by Lee Watts
At the mention of the Vortex, many mocked the Voice returning to their rituals and selling. According to the holy writings, the Vortex was a black hole existing in the spirit realm. When death loosed a soul from the anchor of a mortal body, the Vortex drew it in - forever crushing the souls of those who rejected The Manifestation of the Elder. Those who believed and accepted the personified Elder were taken to Paradise. Most other religions denied the idea of eternal punishment, saying a loving supreme being wouldn't allow such a horrid place on any plane of existence. Seeing the assembly turning from his call, Caedmon's heart sank. He knew how they could be spared the Vortex, but they refused to believe the warning. Beholding the fruitless extremes people were pursuing in hopes of finding redemption, he went to cry out all the more urgently, but the multitude reviled his words, drowning out his pleas. Within him, the word of the Elder spoke unto Caedmon.
Be not disheartened by the people in all they say unto thee: for they have not rejected thee, but have rejected me that I should not reign over them. According to all the works which they have done since the day that I brought them up as a free nation even unto this day, wherewith they have forsaken me, and served other gods, so do they also unto thee. Take now thy staff and stretch it forth to show I am jealous, powerful, and above all.
So Caedmon did as the Elder commanded. With the bottom tip of his staff of alloy, he gave a single firm strike against the Hateeg's altar then slowly descended its steps. Silently at first, jagged lines grew from where Caedmon's stick impacted. The sound of crushing stone steadily amplified, resonating thunderously throughout the entire courtyard. Vibrations caused deep cracks to form in the altar's boulders, forcing Hateeg followers to run clear of their monument as chunks of stone fell. Breaking under the intense pressing force of an invisible hand, it disintegrated. The Hateeg structure crumbled into a heap of rubble, sending out a large cloud of billowing dust.
Gesturing with his staff, Caedmon pointed it toward some of the head-sized stones of the ruined altar. They rose, floating by an invisible force, awaiting his command. The Voice slung the direction of his rod toward a row of idols. Obeying his order, the rocks smashed into the statues with great energy. Each sculpture shattered under the assault, sending people scattering.
Turning to the row of merchant displays, he strode over to continue the purification. Raising his pole high, he brought it down swiftly against the first vendor's stand. Immediately, the table, and its wares burst into flame sending peddlers running frantically. Leaping from one kiosk to the next, flames raced to each booth of spiritual baubles, igniting them and causing sellers to flee for safety.
The courtyard now seemed more a war zone than a place of worship. Columns of smoke rose, and people ran screaming from the scene. Seeing the abilities of the Faithful Voice of the Elder was a wealthy priest of the cult of Jaris. Running to Caedmon, he knelt before him.
"O Mighty One, what must I do to possess this power you use, or what price will you name for that miracle-working staff?"
"Thy money perish with thee," Caedmon replied, "because thou hast thought the power of the Elder may be purchased. This staff 'tis naught but a lifeless rod of ore. There is no power in it nor in me. I am but a tool of clay, the Voice of the Elder. It is He who moves stones and brings forth fire. Repent therefore of this thy wickedness, and pray if perhaps the thought of thine heart may be forgiven thee."
Insulted, and feeling Caedmon mocked him, the cleric regarded the words with bitterness. Rising with a huff, he stormed off.
Disgusted, Caedmon eyed the man and burning shops. He moved away from the carnage, weeping for the people and the loss of what once was.
Within the hour, a report of the event reached the king's current vizier. Of particular interest to Yilib was the security camera footage showing his recently returned rival as the instigator of the chaos. Smiling, Yilib's fist clenched as if he was physically gripping the means of securing his victory. Mesmerized by what he saw, Yilib replayed the recording.
How did he do that? Yilib wondered as he was fixated by Caedmon's deceptively innocuous staff. He had heard stories of Caedmon's younger days and supposed supernatural powers, but thought these accounts mere fables, or at least, exaggerations. Apparently, there was more to them than he first believed. He would study it more, but for now, he needed to act quickly.
