by S. W. Ahmed
“Any idea how those two met?” Sharjam asked.
“Not really. Ozwin is a mercenary, and a member of the Raidamin clan, from what I’ve heard. I assume Wazilban found him and won his allegiance by paying him a lot of money.”
“I notice a pattern with this Ozwin, taking advantage of less advanced species. First the Eelaks, now the Doolins.”
“Yes, that’s his expertise. Most likely that’s why Wazilban hired him in the first place.”
“But he didn’t teach the Eelaks to worship Aftarans, did he?”
Dumyan shook his head. “No. Once he had gained their trust, he showed them fabricated evidence about our father’s rule and his supposed plans to destroy them. They believed him whole-heartedly, never once second-guessing him.”
“Intellectually far behind the acceptable norm, as you said.” Sharjam thought for a moment, and added, “Our people made a similar mistake, though.”
“Yes, true, but they fell for a craftier trap. See, Wazilban knew what he was doing, and he picked the Eelaks for multiple reasons. For one, their location was right on the Phyrax border, an ideal spot for sparking trouble. For another, they were a species just introduced to the Dominion, eager to make friends amongst our people. And they were also an incredibly pious species.”
“So I heard. I believe most of the Eelaks quickly converted to our religion after their first contact with the Dominion.”
“Yes, thanks mostly to Ozwin. But believe me, he didn’t convert them because he was trying to show them the path to righteousness or redemption. He did it so that he could set the conditions for the perfect trap.” A smirk appeared across Dumyan’s face. “The perfect setting to accuse our father of the worst possible crime.”
“Heresy!” Sharjam whispered, that horrible period in history still fresh in his memory.
“Yes, heresy! And the only reason the Eelaks got away with it was because our people let them.”
“They fell prey to Wazilban, who took advantage of the situation. He was the one who suddenly appeared in the limelight, spreading the accusation of heresy across the Dominion. The Eelaks claimed our father was planning to attack them, much a lie as that was. And Wazilban argued that an attack like that against a vulnerable, backward species that had already converted to our faith amounted to heresy.”
“Yes, but it was the Aftaran people who let Wazilban take advantage of the situation. They were only too eager to accept him, only too eager to hear his words of hate and warmongering, only too eager to rise up in arms into a massive revolt against our father’s rule. And all at the mere sound of that one word – heresy.”
Sharjam smiled, realizing where Dumyan was trying to go with this discussion. “What happened was not a fault of our religion or our way of life, Dumyan.”
Dumyan looked directly at his brother. “Oh? Do you think this would have happened if the majority of our people were not so inflexible and blind about religion ruling every aspect of their lives? If they could just have used reason for once, then they would have seen how absurd this whole charge was.”
“It’s the blind faith our people have that is at fault, not the religion itself.”
“What’s the difference?”
Sharjam thought a bit before answering. “The religion teaches us to live our lives a certain way, but it’s a way of moderation. It teaches us how to be good and righteous, and above all, reasonable about everything. But it’s the people who misinterpret the religion, who take it to one extreme or another. That’s exactly what Wazilban did.”
“And how is it that he was able to convince so many Aftarans that his interpretation was the correct one?”
“What Wazilban did was quote certain powerful verses by themselves, interpret them completely out of context in the most extreme way possible, and then sell the idea to the public.”
“Well, how did he attain such massive success, and so quickly? Especially considering that Wazilban was a nobody from nowhere, with no scholarly credentials? Even his clan was unheard of before he appeared!”
“Because of his powerful, new message, a sharp contrast from the long and boring academic sermons of our clerics.He appealed to the most basic of our emotions and instincts, using the right buzzwords and sound bites that he knew Aftarans would care most about. Phrases like ‘freedom for anyone to pray anywhere, anytime’, or ‘defend the faithful against oppression’, or even ‘raise the lantern of truth in the darkest corners of the Dominion’.
“Combine that with a few misinterpreted verses from the Scriptures, some fabricated evidence that conveniently supports the message, as well as general nervousness about growing hostilities with the Phyrax, and it creates an explosive mixture of fear and ignorance, eventually leading to downright hatred and belligerence.”
“This was how our father was falsely labeled as a heretic and of being a weak, incompetent leader who didn’t have the strength to confront the Phyrax. The High Clerics always warned us about the dangers of such extremism. Unfortunately, their message seems to have been forgotten by our people.”
Dumyan listened quietly to everything Sharjam was saying. He could see the sense in his brother’s logic, but he wasn’t convinced. He had never been a big fan of the tremendous religious focus in Aftaran society, and that wasn’t about to change.
“I have read some of the verses that Wazilban used in his public speeches,” Dumyan said, once Sharjam had finished speaking. “They are quite lucid in their meaning and do not need additional interpretations.”
“It’s all about understanding the proper context, which in most cases requires lengthy education and rigorous training under qualified clerics. The majority of Aftarans don’t have training to that necessary level, and Wazilban took advantage of that. He even killed off the High Clerics to make sure nobody would have access to the ultimate source of truth anymore.”
The topic of conversation ended abruptly, for the door opened and light from the corridor brightened the prayer room. A figure walked in.
