Heresy: The Book of Mammon

Chapter 27

Chapter 27



The words rang through her thoughts as she read. Lady Elaine sat at the small wood table in the cabin. Her head hung over the book and her vision clouded. She’d spent hours hovering over the writings. Ithaca lived within Valimaar, she had to know what could be done. It had to be in the pages.
Translations melded together in blurry chaos as she read. Father Gordon had spent years reading and translating the ancient language. Though it was as clear as the sun in the sky, it was not at all helpful. She knew though, the book itself was the language of prophecy. Prophecies were polluted with riddles that required thought and understanding. The truth was here beneath the words. She only needed to find it.

She turned the page and her eyes fell upon the words. They burned in her. She remembered seeing them once before. It was the prophecy that Azazel and Peymon carved into their victims. Memories of the mutilated priests and bishops coursed through her mind as she read. It was the first time she’d read it since then, and still the visions were as strong as they were then.

Her finger slid across the raised ink on the pages. Father Gordon’s writing scribbled along the sides of the page. As clear as hot flames, it revealed its secret.

The culling of a thousand thousand innocent souls, bright and pure shall invoke the wake of the betrayer of man. In the torrent of his wrathful return…

The words stopped. He told them he had never finished translating the words, for the end of the verse was faded and stained to the point that she could not read it. Still, she remembered the final saying.

The dead shall inherit the earth.

It echoed in her mind. The truth hid beneath its cryptic writings. Somewhere in the mass of forgotten knowledge, the answer was there.

She remembered those days so long ago. The plague tore through Ecclesia like a knife. Faces of its victims clouded her vision in a blurry haze. They searched for the answer then, and found nothing. Father Gordon led them to this book. He had to know the truth. Why then, did he not tell her?

She turned the page, and the visions continued. Echoes of the screaming souls burned through her thoughts as she read on. His writing was jagged and sharp. She could tell, his hand was shaking when he wrote the translation that marked the side of the pages. It wasn’t a shiver, this was far too abrupt and unsteady. The writing was hurried and frantic, as though he knew it would be the last time he wrote.

He was right. This was the final page of his translations. Beyond, unknown scripture and prophecy filled the book. She had translated bits and pieces of it, but not nearly as much as he had in his time. This was his final act of heresy against the Divinity.

The fabrics will tear, and all lights shall cast a shadow.

The darkness shall consume, and the angered spirits shall step through the rift.

Those that are dead shall hunger for the living,

And those that have not seen life shall thirst for its blood.

Those that carry the mark shall bring forth the darkness.

And what was and is, will burn in their wake.

With the feast of ignorance laid upon the altar

The new world will rise from the flames.

The words sent icy fear through her body. She closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath before reading his notes.

The ninth son and his army shall claim the world for their own. The scarlet ones, in their thirst for powers that were stolen from them, shall cause the collapse of the earth.

Her eyes scanned over the writings. The verses said nothing of the final writing. This was his own understanding of it. How could he read through the veil of mystery to learn this? Was it even true? Father Gordon was a wise man, even after they captured him. Surely, this writing carried with it, the melody of truth.

Baalberith shall claim the world for his own. She knew he was the ninth son, for she had read that verse many times, but who were the scarlet ones?

She turned the page, and unguided chaos marked the pages. There were no translations of this verse. She slid her finger along the words and slowly read.

But the prodigal son, first born and young

May yet hold power over the three.

Nine years and Nine days is the time that shall be.

And his hand shall choose that which must be.

But if the stain corrupts what remains clean,

He will not hold power over the three.

Seals will be loosed and the pages will turn.

Words of lords shall be spoken and retribution will burn.

A new era will reshape water, rock, and tree

And they shall clash – the makers and the three.

She did not like the words at all. It was not a prophecy of what was going to happen. It was a prophecy of what could happen. It made no sense to her, but she was certain it spoke of two different possibilities.

There were questions that needed answering, but she hardly knew where to begin and what to ask. None knew the book like Father Gordon, and he was dead. She was the only one left that had any grasp of the words it contained, and she struggled to make sense of it.

The prodigal son had to be Valimaar. Ithaca dwelled within his spirit, and he was the first born of Azaal. It had to be him. He held power of the three, whatever that was. It did not sound like a simple number, but a dark and imposing force. Whatever the three was, she knew it certainly was not good.
She understood the seals and pages. The book it spoke of was mentioned in other prophecies. It was buried beneath the sands of time. Whatever that meant. She knew though, that she held one of the seals, or so she thought. The seal of Baalberith lay upon the table beside the book. Was one of the seals already removed, or was it something else? She could not know without help, and she knew she would find none.

She shook her head and closed the book. Her eyes filled with tears as she bowed her head. She could do nothing for anyone. This book was little more than empty words written in dead pages. She was no translator of prophecy. No one like that existed. The knowledge that was in this book was lost when Father Gordon took his life.

“You know, there’s better ways of understanding truths when you’re not focused on the problems.” Rialev’s voice echoed through the empty cabin.

“What do you mean?” She wiped away the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

He walked around the table and stood before her staring down at the book. “What have the prophecies taught you?”

She shook her head at the question. “Nothing. They don’t make any sense at all.”

