximity to the surface of the mountain. Hidria or no, trials or no, he sensed hypothermia licking its chops, ready to devour him.
Why am I here? he wondered, hoping Colt would catch his train of thought and provide some form of response. But, of course, Colt’s role was not to provide answers. She was there to challenge him, to question his faith, his humanity, his dedication. His worthiness, in other words. If he needed assistance during the trials, he could only look within for a solution. Wasn’t that the whole point, after all?
Evil awaits, she had told him. Perhaps he would be better served focusing on her premonitions—or rather, prophecies, as the Duri would have called them, although Nuri wasn’t sure the term applied. She was in complete control over where she led him and which doors he opened.
The question, then, was what evil still dwelled on Shehoora? Should he be searching for the ancient temple of the Evil One where the root of all treachery had spawned, or was there a more immediate and obvious threat he would encounter beforehand?
If I don’t find out soon, I’ll die anyway.
A human will die, Colt corrected him. Humans do not know God. You must be Hidria.
Clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering as well as to stave his tongue from directing blasphemy toward the Hand of God for her redundancy, Nuri stopped walking and took a deep, frigid breath. He covered his eyes with his forearm and searched the landscape stretching beneath him.
Shehoora was beautiful in its own way. Majestic, really, if viewed from orbit or on a holo-display. Experiencing it was another thing altogether, yet if he just separated himself from worldly concerns—or bodily concerns, as it were—he assumed he could successfully appreciate the aesthetic beauty.
What is the lesson here, then? he wondered, allowing his gaze to wander over the forests and mountains and snow banks. Is it that even evil has its beauty? That evil can be alluring if we dwell on it for too long? That true Hidria don’t feel the elements but instead appreciate the world around them, regardless of circumstance?
An endless veil of confusion and overwrought theology, and Nuri in the center of it all attempting to see the truth.
Before he could contemplate the issue any further, however, a howl echoed off the foot of the mountain. It was so loud that the snow shook beneath him and he worried the movement would trigger an avalanche. For the time being, at least, it didn’t, but the resounding chorus of howls that followed shook a heavy layer of snow from the mountain.
Jhrupa, he thought.
They were the fabled snow beasts of Shehoora. The existence of the giant primates had never been reliably verified, but Duri texts referred to them often.
They say they cannot be killed.
More and more beasts assembled at the foot of the mountain to contribute their cries of rage and hunger to the chorus. Each accompanying voice made the snow shudder more violently until he was convinced a catastrophic avalanche was imminent.
Better start running, he thought. Yet staring down the teeth of two-dozen snow monsters was no more appealing than being buried beneath them.
Inaction will kill you, Colt warned. You must keep moving.
Before his brain devised a more appropriate strategy, his combat instincts took control. He descended towards the Jhrupa in a series of bounding leaps as the mountain quaked beneath his feet, then ignited his laser sword and hacked through the midsection of the first white-coated primate. He barely caught his balance quickly enough to duck below the swinging fist of the second. A frantic roll avoided the initial strike, but the same creature reached out its other arm and clawed into his armor just below the ribs.
The pain was blinding.
I am Hidria. I am Death, he told himself.
The sudden warmth in his stomach stole his breath, but as a warrior, he knew better than to seek solace in surrender. Before the creature’s claws withdrew from the depths of his armor and skin, Nuri spun and jabbed the glowing blade through the Jhrupa’s chest, tearing upwards with all his might until he saw the full illuminated beam sticking out the other side. The snow monster split in two from stomach to throat before dropping alongside Nuri’s first victim. The sight of two fallen kin was enough to spur the other monsters to charge forward in a rising cacophony of screams and howls.
Glancing over his shoulder to gauge the looming avalanche, Nuri planted his feet and retracted the laser blade in favor of the blaster rifle holstered to his back. He couldn’t risk close combat given the sheer numbers of the
Jhrupa, but if he could pick off a fair amount before they reached him, he might just make it through the lot of them alive.
And bring down the mountain in the process.
It was a sobering reminder that one stray shot could be enough to trigger the white curtain. He had to be careful.
I will not be afraid, he told himself, calmly training his rifle on one Jhrupa, blasting it through the right eye, and moving on to the next. Fear is human.
He clenched his jaw and fired again.
And again.
And again.
I am not human.
One by one, they fell, each shot more efficient than the last as his nerves shook off the battle adrenaline and his hands grew steady.
I am Hidria.
He fired until his weapon beeped for a recharge, then gracefully re-holstered the rifle and ignited his blade just in time to decapitate a charging Jhrupa from beneath its massive, outstretched arms. The headless body lurched forward while black blood and gristle sprang from its neck. It collapsed at Nuri’s feet over the bodies of its fallen brethren.
I am Hidria.
The mountain’s shudder reached all the way to Nuri’s chest. He knew he didn’t have much time, but a half-dozen angry Jhrupa still stood between him and the remote hope of finding refuge. Assuming the ancient texts were correct, miles upon miles of tunnels had been built into the mountains back when the Evil One called Shehoora home. If he could locate an entrance to the labyrinth somewhere, he might be able to stumble his way out the other side and avoid the destruction altogether. There had to be a solution, after all. It was a trial and a very difficult one at that, but there had to be a way out. Otherwise Colt never would have led him there in the first place.
Or would she?
He’d never heard anything about the Called visiting Shehoora. Nuri’s trials were something entirely different. Whoever controlled the ritual (presumably God, although it could just as easily have been Colt or the Duri Masters themselves) had gone far off the books when plotting Nuri’s path.
Colt: The Cosmic Prayer (Hidria Book 1) Page 3
