Clash of Faiths

1

A sharp pain woke Jerico from his restless slumber. Delirious, he looked about, confused as to where he was and where he was going. The ground was in motion below him, but he felt unable to move. Tied? Not tied, he realized. He was in a net made of thick rope. That was a strange place to be.

“Why am I in a net?” he asked aloud.

Something hard struck his head, and he screamed. Colors danced before his eyes, and someone spoke, though the words were just a jumble compared to the ringing in his ears. Shaking his head, he tried to remember. He’d been traveling in the North, alone on the road, when he’d met an old man. Except it hadn’t been an old man, he’d been…

“Hey, Bellok, he’s awake again.”

Jerico twisted his head to stare through the gaps in the net. There was the older man, though not as old as he’d first looked. His hair was nearly white, but he walked with his back straight, and his skin wasn’t wrinkled. He carried a staff in hand, and he waved it at Jerico.

“Another sleep spell and he might be out for a day or two. We best not risk it.”

A dull tingle alerted Jerico to the uncomfortable position of his arm beneath him. He shifted, pulling his weight off it. The movement earned him a kick in the side, which his platemail thankfully absorbed. Worse was the pain that awoke in his once-sleeping arm, feeling like a thousand ants crawling through his veins, biting him.

“Would someone like to tell me what’s going on?” he asked. His head pounded, and his stomach lurched with every bob of the net. From what he could see, the net was attached to a thick branch, carried on either side by two large men.

“Shut up,” said the big lug behind him, kicking again. This time the boot connected with his head. The world spinning, he vomited. Much fell through the gaps of the net, but some stuck to the rope, and it smeared against his cheek.

“What a mess,” the not-so-old man named Bellok said. “Don’t worry, the sickness is just a residual effect of the spell. You’ll feel fine soon enough.”

“Wonderful,” Jerico muttered. “Can I speak, or will I get kicked again?”

“Let him talk,” Bellok said. “He’s no wizard. His words can’t hurt you.”

“I just want him to stop moving,” said the man at Jerico’s feet. “He’s too damn heavy.”

“If I’d known I was going for a ride, I’d have taken off my armor.”

No one seemed amused by Jerico’s joke, which disappointed him. If he could get them to laugh, he could get them to like him. Instead he saw two brutes carrying him, neither cracking a grin, plus Bellok walking beside him. Jerico turned his attention to Bellok, figuring him the most talkative of the bunch.

“So… Bellok, right? Where am I going again? I heard rumors of Kaide being a cannibal, so before anything else, please tell me I’m not about to be roasted over an open fire.”

Bellok rolled his eyes and made a loud scoffing noise.

“Please, disgusting rumors with hardly a grain of truth. You will not be eaten, paladin, if hearing so puts you more at ease.”

Jerico relaxed. Well, if he was going to die, at least it’d be in a normal, sane way. He really didn’t want to meet Ashhur having just been someone’s substitute for dinner.

The net shifted. What had been a flat dirt path below suddenly became heavy vegetation. They passed through bushes, the thorns scratching him through the net. He thought to ask his two captors to lift him higher, then thought better of it. The last thing he wanted was for them to decide to drop him even lower instead. Bellok vanished for a minute, then returned, picking burs from his robe. Wherever they were going, it was no longer on a standard road.

“Damn forest,” the man muttered.

“So where is Kaide?” Jerico asked, more of his memory returning. Someone had spoken the name, and Bellok had confirmed it when he mentioned the cannibal rumor. If he interpreted his blurry past correctly, it had been Kaide who told the rest of the men to take him after they’d flung nets atop him and beaten him senseless. Of course, where they were taking him was another good question he doubted he’d get an answer to.

“Kaide is busy,” Bellok said, a look of distaste crossing his face.

“Shagging some young tart,” said the lug behind him. “Kaide can’t turn down a little fun whenever we pass by a village. The lasses are practically flinging themselves at him.”

“And someday one of those lasses will pull a dagger and claim herself a bounty of gold,” Bellok said, glaring.

“Why would a girl do that?” asked the other guy carrying him. “You can’t hump gold.”

Well, thought Jerico, that explained Bellok’s distaste; and also confirmed why he hadn’t gotten a laugh from either of the two lugs. He knew donkeys with better senses of humor. And wit, now that he thought about it.

“So where are we going?” Jerico asked. “I hope not anywhere fancy. I must look a mess, what with the beatings and all.”

