by Matt Moss
“The Church and what it stands for is holy and for the glory of God,” Thomas retorted. “But I will agree that man has corrupted it and abuses its authority.”
“Well, at least we agree on that,” Lucian said.
“What I do not agree with, is this new religion they are pushing on people,” Thomas stated, then drained his glass.
“What new religion?” Lucian asked.
“I’m surprised you haven’t heard. The priests tell the people that the Church is their savior and that they should worship it instead of God.”
“Under what right?” Lucian said.
Thomas shook his head. “Under the King’s right. He has been appointed the title of Spiritual Leader while the high priest is his chief advisor.”
“The people won’t stand for that,” Lucian said. “The Faith is as old as time.”
“There are some who have already converted,” Thomas sighed. “I guess they had no choice.”
“Horse shit,” Lucian spat. “What do you mean they had no choice?”
“The people are starving, Lucian. The money is scarce. Especially since the King raised the taxes.”
“Why would he raise taxes in a struggling economy,” Lucian noted. “It makes no sense.”
“For the King’s Generosity.”
Lucian shook his head and drank. “So, a taxing king is a generous king,” he said.
“He claimed the taxes are for the greater good of the Church,” Thomas said, throwing his arms up. “The king is generous by giving the people food and shelter. Unfortunately, they are now dependent on it.”
“And dependency leads to obedience,” Lucian stated and then emptied his glass.
“Yes, it does,” Thomas said, “but the great thing about this life is that a man always has a choice. Right or wrong, good or evil, you have the freedom to choose. Nobody can take that away.” Thomas tapped his head. “Sadly, people do not like to choose, given that the choice is too hard. They sacrifice their freedom and rely on others to make the choices for them.”
“There have to be those who are opposed to this,” Lucian said.
“Many are already becoming upset, even hostile, due to the new taxes,” Thomas said. “But they are kept at bay by the King’s Generosity.”
Lucian stared into his empty glass.
“Well, I have a big day tomorrow, let’s call it a night,” Thomas said, then showed Lucian his room. “It’s good to see you, old friend,” Thomas said with a smile, then closed the door.
Lucian dropped his gear on the floor by the bed. He pulled the black silk bag from his pack and untied the strings. As he opened the pouch, red and gray light spilled forth, emanating from the two stones. The colors illuminated his face, reflecting in his eyes.
He tied the pouch shut and laid it on the bed.
Thomas’s words ran through his head. He knew he had a choice.
He had the power to do whatever he wanted — he was death.
He thought about running. Start a new life somewhere far away. He could take a wife, have a house full of children, and make an honest living.
The image of Sarie suddenly flashed in his mind. He imagined she stood in darkness, holding the Path of Man.
Now, his thoughts turned to the night of the Rebellion, the night he had killed Sarie and joined the Dark Society. What made him choose to join the society? Did he even have a choice?
Victor flashed through his mind, consuming his thoughts. The Master. Lucian had obeyed him without question. He chose to. It was to see their goal achieved — the destruction of the Order.
Sometimes you just don’t have a choice, Lucian thought as he stared at the candle beside his bed, watching the flame dance. Sometimes you gotta run with the devil.
He snuffed the wick and the room fell into darkness.
Eight
The hallway in the Church paved the way to the altar. Silent prayers echoed from the walls — whispers from the lips of sinners. The priests wore robes of red and black, always with their hoods pulled up. They stood in silence, facing the rear of the church where hundreds of candles burned in an arrangement around the altar.
A giant, stained glass window filled the wall behind the altar. The spectrum of colors shown bright as the last light of the day came flooding through. Atop the Church was the bell tower. Empty space filled a chasm from ceiling to floor, making the priests on the ground look like ants.
Strange symbols had been painted on the columns and walls. One was of a giant city, the architecture, clearly advanced. A six pointed sun sat directly on top of it. On another column was an outstretched hand, palm up. Three pyramids sat there, the largest one in the middle.