“Both of you, keep your mouths shut,” the figure said in a stern voice.
“Or else what?” Dumyan demanded.
“Or else you get another blow on your heads, only this time it will be twice as hard.” She brandished her boryal in a show of strength.
“She certainly doesn’t mince her words,” Dumyan thought, knowing not to test the sincerity of her threat. He wondered what she looked like, but couldn’t see her face because it was veiled.
The figure turned around and stepped out of the room without another word. The door closed behind her with a heavy thud.
After a brief period of silence, Sharjam whispered, “Dumyan, we’ve got to get out of here.”
“Considering our current situation, that might be a very hard thing to do,” Dumyan whispered in return.
“We have to try. We can’t just stay like this and wait to be handed over to Wazilban’s gloating hands.”
Dumyan smiled, surprised at how action-oriented his brother had become over the past few days. But he saw no hope of escape this time.
Sharjam appeared to be reading his mind. “The Creator is with us and will guide us,” he said softly. “The Creator is always on the side of the righteous.”
Dumyan shook his head, looking down and feeling defeated. “Nay, Sharjam, this time the Creator appears to have left us in the lurch.”
“You lose faith too quickly. With the Creator on our side, there’s always a way.”
Dumyan lifted his head and looked at his brother. It wasn’t like Sharjam to speak so optimistically without a valid reason. “Meaning?”
“This is a prayer room, after all. Obviously our guard is not very religious, otherwise she wouldn’t have been silly enough to lock us up here. Or perhaps she has no knowledge of my educational background.”
Dumyan was confused. “What’s so special about a prayer room?”
“Ah! I see you share the same ignorance. Well, that isn’t a terrible surprise. You see, every prayer room co
ntains copies of the Scriptures.”
“I know that!” Dumyan whispered. “But how does that help us at the moment?”
“You think all we were taught in clerical university was how to interpret the verses in the Scriptures?” Sharjam said.
Dumyan’s eyes opened just a tad wider. “I’m listening.”
“We were also taught their power, power that goes well beyond the common enchantments known to most Aftarans.” With that, Sharjam closed his eyes and began uttering something quietly.
Dumyan watched and waited, wondering what his brother had in mind.
He didn’t have to wait long. The wall behind him suddenly began lighting up. He turned his head to see, and noticed seven small, bright circles forming on the wall. They were spread along a horizontal line, about a foot apart from each other, and they were silver in color. Once their shapes had solidified, they moved a few inches out of the wall, floating magically in thin air.
Dumyan realized right away what they were. They were scripture coins, a key foundation of the Aftaran religion, and the primary way the seven sacred Scriptures were read and revered across the Dominion. Made of an ultra-light metallic compound, each coin could store an entire copy of a single Scripture, the largest of which contained over 19,000 verses. When commanded to do so, a scripture coin could magnify and display any of the Scripture’s verses in the open air, in clear view for everyone to see. Every prayer room or chamber across the Dominion had to have seven coins, one for each scripture. Otherwise, it was not considered a proper prayer chamber.
The eighth sacred Scripture, known as the Hidden Scripture, was never included in any prayer chamber, since it wasn’t available to the public. Only the High Clerics, the chief order of the clerical hierarchy, officially had access to the Hidden Scripture. There were only three carefully guarded coins in the entire Dominion that held the Hidden Scripture, and it wasn’t possible to make copies of them. One of them had been handed by Ouria to Autamrin in secret, shortly before his escape into exile. This was completely against Aftaran religious law, but desperate conditions had called for desperate actions. Dumyan could only guess what had happened to the other two copies after the murder of the High Clerics. Most likely Wazilban had both of them now.
Sharjam stared at the coins, and began speaking loudly. “O sacred Scripture of Conducts, arise and shine!”
As he said these words, the second coin from the left came further forward, and aligned itself horizontally in midair. Its color turned a brilliant golden, and bright golden symbols began forming in the air above it.
Sharjam’s voice was booming now. “Unveil your power, for your haven has been tainted!”
The symbols crystallized into glowing Altareezyan text, clearly displaying a verse from the 12th chapter for both brothers to see:
The prayer room, a chamber of worship,
A place of peace and sanctity,
An icon of hope in a sea of despair,
Remains forever watched and protected
By the very words of truth it shelters.
Dumyan was amazed. He had never seen this verse before, although he had to admit that he didn’t know the Scripture of Conducts or any of the other Scriptures too well. He wasn’t sure what to expect next, but he was starting to feel that something major was about to occur, something completely beyond his control.
“Make right the grievous wrong you see before you!” Sharjam commanded the scripture coin.
The verse vanished, and was immediately replaced by another:
A sanctuary for the just and righteous,
A refuge for the oppressed and persecuted,
Freedom for the faithful shall never be lost herein,
For as long as these words are called forth within.
As soon as Dumyan had finished reading the last line in the verse, the words exploded in a loud bang. A dazzling ball of flame spread across the room, hitting him and Sharjam at the same time. He felt a wave of heat tear through his body. Fearful at first, he soon realized that it actually felt comfortable and warm. He almost began hoping that it wouldn’t go away.