“For someone an inch away from death, you seem in rather good spirits,” Bellok said.

“Anything to stave off that final inch.”

For once, Bellok smiled.

“You’ll definitely be one of our more amusing captures, of that I’m certain.”

Jerico fell silent. Well, this Kaide person had had captives before. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

“What happened to the other captives?” he asked.

The lug behind him leaned down, and his foul breath washed over Jerico.

“We ate them.”

Jerico shifted his weight again, this time waking up his other arm and reigniting similar pain throughout the sleeping limb.

“Fantastic,” he muttered.

He kept quiet as the minutes passed, spending the time in prayer with Ashhur. He didn’t feel in any immediate danger, and his god gave little warning in his mind. Strange… the two captors carrying him were on the slow side, but they didn’t seem particularly vile, beyond their smell. Bellok was intelligent, and appeared to take no joy in the situation. What had happened to the rest who had beaten him, though? They probably deserved a good walloping of Ashhur’s mercy, and by god, he’d be glad to give it…

“We’re here,” Bellok said.

Jerico found himself unceremoniously dropped to the ground, landing hard on the twisted root of a tree. Biting down his cry, he pulled aside the net to stand. Both big lugs had drawn swords, and they pointed them at him. Jerico frowned. The men might be stupid, but they certainly took care of their weapons.

“Nothing funny,” said one. “You run, we gut you.”

“He won’t run,” Bellok said, gesturing for Jerico to follow.

Jerico didn’t have the heart to tell him he was a bad judge of character. Instead he took in his surroundings, which were meager. Deep in the forest, it appeared Kaide’s men had built a small cluster of homes in cleared areas of pine. They were small, a single floor with one or two windows and a door. They looked like a strong storm could blow them away.

“Cozy,” Jerico said as Bellok led him toward the nearest of the homes.

“This is no time for joking,” Bellok said, glaring. “If you value your life, you will listen and respond in an appropriate manner. Griff, Adam, you two guard the door.”

“What if he tries something funny?” one of them asked. Whether it was Griff or Adam, Jerico hadn’t a clue. Now that he was free of the net, the two looked like brothers, if not twins. Only the scars across their faces and arms failed to match.

“I may not care for Ashhur, but I know how his warriors behave. Don’t worry. Inside, paladin.”

Jerico stepped inside, Bellok following. The house was dim, lit only by the open window. A fire burned in the fireplace, the smoke drifting up a small chimney. In one corner was a bed, and lying atop it was a young woman buried up to her neck in blankets. A man sat beside her on a stool, his grey hair tied in a ponytail. There was something familiar about him, his hardened face lurking in some recent memory…

“Kaide,” Jerico said, remembering that man’s face peering down at him, ordering the rest of the men to take him. “You’re their leader?”

The man stood, tearing his attention from the woman. His eyes were red, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Forgive me for our first meeting,” he said. “But you have no choice in this matter, and neither do I. Sandra is dying. I need you to save her.”

Jerico approached the bed, making sure he kept his movements calm. Two long dirks hung exposed from Kaide’s belt, their edges wickedly sharp. Jerico still wore his platemail, but unarmed, he’d be at a serious disadvantage if this Kaide knew at all how to wield those blades. Given his reputation, Jerico had a feeling he did. Trying to put such things out of his mind, he turned his attention to Sandra. Her skin was pale, her forehead beaded with sweat. Her hair was also grey, almost silver. No doubt if the color returned to her face, and her small lips smiled, she’d be beautiful. Removing his gauntlets, he set them on the floor.

“What is wrong with her?” he asked, pulling his gorget off his neck and putting it beside his gauntlets.

“She’s been burning with fever for days,” Kaide said.

“Sandra cut herself on some thorns,” Bellok added. “Just regular cuts, but they’ve grown infected, and no matter what we do, it continues to spread. Check her arms, if you wish.”

“You could do nothing?” Jerico asked.

“I’m good at destroying things, not fixing them,” Bellok said, frowning.

“My sister is not a thing,” Kaide said, a hard edge in his voice. Jerico found himself impressed by the sheer authority it carried.

“Quiet,” he said. “Let me have a few moments of silence.”

Jerico pulled down the blanket. Sandra slept in her shift, the short sleeves leaving her arms exposed. He took one in hand and turned it, looking at the marks. The skin around them had gone purple, the cuts themselves angry and red. No wonder she’s overwhelmed with fever, he thought.