A smirk slid across his face as he opened the book. He cocked his head to the side as he read Father Gordon’s notes. “You think it is impossible to decipher the words of the ancients?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I know it’s impossible.”

He shut the book and his eyes rose to meet hers. “Nothing is impossible. You’re too focused on the problem rather than the solution.”

“And the problem is, I cannot do it. How can I solve a problem that I don’t have the ability to understand?”

He plopped the book onto the table and fell into a seat. “Perhaps you don’t understand it, but others might.”

She knew his was reaching far beyond the realm of hope. The only person she knew that understood the prophecies was dead. No other person in Arlia knew of such things. “And who might those other be?”

He shrugged. “Every society has its soothsayers. Ecclesia has the Seneschals. Lokken has their Seers. Surely, Xalimfal has someone that dabbles in the arcane and unspoken.”

She shook her head. “They’re nothing more than tricks of the mind. Seneschals only reinforce that which has already been taught to the populace. Seers speak of outlandish falsehoods and make us believe they are true because we are too ignorant to see the facts that lie before us.”

“You’re saying that everything Jazira told you is a lie?” He clasped his hands as he raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’m saying that people believe what they wish. They don’t look for truths because they are afraid of what they’ll find, so they accept whatever lies are told to them in its stead. The minds of people are weak and easily led to believe whatever nonsense is handed to them. Are we not an example?”

He nodded his head. “What lies has Jazira told you?”

She shook her head. What she told her was none of his business.

He nodded. “Very well, I’ll simply suggest what you aren’t willing to accept. We’ll have ourselves a séance. Ancient words require ancient minds do they not?”

“What do you mean?”

“I was an Expurgator my lady. It was my duty to know of rituals practiced by heretics. Every society has those that whisper to the dead.”

“Do you believe that they are real?”

He smiled. “I don’t disbelieve it.”

“Why? What evidence is there to suggest that they converse with the spirits?” She felt her nails digging into her palms.

“Have you ever seen a séance?”

“No.”

He nodded. “I have seen them. The voices that speak through the person are not their own. It’s time you rid yourself of the dogmatic beliefs that the only truth there is is what we can see.”

She wanted to slap him. His words were ever insulting.

“You forget that we are no longer Divinity slaves. Forget what they told you, and look at the world with your own eyes.”

He was right. Regardless of how arrogant he could be, he was right. What the Divinity taught her remained in the back of her mind. She was told never to kill, yet she had done just that out of necessity. Perhaps time could have been spent calculating other options, but she did what she knew she was capable of.

Now, she believed exactly what she’d been taught. Seers were nothing but heretics that spewed lies, though Jazira had never spoken a single one to her. How could she reject that which she did not understand? Just as the prophecies that lie within the pages of the book, the men and women that walked the earth had their own mysteries and beliefs.

She nodded. “We’ll have to do some searching when we arrive.”

He stood and walked toward the door. “I know heresy when I see it my lady. If it’s there, we’ll find it.”

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

The clouds of the heavy mist parted and thinned as the ship pushed onward. The crew of the ship scattered and darted about the deck as shadowy mountains stood in the distance. Men carried long rifles and swords as they clamored about. The clattering and clanging was enough to make her head ache from the noise.

Muffled ruckus echoed from beneath her feet as cannons were readied and bombs were dangled over the sea below. Black water faded into gray and pale blue as they reached the snowy, sandy shores of Xalimfal. Icy flakes stuck to the wood of the ship and appeared as stars in the night sky. Wind blew ever harder as they approached the dark island and whipped at her clothing and exposed skin as she stood at the bow of the ship.

Her eyes watered from the harsh cold that enshrouded her. Men shivered all about, and blew hot, smoky breaths into their hands. Rialev, Papal, and Judaes stood near her, their eyes focused on the shadows ahead. Their faces signaled no emotion as they stared out into the snowy air.

Calls echoed from one end of the ship to the other, and were muffled in the howling gale. Her eyes darted about between men as they readied themselves for arrival. At the helm of the ship, she could make out the tall shadow of First Officer Fasad. Snow blurred her vision, but she focused through it. He stood at the wheel, his eyes never shifting. She wondered if he’d ever left his post, for he was always standing at the helm.

Seconds turned to minutes that turned to hours. She stood vigil at the bow of the dirigible looking down upon the shores. They stretched the length of her vision, though blurred from the snow, was still quite far. What little shore there was, stabbed abruptly into tall, rocky mountains. Their peaks reached for the keel of the ship as they floated above. It was as though she could reach out and touch them, and she felt waves of terror surge through her as they stabbed ever closer to the hull.

Dark clouds loomed above them in the fading light as she averted her focus to things less frightening. Their oppressive wisps seemed to float just out of arm’s reach, and poured icy flakes of snow onto them. What spring had come to the north, forgot this land. This place was a frozen hell.
They glided over the last of the high peaks, and below, a white plain stretched as far as she could see. Snow glimmered in the twilight and looked like powdered diamonds on the flat, frozen earth. Small lights burned in the distance like beacons. Upon the zenith of the horizon, smoke billowed into the twilight of winter’s final embrace.

The cold plains sheltered what appeared to be a large encampment. Though she could not focus hard enough to the distant lights, she knew the look. Wherever they were going, she knew people lived. They had finally breeched the mystery of Xalimfal, but she knew they still moved forward into the dark unknown.