Word of Truth

by Rhett C. Bruno

  Dellbar then knew in his heart that Iam… God... was as human as His own creations.

  As said, it was quite the tale. It had to be, considering the ambush of Latiapur hadn’t even made it into the epic. Even he could hardly believe the journey as his horse dragged its weary hooves up the road to Hornsheim.

  He’d run out of food the day before, and his stomach was in all-out rebellion already. His vices had gotten him used to being full. Water, he could at least scrape from the light dusting of snow that reached this high region, even in the summer months. Still, he was sure that as the monks and sisters living in the small village at the foot of the monastery looked at him approaching, they’d never seen a man in such rough shape. He couldn’t see himself with his useless eyes, but he could imagine.

  Just as he could picture all of Hornsheim from his first visit long ago. The modest stone hovels of the lower members of the Order were all gathered around a grand well, the water warmed by a crystal prism absorbing sunlight. More of them hung from posts on the road, casting infinite rainbows across the pavers arranged into the shape of the Eye of Iam.

  It was quiet, its inhabitants all carrying supplies up to the monastery built into the mountainside. Its central tower carved out the peak of a low hillock so light could always filter through the open top down to the altar at its heart. Two wings curved out from along lower ridges, dotted with hundreds of little windows, each the sleeping quarters of a man or woman of the cloth.

  The quiet always reminded Dellbar of a cemetery, but he had to admit—now that he was older—there was something serene about the place. A settlement of thousands without any traders hocking wares. The Glass Kingdom provided all that they would need to live here in exchange for faith and knowledge. A sanctum in the truest sense of the word.

  The clop of his horse’s hooves echoed. So did his own ragged breathing.

  “That’s the High Priest!” he thought he heard someone whisper. He wasn’t sure how they’d recognize him. Only the chain of Eyes of Iam around his neck might have given it away.

  He and his horse gave out together, and the beast tipped over. Dellbar’s shoulder slammed against the stone, and his leg was crushed beneath it.

  He heard shouting next. Felt hands wedging their way beneath him and lifting him.

  “Iam…” Dellbar muttered. “Show yourself. Stop… hiding…”

  “I’m not,” came an answer. It didn’t sound male or female, it didn’t even sound like a voice. More like a feeling. “I am here, Glayton Morningweg. I have always been here.”

  Glayton… Dellbar hadn’t been called by that name for decades. He wasn’t sure anybody even knew it.

  “Yet You left after White Bridge. You let Nesilia…”

  “I let her do nothing,” He replied. “And I did all that I could to slow her.”

  “That can’t be true. Everything. Our entire lives. We dedicate them to You and… that is how You repay us?”

  “Even when the Light erases the darkness, there is always shadow. One cannot be, without the other.”

  “I don’t know what You’re talking about.”

  “The God Feud. To end the fighting. To purge the darkness. It took everything I was. Just as it took everything I am now to intervene at White Bridge.”

  “And what about my home?” Dellbar growled. Intervene. The word caught him by surprise because it was what people praying always begged for. Divine intervention. For Him to intervene in their problems. Fix them. Even though Dellbar knew that wasn’t how faith worked, it was what they always wanted. What he’d always wanted…

  “What about intervening then?” Dellbar questioned. “All those people died right in front of me, begging for You. And You did nothing.”

  “One town, or the world… I had to wait. I saw it coming, but I can see no more as My energy fades. Even this conversation is beyond—“

  “No more riddles! I felt Your fear that day. What does any of that have to do with Nesilia? Would You really let her destroy everything in her rage? Give me the strength to fight her again.”

  “It took so much Light to erase the darkness. Nesilia… My love… she thought I’d left her for eternity, but I simply couldn’t reach her after the end. My Light brought peace, and the darkness grew within her. Letting her go was My greatest mistake.”

  “That doesn’t help us.”

  “But it does. You seek to erase her army. Light and darkness, we live or die together. Bound, eternally. One cannot be without the other. And one cannot die without the other. Put faith in the Light, and fade to shadow with them. It is the only way.”