“Can you heal her?” Kaide asked as Jerico closed his eyes. The bandit’s voice was soft, but had no hesitation, no quiver. This was a man who had seen death, and often.

“I can do nothing,” Jerico said. “All I do is through Ashhur, and I assure you, nothing is beyond him.”

He closed his eyes and prayed. He felt the closeness of his deity, and warmth spread across his hands. Clutching Sandra’s arm, he pictured the healing light plunging into her skin, banishing the wounds, and pouring a cold fire across her fever. The woman shivered at his touch. A ringing sound filled his ears, then his prayers completed, and everything went silent. Dizziness overcame him, and he leaned against a wall to remain standing. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes to see the results.

Sandra still slept, but the cuts on her arm were but faded lines, soon to be nothing but scars. Already her skin had warmed in tone, and her sleep looked restful instead of pained.

“You did it,” Kaide said, a smile crossing his face.

Jerico chuckled. “Not I, remember?”

Kaide waved a dismissive hand. Jerico stepped aside so the man could rejoin his sister. As he held her hand, Jerico plopped to a sit, still feeling dizzy. It sure didn’t help that his entire body ached from the clubs that had beaten him, as well as the kicks from Griff and Adam. Bellok patted Kaide on the shoulder.

“I’ll go tell everyone she’ll be fine,” he said.

Kaide nodded, and then the wizard left.

“So, Kaide,” Jerico said, feeling like he should resume conversation. He wasn’t sure what his current predicament was, and he wanted to get a far better idea. “I’m surprised you were here. Your, uh, men gave me the impression you were… occupied elsewhere.”

A grin tugged at the corner of Kaide’s mouth.

“There are twenty women who will readily claim to have bedded me tonight. Makes it difficult to track my whereabouts, wouldn’t you think?”

“You keep this secret from your men?”

“Would you trust those two with any plan of yours?”

Jerico shrugged. Good point.

“Well, now that your sister is better, I feel like I best be going.”

Kaide squeezed Sandra’s hand, kissed her fingers, and then stood.

“No,” he said, his hand falling to the hilt of a dirk. “I’m afraid that’s not the case.”

Jerico tensed. “I will tell no one of this place. Whatever you are, I will bear no ill will, especially since what was done to me was to save a loved one… even if you could have just asked.”

“I fight a war,” Kaide said, and he gestured toward Sandra. “And in a war, you don’t let go of any advantage. Griff, Adam, get in here.”

The two stepped inside, surrounding Jerico.

“Oh, hey boss,” said one. “Didn’t know you was back.”

“I am,” Kaide said. He stared at Jerico, watching, waiting. “Please, take Jerico to his room, and make sure the locks are tight. He’s to be fed and well-treated.”

“No beatings?” asked the other.

“No beatings.”

“Much appreciated,” said Jerico.

They each grabbed him by an arm and led him from the house. Nearby was another building, this one noticeably lacking any windows. The two lugs shoved him inside and slammed the door shut. He heard a loud thud, most certainly a bar of some kind locking into place. The door had a single slit, and the room dimmed as someone stood before it, grinning.

“We’ll treat you like royalty,” he said, laughing. “So take your royal shits in that corner with the bucket, and you’ll get your royal meal at sundown. That’s when we’ll take the bucket.”

The slit closed as something pressed over it, sealing Jerico in darkness.

“Well,” Jerico said, scratching his neck. “I think I preferred the wolf-men. Thanks, Ashhur.”

He leaned against the wall opposite the bucket, closed his eyes, and slept.

*

D arius stood in an open field, facing the west. The sky was an ugly yellow and filled with clouds. They growled with thunder, and lightning streaked pale blue across the horizon. Wind blew against his bare skin, for he was naked as the day he was born. He wished for his sword and armor, but didn’t know where they were.

Darius, cried the thunder, its rumbling forming an unearthly voice, cold and deep. He saw a face in the clouds, and it was the face of his god.

“Karak,” Darius said, falling to his knees. “Forgive me my failures, but my faith is only for you!”

The face laughed. No mirth. No amusement. Only contempt.

Strong of faith, yet without wisdom, and full of doubt. You bow to me, but then ignore my words. You swear allegiance, and then disobey. You are nothing to me, Darius. Once you were, but no longer.

