Heresy: The Book of Mammon

Chapter 7

Chapter 7



The thoughts of the man’s words rushed through his head as Valimaar made his way to the infirmary. He had trouble making sense of it all, for Heaven to be an engine was hard to believe. Though, his own faith was lost months ago, he had surmised that Heaven and Hell were nothing more than metaphors.

The thought that they were real were troubling, and the fact that Lady Elaine had found a passage that possibly pertained to their destruction was even more troubling. He had learned that prophecy was not to be taken lightly. Prophecy after all, predicted the coming of the plague, the return of the sons, and his own possession. It was something that he could not ignore.

He dwelled on the thought of releasing Ithaca. Though he was confident he could control the Daemon, it was an act he would not be willing to do again. It was a rash action that could have had dire consequences, but they succeeded in gaining the answers they sought. Still, disasters could spark from the best intentions, and what he did was inexcusable. He wondered what Lady Elaine would think if she saw what he had done. Would she fear him? She loved him, and he loved her, but it was fragile, as was any other emotion. Something like that could have easily broken such feelings.
He imagined that the people of Lokken would have just as easily broken their loose alliance for seeing such a thing occur. He risked much in doing what he did, but he succeeded. It was a risk however, that he would not be willing to take once more.

He continued on in silence as he listened to the sorrowful melodies of mourning. Dead were being buried, and wounded were being healed. It was all quite tragic, but the resolve of those around him did not falter from it. They continued on their business as they would any other day, ever willing to carry a heavier load upon their shoulders to offer rest to those that needed it.

The pounding of hammers against nails rang through the singsong as he walked. The gate was already being repaired and the damaged walls were being fixed. The attack earlier that day was not but a distant memory. It was amazing to see such discipline. They were ever mindful of what lay ahead rather than behind. He only wished that the rest of the world were as these people. It was a terrible thought knowing that at one time, he held nothing but contempt for them. Lies were a powerful weapon, often times the most powerful in the arsenal, and it was lies that made him believe that they were the enemy when in fact they were the only ally he had ever had. The Ecclesiarchy had much to answer for, and though they were an unimaginable force, he contented himself with the thought that their reign would not go unhindered.

It was now past midday, and the high sun beat down upon him as he walked. He recalled the cold that once dwelled within him. That was a time almost forgotten. It was then that he began to suspect that he had been possessed. Father Gordon’s writing had confirmed it. He recalled those days that he spent in silent hatred of his weakness.

He stared down the long road with tall buildings that lined either side. Each of them glowed a pale yellow in the midday sun that hurt his eyes when he looked upon them. Rippling waves of heat rose from the road ahead and distorted his visions. Aside from the dogs and birds that often fought for food scraps, it was uninhabited with life. The men and women of Lokken had either withdrew to their homes and stores, or busied themselves with refitting the outer defenses. It was as if he were looking down a road to death. He felt alone. Though it was a feeling that he was not unfamiliar with, it felt overbearing as he walked.

The familiar feelings of disdain did not fall upon him as he made his way to the infirmary. The comforting voice of Lady Elaine did not ring in his ears. The wisdom of the Exarch did not surge through his spirit. Only silence sang its tune to him. It was deafening.


He made his way up the old stone stairs to a second story entrance that contained the agonizing groans of men and women who were sick and wounded. He turned the latch and stepped into the room. All around him lay those that had fallen to some cruel device or another. Either from battle, exhaustion, or sickness, they lay holding back their pain.

The Expurgators gathered in a circle at the far end of the room. He could see that someone kneeled beneath them, but he could not make out the face. He saw the Exarch laying upon a makeshift mattress beside him. It did not appear that he was wounded, aside from the creases in his brow, and gritted teeth. No blood seeped through bandages or bedding that he could see, but sweat poured from his face like a river as he lay in silent agony.