  “You’re not making any sense! Help us!”

  “My word is true. I wither now. Helpless to do anything but watch. It’s in the hands of My children now… Erase My mistake. This world is yours…”

  “Iam!” Dellbar screamed. Only this time, the word screeched through his lips, and his body bolted up. His throat was so parched and hoarse it stung.

  Soft hands promptly patted his stomach and pressed him back against a cushion.

  “Your Holiness, there you are,” an old man said. “You’re awake.”

  “It was a dream?” Dellbar asked.

  “A dream? Sure, it must have been, Your Holiness. They say you and your horse collapsed outside, and you must have hit your head.”

  The way the word Holiness rolled off the old priest’s tongue like he’d had a taste of rotten stew, Dellbar knew this was real now. None of the elders had been happy to select him as High Priest, but after the miracle of giving Torsten his sight back, they had no better choice.

  “I need to get up,” Dellbar said. He pawed to find the floor, then flattened his palm against the cold stone and pushed. The priest gently pushed him back down.

  “No, you need to rest. And drink water. I don’t understand, how is it you came to be this way?”

  “Do you all live under a rock? Latiapur was a trap! The city has fallen, and our army is in retreat to Yarrington. We must signal the Order. Every priest and monk and sister in Pantego must hurry to the capital at once.” He leaned up again. This time, when the priest fought it, Dellbar clutched his wrist and twisted. The old man’s soft bone creaked as he released a pathetic whimper.

  “Yarrington?” asked another elderly man, shuffling in from Dellbar’s left. “What use would we have there?”

  “To help fight the Buried Goddess, you dolt.” Dellbar unhanded the first priest and shoved him away.

  The man groaned, then said. “More with that lunacy? Her cultists were thwarted at Mount Lister.”

  “I saw her myself,” Dellbar said.

  “In another dream?”

  Dellbar overheard a few chuckles.

  “All these rumors and lies are the work of her followers. We mustn’t fall prey to them. We answer Iam’s call here.

  “No, you’ll die here,” Dellbar said.

  “Your Holiness,” the most elderly-sounding voice yet began, the title sounding even more pitiful from his lips. “You are young…”

  Dellbar scoffed. Young… he carried more than four decades upon his shoulders. Just because he wasn’t knocking on the Gate of Light didn’t make him young.

  “…and I believe you will grow into a High Priest worthy of your predecessor,” the man continued. “But rumors of all types of madness spread every day. If it is true that we were betrayed at Latiapur by the heathen Shesaitju, then we must pray for the safe return of our brothers.”

  “It has nothing to do with them!” Dellbar shouted.

  “Unfortunately, it always does these days. Now please, you look like Elsewhere frozen over. Get some rest. I could have one of the sisters fetch you wine if you’d like?”

  More snickers sounded from the old lechers. Dellbar bit his tongue, then shook his head. “Just water.”

  “Good. I’m glad to see you all right, Your Holiness. When you rode up… we feared the worst. Perhaps a chance to… uh… clean your body will be good. Hornsheim is here for you. May the Light of I
am shine upon you always.”

  “You think…” Dellbar couldn’t finish. Instead, he started to cackle. It wasn’t surprising. Secluded up here in the mount, led by men without eyes, of course, they thought it was Dellbar’s drinking that brought him here. Only suppliers and traders brought news, and they were in short supply with Nesilia in power across the eastern mainland.

  “Your Holiness,” came a soft voice, then a knock at a door. “I have water for you.”

  “Bring it in,” he said, waving.

  The sister neared, and he heard the tray rattling.

  “Please,” he said. “Can you place it in my hand? Those insufferable old bats are right about one thing, my head is killing me, and my ears are ringing.”

  She gently placed the cup in his hands like she was afraid of breaking him. Then she bowed away. He stayed there, feeling the cool droplets course along his fingers as they dripped down the side.