“No,” Darius cried as the wind howled, stealing away his voice. “I will not be abandoned! I will not die as I am! I have served you, every day I have served you!”

Then obey!

The clouds formed a funnel, which struck the far distant plains. It grew, wider and wider, until it stretched for miles. The sound of its approach was like that of a thousand dragons roaring in fury. Before it, Darius felt small, pathetic. He begged and wept for salvation, but the swirling grey monster tore into him, shredding his skin and striking him with stones. His feet left the ground, and then he was flying, flying…

His screaming woke him in his bedroll. At some point his thrashing had knocked his blankets aside, and he shivered in the cold night air. Above him, the stars twinkled through the naked interlocking branches. No clouds. No storm. Nearby, his campfire had died down to embers. Rolling over, he meant to add kindling and wood, but then it burst to life. In the newly granted light, he saw a dark-robed man sitting beside it, his legs crossed beneath him.

“Nightmares, Darius?”

Darius startled, and he grabbed his sword despite knowing it would do no good. He’d struck this man before, only to watch the steel bounce off pale skin as if it were made of stone. Velixar, Karak’s prophet, laughed as if he were privy to his thoughts.

“Is that how you work?” Darius asked. “By interfering with my dreams?”

“At times, yes,” said Velixar. “But not tonight. Do you think I would take an interest in you without reason? Karak watches you, and he gifts you with his divine presence. You should be honored.”

The prophet poked at the fire with a stick, as if he had suddenly forgotten Darius was there. Darius watched him for a moment, trying to decide if he lied or not. The man’s face, pale, thin, and lit by red eyes that glowed with fire, changed with every passing second. By the time he turned around and smiled, he appeared a new man, his cheeks wider, his lips thinner, and his chin longer. The eyes remained the same.

“What did our Lord say?” asked the man with the ever-changing face.

“He wished me to obey.”

“As I said you would one day.”

Darius glared.

“He said to obey him, not you. You do not speak his will. You’ve led us astray, all of us. You’re a relic, a man lost in a different time.”

Velixar resumed poking the fire with his stick, talking all the while.

“Serve Karak through serving me. Even children can understand this concept. You have felt Karak’s fury, yet you still deny you failed him? Still believe that you know his true heart and will? You amuse me, Darius, as much as you disappoint me. Sit awhile with me by the fire.”

Reluctantly, Darius stabbed his sword into the dirt and did as he was asked. He swore the air grew colder around the prophet, and he felt his insides twist at their proximity. As he sat, Velixar pointed to the fire, where he’d drawn several runes with his stick. The flames swirled, deepened, and then suddenly opened onto a vision of another place, one also filled with shadows and fire. Standing amid a great chasm of men, his obsidian armor gleaming, was Temaryn. He wielded a flaming sword in one hand and a whip in the other.

“Do you see?” Velixar asked. “He rules in the Abyss, purifying the wretched given to our lord. I will not judge you for sending him to Karak, for his soul is secure, and he is in his place. You, however…”

Darius could not look away from the horrific image. This was the future awaiting his Order? Temaryn looked pleased enough, and he lashed the sinners with his whip while crying out for repentance and obedience. The vision changed, and he saw a hundred things that he could not remember the moment after they passed, only feel the lingering terror and anguish. Through it all, the dead marched, sang, and burned with clockwork precision. True to his god, the Abyss was a place of order above all things.

And then he saw himself, up to his knees in a lake of fire. He was naked, and bleeding from many open sores. A man in shining armor towered over him, his very skin wreathed in flame, his movements trailing shadow. Removing his helmet, this tormenter looked up from the vision and straight into Darius’s eyes. It was him, only stronger, more faithful. Darius cried out, and he tore his eyes away from the sight. Kicking his foot, he scattered the fire, ending its heat. In the sudden silence, a distant wolf howled.

“You must choose,” Velixar said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Only two fates await you, and you have seen them both. Pretend to wisdom, or bow to those with understanding. You will cleanse, or be the tormented. There is no other fate left.”

Velixar stood, stepped into the shadows of the forest, and then was gone. Darius sat there, feeling drained. Everything else he’d seen was already fading from his mind, all but that last image of himself-both versions. They stared up at him, one in pain, one lost in ecstasy. He could almost imagine them pleading for him to make the right choice…

Darius fell to his knees, bowed his head, and cried tears to his god. He begged for wisdom, he begged for guidance, but all he heard was the silence and the distant cry of a wolf.