Another symbol of a giant bird with outstretched wings had been carved into the wall. The bird held a short sword in one of its talons and a book in the other.
The sound of the two, large oak doors at the front of the Church bursting open broke the silence. Boots clicking on the marble floor echoed off the walls. As the footsteps made their way to the back of the hallway, the priests held their silence, never moving.
Victor stopped at the back of the hallway, his eyes falling on the altar. A large marble stone sat centered on the altar three steps high, the candles flickering around it. Smaller stones lie scattered around it, among the candles.
Victor looked up at the stained glass. In the middle was a large open eye, softly twinkling in the sunlight. He stared at it for a span, then turned and walked into one of the many rooms that could be found throughout the hallway. He closed the door behind him.
A small man jumped from behind a desk. His long black, oily hair fell to his shoulders. A long narrow nose and a sunken face highlighted his grotesquely large eyes, making him appear rat like.
“Welcome back, my master,” Rat said. Victor coined the man’s name long ago upon first meeting him.
“How have things been progressing in my absence?” Victor asked, walking to sit behind the desk.
Rat scurried out of the way. “Oh, very well, very well. The King’s taxes are putting pressure on the people and the new Religion is going smoother than we thought.”
“Go on,” Victor said, reclining.
“There is still a majority of people holding onto the Faith, but due to the King’s Generosity, more and more people are converting every day.” The rat man snickered. “Seems like sheep will do anything for some food and shelter.”
“That’s good, but we need everyone to convert. Rebel groups and people that go against the grain can be troublesome,” Victor said.
“How can we get everyone to convert?” Rat asked.
“We must give them a reason to. Leave that to me,” Victor said as he reached for his wine that sat atop the desk. He poured and took a sip. “There will be a trial soon. You are not to speak to anyone beforehand.”
“Do I need to know any details?” Rat said
Victor sighed. “Not right now. I will inform you later.” He opened the drawer, pulling out a curved dagger. A red ruby was set in the pommel. He laid it on the desk. “There will be an event that will take place here in the capital tomorrow. It will be,” he paused, searching for the words, “rather dramatic.”
Rat looked at the blade. “What’s that for?”
Victor smiled. “The High Priest and I are going to have a heart to heart.”
Nine
Torin, Arkin, and Lyla rode into the Grand Highlands at midday. After stabling the horses, they unpacked their gear, carrying it with them to Jamesh’s Tavern. It was known to have the best food in town.
“It feels good to be home,” Torin said between bites.
“How many people live here?” Arkin asked.
“Two thousand, give or take,” Torin said. “Women, children, and the elderly make up about half of that.”
“So, that leaves a thousand men,” Arkin stated. “How many can fight?”
“All of them can, when needed. For the most part, it is a community of farmers and trade workers,” Torin said,
wiping his mouth. “There’s also a couple hundred members who work on the outside.”
“On the outside?” Lyla asked. “What do they do?”
“In the capital, they work for the King, policing the city to keep the peace. Others travel great distances, spreading the Faith to convert the heathens.” Torin stretched upon finishing his plate. “Then you have people like me,” he smiled proudly, “who are talent scouts. We recruit people for the Order.”
Arkin stretched, his muscles stiff from riding.
“What’s wrong?” Torin said to Arkin.
“Nothing,” Arkin replied. “Just a bit sore, that’s all.”
Torin laughed. “You don’t know what sore is,” he said, standing, “but you will.” He placed some coins on the table. “As much as I’d like to soak in the hot springs and take a long nap, it will have to wait. It’s time for you to meet the Prophet.”
The Grand Highlands was smaller than Arkin would have thought, judging by the name. Only a few streets connected to the main road. The town was built against a mountain, the main road carving a path between two sheer rock bluffs.
