Heresy: The Book of Mammon

Chapter 25

Chapter 25



The dawn brought little warmth to skies that loomed over the dark, rolling sea below. Rays of the first light illuminated the dense fog in golden hew. It was as though they sailed through fire. The more the headed into the unknown, the more dense it became. What was once nothing more than light mist grew to thick, almost tangible shrouds of heavy moisture. The oppressive fog wrapped its smoky fingers around him as Judaes stood next to the helm.

Dark clouds obscured his vision. He was exhausted. It had been well over a week since he’d had more than an hour of sleep, and now it closed around him like a vice. It was all he could do to not collapse there on the cold, moist wood of the quarter deck.

First Officer Fasad still manned the helm. He stared out into the misty voids of the skies. He couldn’t tell if he focused on anything, but his eyes never drifted from where he watched.

“What message do you be wanting to send?”

The exarch brushed the cold droplets from his waistcoat. “I wish to send word to Abbadin. I need to tell him of our idea.”

“What idea would that be?”

His eyes fell upon the falcon that roosted. “It’s time we cut the legs from under our enemy.”

“An attack from within?”

“Yes.”

Fasad shifted his eyes to him. “What can one man be doing against an army?”

“That is the point. They would not expect such a thing. He can do more damage alone, than a thousand men could do together.”

The first officer nodded. “I be seeing your point, but I don’t think there be much chance of success.”

“That may be the case, but we should take advantage of the situation while it is still here. We have an ally on the inside, behind the gaze of Ecclesia. They do not fear an attack inside their walls.”

“Pride be a dangerous weakness.”

“Exactly.”

“Very well. You be having our permission to send the message.” His focus returned to the mist beyond.

Hope remained. The wheels of war were turning ever against them, but now they had hope. It could very well be little more than an unguided chance, but he had to try. An attack in force was as hopeless as draining the oceans, he knew that. From what Papal had told him, their numbers were beyond measure.

Their only hope, was stopping the fires that fueled the engine of war. One man could do little against the enemy, but swaying the minds of the people was not a complicated process. Men were easily placed in their beliefs, and it was every bit as easy to turn them to a new path. Zealots of the Ecclesiarchy were one thing, but the masses were an entirely different matter. Their beliefs were fragile if not non-existent.

The Divinity failed to recognize their hardships on more than one occasion. Surely, the people were weary of their rule. If Celestine cast aside the fabrics that spun the wheels of the Ecclesiarchy, then it was all the better. It was human nature to live free. Tyrants ruled for quite some time, but history never changed from the fact that eventually all autocrats fall. The ripples caused by their many crimes against humanity become waves. No matter how powerful they are, and no matter how many they command, people tear free of their bonds. Nobody lives as a slave forever. Nobody.

Much had to be done, and he knew that such methods of communication would not carry any hope of success. He needed a better way; a faster way.
He knew of only one. The gateways. Valimaar had most likely destroyed the Ecclesian gateway, but there had to be others. Valimaar had told him of the many places they led. Papal shared with him his limited knowledge and it was possible that many other gateways stood. There had to be more.

If there was another in Ecclesia, he could step through and send word himself. Perhaps he could accomplish much more in the ways of inciting insurrection than a Wytch that had little welcome among the people of the north. There was little choice. He had to find a way.

***************

They do not rest Judaes.

His eyes opened. Cold, sharp whispers lingered in the shroud of gray light. Perhaps it was nothing but a dream, but he could not be sure. His breath rose from his lips in small, smoky puffs. The cold from outside had worked its way through the shelter of wooden walls. It came upon him like a torrent of ice water. How long had been sleeping?

They will come. Eventually.

The voice was quiet and jagged. It whispered in his ear like the shattering of glass. He remembered the sound. He’d heard it months ago in Ecclesia. It was the first time he’d ever felt the grips of fear.

His stomach churned and rumbled, and small droplets of cold sweat trickled down his back. Waves of gooseflesh sent their tingly chill through his body as he sat silent in the bed and walls converged on him as he sat. His eyes scanned through the pale glow of his quarters but saw nothing.

War is unavoidable. You’ve slowed its progress, but it will still come. You cannot stop it.

What did it mean? He had not slowed the progress of war at all. Not yet. Its rippling voice stabbed at him in the dim light as he shivered. It felt as though his bones were made of ice. He drew in sharp, ragged breaths and shut his eyes to the world.