He stepped closer to the gathering, and they parted to reveal a man who he had not seen since he had escaped Ecclesia. Father Papal knelt low on the floor, his hand held back a fountain of blood that poured from his shoulder.
Valimaar struggled to contain himself as he looked at the man. He recalled all of his wickedness. He had raped, tortured, and killed innocent women and children, all in the name of the Priory. Such acts were difficult to forgive, and it was one that he would never gift someone of such vile nature.

“We caught him shortly after Rialev brought the Apostolic to you.” Melchiah wiped the blood from his knife and slid it back into its scabbard as he motioned towards him.

“Bring him to his feet.”

Sirius and Cyrus gripped him underneath his shoulders and pulled him up. Father Papal winced as they lifted him.
“I come to bring you news.”

“You come uninvited priest,” Valimaar said, gripping the butt stock of his pistol.

“That may be the case, but I come nonetheless. Valimaar, I would like to speak with you alone.”

“I’m afraid I cannot allow that.”

“Listen to me! Your Exarch has been poisoned, he needs medicine that these people do not have. I’ve brought some with me. Please, allow me to help you.”

“Give me the medicine,” he said, holding his hand out.

Father Papal removed a small glass vial that contained a viscous red liquid. Valimaar was familiar with the concoction, it was a common remedy used in Ecclesia. He pulled the stopper and its sweet aroma filled his nostrils. He nodded to him. “Bascha?”

Father Papal nodded. “He’s been poisoned by a venom of some kind. I’ve been watching these new Apostolics prepare the concoction for some time. The Arbiter demanded that all Bascha plants be uprooted and burned. This is all that I could find.”

Valimaar turned to the Exarch. He shivered in silence beneath his covers while sweat continued to pour from him. Valimaar pulled the cover down and saw a large gash from his shoulder to the knuckles on his hand. It was deep, but there was no blood. It was a common occurrence for those who had been slashed with a poisoned blade. Many venoms clotted the blood, which labored the heart. It was a tool that the Expurgators used quite often.

He forced his mouth open, and poured the oozing liquid in. Small coughs gurgled as the unconscious man swallowed it unwillingly. His breathing slowed, and the shivering subsided. Slowly, blood began trickling from the wound.
Valimaar motioned for a cleric to see to the wound, and turned once more to the priest that stood before them.

“Why do you come here?”

“As I said, I bring news.”

He nodded to Cyrus and Sirius, they offered him a look of disapproval before releasing the man. Father Papal gripped his shoulder, as blood trickled down his arm.

“Leave us.”

The Expurgators shared looks of frustration, but they slowly took their leave of them. Valimaar scanned him up and down. He carried no weapons or trinkets. His robes were torn and tattered, and his once brilliant armor offered little more than a dull, rusty image of its former magnificence.

“What’s happened?”

Father Papal gazed at the Exarch before turning his attention to Valimaar. “The Arbiter has been killed. Celestine has taken his place. Valimaar, Lokken is in danger. I’ve come to warn you of the coming attacks.”

“Why should I believe you?”

Father Papal nodded. “I know that what you’ve seen me do has led you to question my intentions. Know that I regret my actions every day. I never wanted to be a part of this, but I could not sit idly by and watch this world descend into madness. I did what I had to to be among them. I wanted to learn of their intentions.”

Valimaar shook his head. “You have nothing to prove this.”

Father Papal pulled a small trinket from his pouch that hung at his side. It was wrapped in tarnished cloth. “I have this.”

He removed the coverings to reveal a metallic circle. It shined like silver in the sunlight. Around the edges, inscriptions were carved deep in its surface. They were written in the language of the scriptures. “It is the seal of Baalberith. Bring it to the Vicar Forane, she will know what to do with it.”

“What does it do?”

“It is the ninth seal of the book, that is all I know.”

Valimaar held it in his hand. It was cold as ice, and heavy like a ball of lead. He was unfamiliar with the metal in which it was cast, it was not steel or silver, but was hard, and brilliant. He placed it in his pocket and returned his attention to the priest.