But within a couple of seconds, the bright flame was gone, and along with it the pleasant warmth. The room was dark and cold again. The scripture coin was still there in midair, but it wasn’t displaying any verses. More importantly, though, Dumyan noticed that the bonds on his hands and feet had disappeared. He was free! The blood rushed back into his arms as they dropped to his sides, and the pain began subsiding right away.
“Sharjam, how did you…?”
But Dumyan wasn’t able to finish his question. The door burst open at that moment, and their guard stormed in.
“What’s going on here?” she yelled, looking confused when she saw the scripture coin hanging in the air in the middle of the room.
“Payback time,” Sharjam said calmly.
The guard, standing right in front of the coin, noticed that both Dumyan and Sharjam were free. She immediately took out her boryal and aimed it at Sharjam.
“Don’t move, or I’ll fire!” she threatened.
“Your threats have no meaning in this chamber,” Sharjam said, his voice strong and steady.
Dumyan wasn’t sure what to do. His instincts told him to lunge at the guard and to try to take her boryal, but he knew he wouldn’t be fast enough. He wondered how Sharjam could be so calm in a situation like this, but he guessed his brother still had another trick up his sleeve.
A new verse appeared above the scripture coin, the big, bright words completely startling the guard:
Their evil subjugators and captors
May wield their deadly weapons
And try their utmost to harm and kill.
But fail they shall, and miserably,
For the power of the blessed Scriptures
Has no equal in the worlds of mortals.
“What…?” the guard began, but before she could get any further, the verse exploded, sending off a ball of fire in her direction and quickly engulfing her entire body. She screamed in pain, letting go of the boryal and falling to the floor.
After several seconds, the flame around her vanished. She lay motionless on the floor.
Dumyan immediately stooped down and picked up the boryal. “Is she… dead?” he asked, still in shock.
“Dead? Oh no!” Sharjam shook his head. “She’s just unconscious, but will remain so for hours.”
They picked her up, and subjected her to the same fate they had endured – arms stretched above her head and attached to a latch on the ceiling, and feet fastened to the floor.
Dumyan lowered her veil and stared at her face. “You were right, she is attractive!” he said. “What a pity she’s with the bad guys. Otherwise she could have been a good match for you, eh?”
Sharjam didn’t answer, instead quietly uttering some words with his eyes closed. Soon after, the scripture coin that had freed them glided silently back into the far wall and faded away. The other coins also retreated and faded away. Sharjam bowed before them as they disappeared.
Dumyan bowed as well. Clearly there was a lot more to the Scriptures than met the eye. Perhaps he did have a lot to learn from his younger brother, more than he had ever cared to admit.
“Come on,” Sharjam said, turning to Dumyan and looking more determined than ever. “We’ve got a ship to commandeer.”
Chapter 22
“Wait for me!” Marc shouted. He was trying his best to catch up with Zorina, who was more than 30 yards ahead, prancing forward with her strong hind legs. Her baggy, crimson colored outfit fluttered in the wind as she moved. It had big yellow spots all over and was torn in multiple places. She looked like a clown, he felt, a clown who couldn’t afford to buy new clothes.
“We haven’t got all day, you know?” Zorina yelled back. “Those drones could be back any minute!”
Marc knew she was right. They were in the open air, darting across the disheveled streets of the city of Krasia, and would be easy targets for drones. But he w
as having a hard time keeping up with her fast and surefooted pace across the rugged terrain. Not only was this planet’s gravitational pull much stronger than that of Earth, the searing heat was also exhausting him. His clothes were totally drenched in sweat, and he could feel the sweat beads continuously trickling down his forehead and cheeks. The nauseating smell everywhere wasn’t helping much either, constantly making him want to throw up.
Nevertheless, he was trudging along with high hopes. Back in the cave, he had learned that Zorina was of royal blood and an extremely important individual in the Volonan Empire, and furthermore that the translator device she was holding was actually not her own. The day before, she had discovered a living Mendoken in another section of the city, standing dazed with his mind engrossed in his own virtual world. The translator had been lying on the ground near him. She had tried giving it back to him, but he had shown no reaction. So she had taken it, hoping that it might come into use for her some day. And it sure had, the very moment she had met Marc.
Marc, his heart pounding upon hearing this news, had immediately asked her to take him to that Mendoken. As far as he knew, there had only been one Mendoken on board any of the three ships carrying a translator with human language encoding, and that was Sibular.
Zorina had been reluctant to venture out into the open again. She had wanted to relax and take it easy for the rest of the day, but Marc had convinced her otherwise. When she had learned that Sibular was one of the top space travel engineers in the entire MendokenRepublic, she had suddenly begun bobbing her head up and down in excitement, and had hastily led the way out of the cave.
Zorina, it turned out, had an engineering background herself. As the Empress’s sister, she had held the title of Chief Imperial Defender, the highly prestigious and important post of overseeing the Empire’s border defenses. She had commanded millions of ships and billions of troops, and had personally designed many of the protective systems currently in place around the borders. She had been a highly respected and admired Volonan, her life so wonderful that her virtual life had almost been identical to her real life.