As the royal family was enjoying their midday meal, the silken robed and tongued chief mediator entered the room.
"I beg pardon, Excellencies, but there has been an incident."
"Incident? What kind of incident?" Darius asked.
In as somber a tone as he could muster, Yilib answered. "Of the most wretched sort I am afraid. There was a terrorist attack at Theon."
"Theon?" Cheyenne questioningly echoed in surprise. "Was anyone hurt?"
Though Yilib knew there were none, he answered, "We don't know yet, Majesty, but from the extent of the destruction, we must assume so."
"Who's responsible for the attack?" the king pressed, angered anyone would dare attack the holy site.
"I'm sure the investigation will reveal the identity of the perpetrator, but initial reports indicate only it was a lone extremist. I assume you'll want an immediate warrant put out for his arrest?"
The king nodded.
"Let me know the minute you catch him."
"Of course, Sire, and as your vizier might I recommend you immediately make a public statement condemning the attacker. A clear and strong word from you so soon after the incident would assure the public you are actively involved in pursuing the perpetrator."
"Yes, good idea. Contact the media and send out a statement right away. I want whoever it was hunted down and brought to justice."
Smiling, Yilib bowed again.
"As you wish. I will see to it myself."
CHAPTER 8
"Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life; no man cometh unto the Father, but by me." - John 14:6
(Two years later)
In the heart of Paran, with only his walking staff, a hooded old man approached the royal palace of the United Realm of Theera-Enty. Dressed in a pale gray, knee-length tunic wrapped at the waist with an azure sash and loose-fitting black trousers, he looked from an age long past, befitting his mood. Though in his early sixties, Caedmon was still healthy, lean and muscular, but today his pace was slow and heart-heavy.
Since returning to the Realm, he had witnessed vast moral decay. Decadence was not only tolerated but celebrated throughout the Realm. It was a far different place than he left nearly twenty years prior. His metallic staff softly tapped the timeworn cobblestones of the wide path leading to the palace. Those passing by paid little notice. The sounds of the city were distant to him as his mind dwelt on other matters and the setting sun poured rays of warm color on the ancient royal palace.
The aged man longed for the old days when the Realm followed only the Narrow Path. If left to him, he would stay in solitude, but, as a servant, he was duty-bound to deliver the message given to him. He didn't understand the purpose behind it all but believed. He drew strength from the fact those of his creed were called believers, not understanders. With the steady determination of a pilgrim whose journey is part of the goal, he labored up the many steps to the palace's massive doors.
There was a day when the door guards snapped to attention, heralded his entrance, and cleared the way for him. But, during his absence, the often-stinging words of truth became unappreciated, uncomfortable, and finally, unwelcome. This day, the entrance was not opened for him. The guards did not snap to attention or even recognize him, which mattered little, for had they, their orders were to deny him entry.
Caedmon shifted his gaze from one soldier to another bringing the end of his staff down hard against the ground. The impact made a single, crisp smack echoing off the mighty columns flanking the entryway. Immediately, the guards collapsed in a deep sleep, uninjured, but no longer obstructive. Slowly, moved by an unseen force, the mighty doors crea
ked open.
He didn't need to ask the way to the royal hall. High vizier for decades, Caedmon knew the palace well. In actuality, except for one, he knew it better than all now residing there. Reaching his destination, he entered the arched tunnel leading to the cathedral-like main room. Posted there were two guards who were preventing his admittance. He chose not to dispatch them in the same manner as the outer pair.
Noticing his predecessor, Yilib discreetly made his way from his position behind the king and queen toward the entrance at the far end of the expansive chamber. As he made his way to the far entrance of the grand hall, Yilib considered having the guards eject the man, or have him jailed on the spot, but decided Caedmon's presence could cement his position as vizier. Despite a warrant, Darius never enforced the call for his former advisor's arrest, so Yilib knew the removal of Caedmon necessitated delicacy. In dignified haste, he, at last, reached the entryway.
"Caedmon, I knew you would return one day," Yilib quipped snidely.