You cannot ignore me Judaes. You cannot shut me out, just as I cannot shut you out. We are one, as we have always been. Eventually, you must listen or you will fall.

His hands cupped over his ears as he lay back down in his bed. He grew weary of the distractions that stole away his rest. Whatever evil tormented him, would not have his sleep. He was exhausted. His strength had long since left him and the only thing that would return it was rest. He could fight its battle no longer.

He sighed as the whispers continued.

They will come. The bringer of war has warned you. We are not enemies Judaes. You will learn soon enough.

What bringer of war? No one warned him of anything. If anything, this voice was more a nuisance than Papal’s.

The dark ones are angry with you and the scarlet ones hunger for their birthright. You will be torn apart from both sides Judaes.

Dark ones? Scarlet ones? He was tired of the cryptic voices. They followed him wherever he stepped. They stalked him like a beast in the forest and hungered for his sanity. He could not rid himself of the torment. Since the day he killed Hashim, they spoke their ice cold words into his ears. It was the day that cold came to him in the desert, as though he could wrap himself in it like a blanket, but could not free himself of its grasp. It licked his flesh with its icy tongue and gnawed on his mind with its fangs. The cold was alive. It was more than that, it was powerful. It plagued him like a disease and stole away his strength and zeal.

Each day, the voices grew louder. They haunted his footsteps and whispered their madness to him from the dark voids of his mind.
Shadows danced in the room. They took the forms of men. He could not shut his eyes to the torment as he lay still in the bed.

We only wish to help.

“Be silent Daemon! If you wish to help, then leave me be!”

It’s icy laugh echoed through the walls of the small room. Wood creaked and groaned with it. It scratched at the walls and tore at his mind. His bed quaked and the shadows swelled in size. Eyes opened and closed, and hands reached for him in the whispering darkness. The echoes of screaming spirits rang in his ears, and needles stabbed at his flesh.

We warned you Judaes. The dead shall inherit the earth. That time is coming. The souls of the damned hunger for life. Spirits that have never seen life thirst for its blood. The engines fail and the barrier between worlds collapses. We warned you, and you didn’t listen. We only wish to help.

He remembered the voice telling him that. The dead shall inherit the earth. It was nothing more than cryptic prophecy better left to the eyes of those who understood its meanings. He was not one of those individuals. He was a warrior. Whatever wisdom it wished to share with him, was not for his aid. He knew that. The Daemon only wished to torment him. That is what they did. Though, he’d never experienced the torment himself, he knew all too well what its whispers could do. Valimaar suffered from the same corruption, and it now haunted him.

The Daemon within him finally awakened. The second prince now walked the realm of the living. Though he was strong, he knew that he could not fight it forever. Just as Valimaar wrestled with his Daemon, he would now do the same with his.

It changed the man. His actions and motivations were no longer what they once were. He knew that Valimaar was ever on the side of righteousness, but whatever haunted his spirit changed him. He did his best to not show it, but he knew him too well. One could not hide their spirit.

Whatever pushed him ever forward was not the same as it once was. He no longer fought against the Divinity. He fought for something else. Fire burned beneath his eyes, and rage spit icy wrath from his words. The wrongs that the Ecclesiarchy had committed no longer interested him. He looked beyond that. He looked before that. Vengeance against the church was not what he sought. Vengeance against Hell itself was his goal.

Would the same happen to him? Even if it did, what difference would it make? Hell too, was as much responsible for the way things were as the wicked men that manipulated the masses. Punishment needed to be delivered, and though he was now tainted by the darkness, small parts of him held their ground against the torment.

He would not allow himself to descend into its embrace. The Daemon was his enemy, and everyone else’s. Whatever warnings it spoke to him, were not to aid, but to hinder. Hell’s agenda was dark and sinister as it always had been. Daemons thirsted for life and sanity. Years spent defending against their stain had taught him that, and he would not divert his knowledge to allow it to claim him.

Darkness churned within him. Beneath his flesh, he felt its icy hands gripping his heart and mind. His blood boiled beneath the frozen layers of its corruption. Within the fabrics of his spirit, he waged his own war. The bringer of war hadn’t warned him, for he was the bringer. War was now his life, though he did not wish it. It fell upon him as it fell upon the rest of the world, only now he had another enemy – himself.