“What of this attack you speak of?”

Father Papal eyed the men and women that lay in their beds. “We should speak with their leader.”

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

General Hashim looked down at the priest that stood before him. Valimaar was familiar with the stare, it was the same that the people that lined the streets gave him. It was a look of disdain – hatred. He could not blame him, the priest was his enemy. Perhaps no longer, but at one time, they all were.

He was confident that the General would accept him as one of them just as he did with the Expurgators, but this was a different situation. All Wytches were familiar with the Apostolics. They were a familiar sight to all of Arlia, for their robes, their armor, and their general stature was as recognizable as the morning sun. That was a condemning appearance for Father Papal, for the Apostolics were the primary target of the Lokken military. They led Aegis attachments, and were of the most skilled warriors on the battlefield. Killing them was of the highest priority.

The priest did not falter in his stature or his claims. His fingers fidgeted with one another. Valimaar imagined that he was merely trying to maintain a ward against the numbness the bindings had certainly placed upon his hands. He had aided the Expurgators, but he was still a risk, and the suspicions never rose from the man. Regardless if he was as he claimed he was, the most devout members of the Divinity were not easily swayed from their beliefs or their zeal.

“You are certain of the size of this force?” His voice carried waves of heat. It singed the air as it escaped his lips.
The priest nodded. “Beyond any doubt.”

“And what of our defenses?” His attentions turned to Valimaar.

“I do not see any way to repel such an attack.”

“General, this city must be evacuated. “

The general slammed his fists on the table. “We will not abandon this city! We be the only thing standing between Ecclesia and the Capitol.”

“General,” Valimaar said as he stepped closer. “I agree with the priest. We do not have the men, we should rally in the capitol, send out runners to every city requesting their aid. Surely they will listen to you.”

The General shook his head. “That will not do Valimaar. I respect your thoughts in this matter, but you be a warrior, not a strategist. We cannot allow this city to fall. It is the only region that still has a foothold in the north, our neighboring cities have already fallen.”

This was certainly news. He was not aware of any defeats, as far as he knew, this was the only attack that Lokken had received.

“You’ve elected to not inform us, or your people?”

“I thought it would dishearten the only defenders we have left. Morale be a powerful weapon, but when it falls, it be wicked enemy.”

Valimaar shook his head. “General, you will not be able to contain this news forever. Surely the dirigible Captains will learn of the fall of the other northern forces.”

“I be aware of this Valimaar, but we be alone in this battle.”

“Send word to the neighboring sovereignties. Surely we can convince one of them to help us.”

“The other sovereignties are under their own attacks.” Father Papal turned to him. “Celestine has ordered the eradication of all the outlying lands.”

“How is it possible to wage a war on so many fronts?”

“He has the aid of the Daemons. Every army has fallen against them, this one will be no different.”

“This one be Lokken, priest. We be more advanced than any army that you have seen before.”

The priest nodded. “That may have been the case, but Celestine has ordered the creation of many new weapons.”

Valimaar nodded. “We witnessed it today General. They have armored behemoths that roll across the sands. What do you think destroyed the walls and the gate?”

“Those are not the only things Ecclesia has created. You’ve only seen a small force with limited resources.”

“They not be having the Gyroscopes.”

“Surely there must be a sovereignty that has yet to fall. The world is too big to simply conquer it in a matter of months.”

“There is one.”

“Could they be helping us?”

The priest shook his head. “I doubt they will lend much aid. They are a backward people. But Ecclesia has overlooked them. The Arbiter feels that they do not pose a threat to his plans.”

“Where is it?”

“In the southern seas. It is the sovereignty of Xalimfal.”

“Xalimfal be a society of blood drinkers and brutes.”

“Perhaps brutes are exactly what we need,” Valimaar said.

“Perhaps brutes are exactly what we need. I suggest that we send word to their leaders.”

“I’ll see that it’s done but it be a waste of time. They will not listen to us.”