  It was clear she was frightened of being around him. Ever since being named High Priest, he’d been on the road amongst soldiers, or in Latiapur with foreigners. He hadn’t spent any time amongst the people or with his Order, but this was how they saw him. A drunk. A man, chosen by Iam for reasons they didn’t understand, and deep down, resented him for.

  Nearly as much as he resented himself.

  “I should’ve kept Lord Jolly with me,” he grumbled. “Who’d ignore him?”

  “What was that, Your Holiness?” the sister asked.

  “Nothing. And please, just Glayton.” He lifted the water to his lips and took a few sips. It was cold, like everything else up here. Stinging his throat all the way down like a rope of icicles.

  “I… uh… Glayton?”

  “Oh, right. I don’t know why I said that.” That was a lie. Even still, the words spoken to him by Iam in his dream resonated within him. Deafening. “Dellbar,” he went on. “Father Morningweg. Whatever you’d like. Anything but ‘Your Holiness.’”

  “Yes… Father…” she said, ample hesitation before choosing which name to use. He heard her footsteps leaving, then stop. “Father, are you all right?”

  “Would you be, with death and darkness closing in from every direction? Whatever you overheard, it’s all true, Sister. I’m not drunk. I haven’t touched wine in… months now. Oh, how I wish I even had the desire.”

  “Well, that’s very good, Father.”

  “Is it? If nobody will listen to me anyway, why care?”

  She stepped up again, and her footsteps were harder, more confident. “I was there, in Yarrington, when you caused a miracle. Then, at White Bridge… Sister Nauriyal, I’m sure you don’t remember. You just seemed like you were in so much pain… I hope you’re better. My father, he never stopped drinking.”

  “Bartholomew Darkings’ daughter? I remember. I’m so sorry you had to witness that.”

  “So am I…”

  He sat up. “That means you saw what happened. Iam—“

  “No, we were behind the gates. But we heard many things. That you summoned the power of Iam’s Light in another miracle to defeat a cursed upyr. Some said Nesilia attempted to rise again. I’m not sure. When we returned here, everyone figured it was soldiers telling grand tales. They do tend to exaggerate.”

  “Yes, they do.” He braced himself, then pushed to his feet. Blood rushed to his head and made him wobbly, but Nauriyal quickly raced to his side and took his arm.

  “Your Holin… Father, you shouldn’t.”

  “I’m fine. Just hold my arm. Young Nauriyal Darkings. Another child of Iam who doesn’t belong here and who nobody would ever believe, thanks to a father she didn’t choose. What if I told you that all the stories being told of White Bridge happened, all at once. And that the only lie is that I performed a miracle. I didn’t do anything at all.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Father. I’ve been with the church for a year and honestly… you’re a breath of fresh air.”

  He smiled. “Then, you clearly haven’t smelled my breath.” He started to walk, leaving her no choice but to loop his arm and guide him.

  “Father, please, I don’t want to get in any trouble.”

  “You won’t. As your High Priest, I order you to accompany me, Nauriyal of…”

  “Bridleton.”

  “Ah, there, I believe I knew that, didn’t I? You know, they sent a letter to me to take up the priesthood there once.”

  “And?”

  “I didn’t answer. Far too warm for my blood.”

  They reached the opening. He could tell by the sound of footsteps and the chilly draft.

  “Here, Father. Your staff.” Nauriyal unfolded the fingers of his right hand and placed it inside. He gave it a few good taps. An unremarkable stick or an ornate staff adorned with a crystal orb worth more than a small village—it didn’t matter. It all worked the same for him, and this particular cane with its Eye of Iam carved into the top earned him a shred of beleaguered respect.

  “Thank you. But please, stay with me. I need you to take me to the Chamber.”

  “For what?” Nauriyal asked.

  “We need to gather all of the writings on demonic possession that we can find.”

  “Demonic… possession?”

  “Yes, my dear. While these old men have been locked up here praying and worrying about the Shesaitju, the Buried Goddess has been quite busy breaking open and emptying Elsewhere. She’s possessed thousands of men and women in the East… and I fear, killed thousands more.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “Quite. Yet still, undeniably true.”