The other man's weathered face remained stoic and inscrutable.
"Things are not as they once were. There are many ways in the Realm now. Have you come in peace and tolerance to join your voice to those in the royal hall again?"
Keeping his eyes forward, Caedmon answered in monotone.
"I have not."
"I warn you, Heretic, leave before you embarrass yourself. The Realm is different than when you left. Now everyone is free to choose their own way. Unlike you, I don't dictate to the king and Council what's right and wrong, each person must decide the way best for them."
"Yilib, thou fearest man more than the Elder. His is the Narrow Way."
"Then there is room for the Narrow Way on the broader path. The Elder and Manifestation can move into part of a greater unity. You must change to survive in this age of acceptance."
"The Elder changes not," Caedmon retorted and added a quote from the Codex, "He is the same yesterday, today, and forever."
"The old way won't work anymore. You're living in the past."
"No," the old man said with a faraway look, "but the past lives in me."
Insulted and angered, Yilib spun away, returning to his place on the platform behind the thrones. He decided if The Heretic wanted to make a fool of himself, let him. It would serve Yilib's purpose anyway.
Seeing the confrontation at the far end of the room, Merrick made his way to the entrance, arriving as Yilib was storming away.
Quietly, Merrick asked a guard what the trouble was.
"Captain, this guy's trying to get in, but he doesn't have clearance, ID, or anything."
Merrick looked at the newcomer.
"I will vouch for this man. Now, put your pistols away. I don't want anyone to get hurt."
"We weren't going to hurt him, Sir."
Merrick chuckled.
"I'm not protecting him. I'm protecting you. Now, stand aside."
The aged prophet looked at Merrick who placed a hand on his shoulder.
"It's good to see you again, Old Friend."
"Whom dost thou call old, Ancient One?" Caedmon answered with the hint of a smile. "One last time," he whispered with regret in his voice, half speaking to Merrick and half to himself.
"But, perhaps not. There's still a hope," Merrick said then added an encouraging wink. With that he turned and boldly stepped into the hall and up the three steps to a small podium.
In former days, it was there where heralds announced visitors to the royal hall. Merrick pounded the long-unused gavel on the strike plate three times, as was the tradition. Drawing the room's attention, he proclaimed "CAEDMON OF TISHBIA, FAITHFUL VOICE OF THE ELDER."
Strengthened by Merrick's bold spirit, the hooded holy man strode into the grand room. Tiered levels of high councilors stared down at the visitor. Murmurs rippled through the chamber, some spoke in fear, some dread, and others disdain. At the far end of the hall were the thrones of the king and queen. The king's throne was of ancient design. Elaborate with foreign script engraved upon the sides, it was one of the many trophies Darius had acquired in his conquests. Whenever he would take the seat, some of the deep carvings on the chair would glow with golden light. Cheyenne's throne, which had no such luminance, was added when she married Darius and gave the sense of a more delicate version of the original. On this day Darius sat alone as Cheyenne was away attending to other matters of state. The sovereign said nothing while forcing his face from betraying his thoughts.
Tapestries representing the fifty worlds of the Realm hung from the vaulted ceiling. Twin lines of massive stone pillars lead to the royal platform. Mounted on each post was the banner of the realm. A vertical pennant ending in two points, the banner's left side was white and the right blue. An oval of inverted colors decorated the upper center portion of the banner. Within it were two smaller ovals stacked one above the other. One represented Theera and the other Enty.
Caedmon continued his stride to the center of the room, the striking of his silvery walking staff resounding off the high walls. The whispers died, leaving the pole's rhythmic tapping the only sound in the massive chamber. Taking center floor, the Faithful Voice stopped and drew back his hood. Staff in hand, the solemn figure stood in silence. His timeworn face and piercing gray were eyes full of emotion. Those in the room interpreted his look as sadness, anger, or disappointment. In some regard, each was correct.
No one dared break the silence. After a long while, Caedmon finally spoke. As at Theon, his voice was strong and rang out powerfully, his words slow and crisp.