Walking through the town, Arkin saw various homes. Most were simple, but well made. Their owners, tending to their spring upkeep, greeted the three as they walked by. Shops were open for business, displaying their finest wares out front. Arkin took a special interest in the armory where the blacksmith hammered steel near an open forge.
Arkin glanced at Lyla. Her face showed her excitement and eagerness to explore. He felt the same way.
Nearing the end of the street, the road turned into steps. Looking up, Arkin saw a massive building built of wood and stone, spanning as wide as the gap between the mountain.
As they climbed, Torin grumbling about how the steps needed some maintenance now that winter was over. Like most things in the town, they were simple but efficient. Each step was level, proportionate, and reinforced with timber to keep from eroding.
Upon finally reaching the top, Arkin turned around to steal a glance at the view. In the distance, he could see where the road dwindled to a thin line before disappearing into the horizon. The land laid bare, stripped of trees and shrubbery, in a vast plateau of green grass.
“The ground is perfectly flat,” Lyla noted, scanning the base at the top of the steps.
Arkin noticed it too, amazed at the topography. Even more amazed that it was done by hand, like the steps.
“The Lodge,” Torin said. “Home, sweet home.”
“It’s incredible,” Arkin said, awed by the sheer size of the place. “But, why would it be built way up here?”
“The surrounding mountains provide defensive protection,” Torin said. “And with a view like this, an invading army could be seen, giving us enough time to prepare.”
“Who would go to war with the Order?” Lyla asked.
“The Order has been at war with the Dark Society for as long as man has existed,” Torin said. “The names may have changed over time, but the foundations of the two remain the same.”
“Sounds like it’s about power and control,” Lyla noted. “What with the two always at odds with one another.”
“I like to think of it as good versus evil,” Torin said with a smile. He pushed open the large oaken door. “This Order is not the first of its kind.” He looked at his recruits. “And it won’t be the last.”
The inside of the Lodge was massive, smelling of old wood with a tinge of smoke. Open spaces in the ceiling provided fresh air and an ample amount of light to stream in. In the event of a storm, rope and pulley worked to close the open holes with wooden planks. Support columns, wide as a man, held torches to burn for light at night.
Arkin noticed a fire in the great hearth. Cooks made busy preparing food while other people drank. Their socializing created a comfortable noise. Over the commotion, he saw a group of men rolling stones, huddled tightly in a corner. Four of them grumbled and cursed as one of them collected the money lying on the ground.
Arkin stopped abruptly, colliding with someone while distracted.
A short, grizzly man, looked up from the beer that spilled all over his chest.
“Damnit boy, you blind? Can’t you see I’m walking here,” he said, appalled.
“I’m sorry,” Arkin stammered. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
The man stepped closer, looking up into Arkin’s eyes. The man was more than a head shorter than Arkin.
“Did you just call me short, boy?” The man snapped.
“No, sir,” Arkin said, turning red. “I just didn’t see you.”
“So, I’m invisible?” he said, waving his arms. “Like I’m a nobody, huh?”
Arkin stood, uncomfortably at a loss for words.
The man’s face broke out in a wide smile. Slapping Arkin on the shoulder, he looked at Torin.
“Where’d you get this one, Torin? He’s as green as a gourd,” he said, then laughed.
“Leave him alone, Billy,” Torin said with a grin. “We’ve come a long way.”
“I believe you,” Billy said. “You look like shit and smell even worse.”
“Are you done?” Torin asked.
“Yes,” Billy said, then looked at Arkin. “You owe me a beer, boy.”
Torin shoved Billy out of the way. “I wouldn’t call him a boy.”
“Why not? He looks like a boy,” Billy said eying Arkin.
“Trust me,” Torin said as the three passed Billy.
They made their way through the commotion to the Prophet’s room. The door was closed and a woman was busy cleaning nearby.
“Where’s the Prophet?” Torin asked.
She pointed to another door in the back of the Lodge.