  Her grip on his arm tightened. She said nothing but continued leading him down Hornsheim’s stone halls. Every clack of his cane echoed loudly against the stark, unadorned walls.

  Hornsheim was designed for blind old men with walking sticks. A simple layout, easy to memorize. Dellbar could remember it from even back when he was but a lowly monk and still had sight of his own. He didn’t need Nauriyal to help him find the stairs down to the Chamber of Light—a library buried beneath the central altar. It was nice to have someone with him, however. Made him look like he was just trying to stretch out his limbs while he recovered.

  Every soul who passed greeted him with a ‘Your Holiness.’ They stopped and bowed and, he imagined, circled their eyes in prayer, even if they didn’t respect him. It helped him understand why the elders who fought to be named the next High Priest coveted the position so. A lifetime of dutiful service and serving the whims of their unseen God… it was a chance to finally be seen.

  Dellbar listened as they moved, ears attuned to even the tiniest of sounds. By the way voices carried upward, he knew they passed the central altar. A low chorus of murmured prayers rippled like waves along a beach.

  Then stairs, lots of stairs, spiraling down into the earth. The irony wasn’t lost to him that the Holy Order kept their most prized writings down where their enemy was buried.

  He was reminded of Iam’s words from his dream. “One cannot be without the other.” The simplicity of that statement astounded him. Despite bearing witness every single day to nightfall, the church existed to bring Iam’s Light to all corners. Even the holiest of days, the Dawning, celebrated the rising of the sun from a year’s last night.

  “He had to mean something else,” Dellbar said to himself.

  “Who did?” Nauriyal asked.

  “What? Nobody.”

  “Do you always talk to yourself?” she asked. While the words sounded rude, her tone didn’t. It was an honest question from an honest person. A woman who never hid her horrid origins even when nobody here would have asked.

  “No different than praying.”

  “Father!” she yelped.

  “What?” he said. “Do you really believe Iam has the time to listen to all of us?”

  “You’re a very unusual High Priest, do you know that?”

  “Well, how many have you met?”

  She fumbled over an answer. Not long after, their feet slapped down on a rough s
urface. The chill down in Hornsheim’s undercroft was unmistakable. Not only books and scrolls dwelled down here, but crypts for hundreds of people of the cloth who’d spent their lives in service dating back to the God Feud.

  All the knowledge they might have known, preserved only by a few who wrote things down. Dellbar almost wished he was an ancient necromancer that could bring them back to life and interrogate them. How did they defend against dark magic when such a thing was prevalent—when mystics performed experiments that defied all sanctity of life?

  “Sister Nauriyal, what are you doing here?” asked yet another old man. Keeper Jorlin, was his name. Around even when Dellbar was young. The way his voice wheezed through his lips, he was probably around when half the tomes were written.

  “Keeper Jorlin, His Holiness, High Priest Dellbar has asked me to collect all writings on…” She cleared her throat and looked to Dellbar, who nodded. “…Demonic possession.”

  “Has he? And what need would anyone have for those?”

  “More need than collecting dust down here,” Dellbar said.

  It was now Jorlin’s turn to clear his throat, and his had far more phlegm. “Those are prohibited texts. I—“

  “Will adhere to the wishes of your High Priest. I assure you, it is Iam’s work.”

  “I… yes, Your Holiness. Sister Nauriyal, would you care to help me? They should be in the backroom. And please, grab the torch, but be careful with it around the old parchment. These old eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

  “At least you have them,” Dellbar remarked.

  Jorlin muttered someone under his breath. Nauriyal hesitated to let Dellbar go, but he shooed them along and leaned on a column to wait. He didn’t last long. Noticing a rhythmic clank echoing from down a hall, his tired legs began limping that way.

  He tapped his staff along the floor in time with the sound until he found a path where the unmistakable sound of iron on stone grew louder, only, nobody mined down here.

  “Aye, ye can’t be down here!” a man shouted from a bit up the hall, his accent distinctly of South Corner, Yarrington.