"THUS - SAITH - THE ELDER: this hall no longer seeks my counsel… no longer follows my commands."
His words echoed in the enormous room.
"Thou hast turned aside from the Narrow Path and embraced convenient ways. May the Elder save the Realm from the doom of deceivers proclaiming the poison of compromise? The spirit of error is far too prevalent in the Realm. I implore you to return this hall and nation to the Elder's guiding and protecting hand."
He paused, but no one moved. He knew his beloved nation would fall if continuing on its course. Heart breaking and eyes moistening, Caedmon yearned for any among them to say they repented and now returned to the Elder and His Narrow Way. He hoped perhaps Darius would be the first to make such an announcement, but the king defied the inner voice pleading with him. Looking at the High Councilors, Caedmon noted their finery and expressions of complete self-sufficiency. He turned his gaze to the smug Yilib then to the religious courtiers. Years of their pleasing proclamations dampened Caedmon's call to repentance and rekindling of devotion to the Elder. Realizing his plea fell on deaf ears and hardened hearts, the Faithful Voice continued - intensity building in his words.
"Thou sayest, 'I am rich, and increased with goods, and have need of nothing;' and knowest not that thou art wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked. But if ye wilt rebel against the commandment of the Elder, His hand shall be against you! Thou hast trusted in thine own ways and art wearied in the multitude of thy counsels. Let now the convenient stand-up and save thee from these things that shall befall thee. The Manifestation-"
"ENOUGH!" interrupted the incensed Yilib as he marched down from the royal platform. His ringed index finger pointed at Caedmon as he approached the old man. With condemnation, he spoke at Caedmon with a sharp, cutting tone full of indignation and piety.
"Hate! Intolerance! Bigotry! Prejudice!"
Yilib's words shot out quickly as he approached the unwanted messenger.
"Despite years of your narrow vision, we have learned to accept the many paths to the source of life, not only The Manifestation. The Sect is my way to the Elder, but we realize it is but one path and not of greater value or purer than another."
"I have not come to debate thee, Yilib," Caedmon replied.
"Good," Yilib responded, adding a hushed, "and wise." Loudly he continued, "I don't see why your stubbornness persists. We serve the same god."
"Your god is the Sect, Yilib. Mine is the Elder, an
d He is a jealous God."
Indignant, Yilib began circling Caedmon in a wide arc, projecting so everyone could hear.
"You can be welcomed in this hall again, Caedmon - your errors forgiven. Turn from your intolerance; turn from the Narrow Way and take your place as an equal."
Yilib paused. Looking at the isolated figure, he awaited a response, but Caedmon remained silent.
"Let us not argue," Yilib continued. "Let us join together. There is a place for you in this new day. We have changed so can you; it's not too late. Return to us. Come to a place where compromise, not conflict, is the way. Come to our place of brotherhood. Let us unite in spirit, each following his own way, but accepting the other as but another path to the same truth."
Striding toward the other priests, Yilib went to conclude his speech.
"Come, return to us as an equal. Return to us accepting. Return to us valuing the other paths as no more and no less right than your narrow way... return to us."
For a long while there was no sound in the chamber. From the reaction on the faces of those assembled, it was clear Caedmon's call for repentance, and a return to the Narrow Way, had failed. He stood alone and broken-hearted. He had hoped for a word from Darius or from some of the High Councilors from the old days, but they all held their peace. Leaning upon his staff and clutching it with both hands as if a weight was bearing down on him, he stared at the floor and spoke in a low, soft voice.
"I cannot return to a place I have never been."
Since his return, Caedmon pled with the Elder to stay judgment, and was for a time appeased, but now the old man understood the coming consequences were inevitable. Raising his head, he looked to the man on the high-backed throne that glowed with inner golden light.
"When thou wast little in thine own sight, wast thou not made the head of Theera-Enty, and the Elder anointed thee king over the Realm? And the Elder set thee on the throne, but thou hast not followed His ways. Because thou hast rejected the word of the Elder, so He hath also rejected thee from being king."