Walking through, Arkin saw the training grounds. They consisted of multiple levels. Each had different aspects to it. One lie sloped with boulders scattered about. Another level had a pool of water in the middle of the landing. The main tier of the grounds was flat. A handful of people were in the middle of a training session.
Beyond the training grounds lie tilled earth. Farmers were busy working the ground in preparation to sow. Mountains surrounding the valley, with their sheer inclines and jagged peaks, provided protection from the back.
Arkin’s attention drew towards a large structure that overshadowed the training grounds. He counted that five various stages completed the course, all of it constructed with wood and rope. Each stage looked difficult, which piqued his interest.
Torin led them to the main level.
The Prophet sat on a rock, observing the training, smoking a pipe. He stood in greeting.
“Torin, good to see you all made the journey safely,” the Prophet said. He stood stiff, leaning on a stick. The hunch in his posture showed his age.
“You must be Lyla,” he said. “We’ve heard good things about you.”
Taking his hand, she bowed her head. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
“Please, call me Paul,” he said, then looked at Arkin. “And who might this be?”
“This is Levi’s son,” Torin said, solemnly.
Paul’s eyes went wide as he stepped to Arkin. “Pleased to meet you, son.” His voice was calm, but shaky.
Arkin looked into his eyes. Something seemed familiar about the old man. Arkin pulled the Path of Man from his satchel and handed it to the Prophet. He felt as if a weight had been lifted.
Paul took the book, his hands shaking slightly.
“My father wanted you to have this,” Arkin said. “He told me to give you a message.” He paused, swallowing. “The Garden of Stones is near.”
“Your father was a great man,” the Prophet said. “It pains me greatly that he is no longer with us.”
“How did you know?” Arkin said, shocked and then corrected himself. “Forgive me, I forgot that you have the Sight.”
“It’s quite alright, son.” Paul smiled. “The truth is that your father didn’t want us to meet each other.” Paul turned to the men training. “He didn’
t want this life for you. The fact you stand here before me means that he had no other choice.”
“I don’t understand,” Arkin said. “Why wouldn’t he want me to meet you?” He stepped towards Paul. “Who are you?”
The Prophet turned, meeting Arkin’s gaze. Tears filled his eyes.
“Levi was my son,” he said.
Arkin’s jaw dropped.
“I am your grandfather,” Paul said. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Later, Arkin attempted to ask Paul questions in the main hall, but quickly gave up, finding that it was too loud to attempt conversation.
Torin, with a few mugs of ale in him, appeared abnormally lively. He mingled through the crowd, fellowshipping with the townsfolk. Billy stumbled over to the big man, asking Torin to sing. Rumor was, Torin was a good singer, after he had a few drinks in him. Torin laughed, cursing Billy as they both walked to the bar.
After they had finished dining, Arkin, Lyla, and Paul sat comfortably in the Prophet’s room.
A desk, littered with papers, sat by a window and books lined shelves on the walls. Red coals burned in the fireplace.
“So,” the Prophet said as he reclined on his couch, “what questions do you have for me?”
Arkin had so many questions running through his head, he didn’t know where to start.
“My father was a member of the Order,” he said. “Are you the leader?”
“I was commissioned by the Church to be one of the founders of the Order,” Paul said. “There was another man too. He was once my best friend, but he betrayed me and the Order to found the Dark Society. His name is Victor.”
“Why did he betray you?” Arkin asked.
“Do you know about the soul stones?” Paul asked.
“Yes, Torin mentioned them,” Arkin looked at the ground. “I saw Lucian use one when he killed my father.”
“I knew it,” Paul whispered to himself.
“What?” Arkin said, looking at Paul.
Paul shook his head. “Lucian never could beat your father in a fair fight.” He stood and walked to a bookshelf. “Victor and I disagreed over the soul stones. He wanted to use them, thinking that mankind would be better for it.” Paul pulled the recently returned Path of Man from the shelf, then walked back to the couch. “I took the more cautious road.”
