Heresy: The Book of Mammon

Chapter 24

Chapter 24



Lady Elaine’s head hung over the old maps. Her eyes scanned across the drawings and through the fine lines of old writings. Lines and letters scattered across the stained parchment in every angle imaginable. Small drawings of trees and mountains dotted the maps and bold writings labeled each forest, mountain, hovel, town, lake and city. They weren’t like the maps she’d seen in the old texts of the Ecclesian libraries. These were not showing the expanse of the land, but rather, the navigability of the world. They were drawn specifically for flying. The uneducated man would have been dumbfounded looking at such things, but she sliced through the cluttered writings and lines and into what she sought. She cared little for wind currents and temperatures, those were irrelevant. The information she hunted was far simpler. They layouts of the land were quite accurate as far as she could tell, but those too were not what interested her.

She slid parchments aside, and turned up corners as she scanned the drawings. At the bottom of the stack of cartography, she found what she was looking for. Xalimfal was little more than a blurry outline contouring the shape of the large island. What was beyond the borders was blank and unknown. It seemed that none had ventured into the mysterious, mist shrouded lands. Still, the answer was there.

Somehow there was a way for her to get there. The sovereignty lay upon the ocean much closer to Tarkan than Lokken. That was a relief. If there was a way to get there, at least it wouldn’t take as long as they had. Dirigibles were amazing creations, but they were anything but fast. From what she’d seen, they were at the mercy of the winds, though she knew the engineering behind them most likely assumed that sailing upon the ocean of the skies would require more than acts of nature. Surely, there was propulsion; she had just not seen it.

That didn’t matter. Once they had done what they came to do, the ship would return to Lokken. She knew that. She could not request the crew to take her into the face of such danger, especially with the hot breath of Ecclesia ever burning their necks. Their homeland was in danger of invasion, and they were needed elsewhere. Where she was going, she was going alone.

There had to be a way. She was not familiar with such navigations, or strategizing, but there had to be a way. Her finger slid across the rough parchment, tracing the outline of the island to which they sailed. Stains were quite apparent against the white, or what once was white. Small waves were drawn around the sovereignty. Little stains darkened the spaces between the zigzagging lines. Her finger stopped. She leaned in closer and noticed something strange. The stains were not abrupt and accidental like the rest of the map, but rather sharp and jagged. They weren’t stains. They were writings.

Despite how hard she focused, she could not make out the letters. They were too small for even a fly to read.

Glass glistened in the dim candle light. The brass ring lay upon the rough wood table and sparkled in the light. She picked it up and spun it between her thumb and forefinger. She recognized its appearance. It was similar in design if not substantially smaller than the tubes the military used to view things in the distance. Almost every Avian carried one. She’d looked through one before. They brought the horizon to arm’s length, or so it seemed.

She placed it over the writings, and leaned in close. She was right. The writings were enormous through the glass lens. Small dotted lines traced in wavy patterns from the borders of Xalimfal, to the shores of Tarkan. Large black blots dotted the parchment, and she pulled away. Upon the shores of Tarkan, the words stood out and dark lettering.

The Port of Rivia

Tarkan was a seafaring sovereignty, that much she knew. Their fish was a valuable luxury in Ecclesia. The fish of the ocean were quite different than that of the rivers and lakes of the northern lands. They were tough and meaty like the animals that walked the grounds. Tarkan had ships.

She leaned back in and stared through the glass once more. She followed the dotted line from the port to the borders of Xalimfal. Between the drawings of the waves, letters were woven elegantly between the dark lines.

Tarkan Trade Route

Of course! Surely, if anyone maintained communications with Xalimfal, it was their neighbor upon the seas. There had to be a port in Xalimfal. If they traded with one another, surely, there was a place of commerce between the two. Perhaps she could sail.

It was a frightening thought to float upon the dark seas that rolled below in foamy chaos, but it was a possibility. It was difficult to fathom what dangers dwelled in the darkness of the great waters, and perhaps it was little more than a distant chance, but it was one she was willing to take. If Xalimfal traded with Tarkan, they had to know the waters, and she was certain that they knew them far better than she. First however, she had to convince them to help. Not only to help her, but to help Lokken – themselves.

Reason often prevailed over pride or stupidity, but the natures of humans often times puzzled her. Reason was often abandoned for darker things and pursuits. The entire world could and was plunged into chaos by desire. It was not the clear headed thinking of a man who knew what had to be done, but rather the single minded vision of power and hunger that fueled the madness that threatened them. Anyone was capable of such things, and she could only hope that the leaders of Xalimfal would overcome such things.

It would be difficult to explain the problems, but she would do her best. Regardless of whether or not they were a backward people, every spear, sword, pistol, and cannon was welcome. Intelligence was a powerful weapon, but brute strength was concrete and almost every instance, it was a reliable means to accomplishment. From what she understood, the men and women of Xalimfal were powerful folk. Not in the ways of military or weapons, but simple strength. Strength was useful.

The world had changed into steam driven ruckus. Wheels and clockworks spun their way into existence, and the great engineering of it all changed the face of the lands. What was once simple labor done by calloused hands was now complex processes powered by flames and steam. Intellect had changed the world, and armies were now driven by wheels rather than horse. Swords were replaced with guns. Still, strength was a welcome tool. When it came time to defend what little world was left, she knew that the engineering of great minds would be put aside for violent terror.

Machinery could break walls and destroy buildings, but it did little in the way of stopping the momentum of people. People were ever more reliable than machinery. Though her understanding of it all was little more than vague concepts, she had seen the great creations in action. In the end, it was men that changed to tides of battle. It was not steam, or cannons, or guns, but zeal. Courage and strength fueled the hearts of soldiers. Regardless of the tools they used, the true weapon was what lied within their hearts.

The battle was coming, and every hand was necessary in its defense. They needed Xalimfal. Her fingertip rested upon the blank void beyond the dark lines of its borders. She stared down into the mysterious emptiness and knew that the only hope they had, twisted itself in the unknown.

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

The shroud of the mist wove its hazy veil all about the ship. Judaes stared off into the dark expanse squinting his eyes to focus. Nothing. Damn this fog. He ignored the rising ruckus of the men. Wind whipped at him as he stood firm in the cold night.

Thoughts of the day’s events flowed through him. She’d finally overcome that which held her back. She cast down the things that made her human and embraced that which empowers, just as he and his brethren had been taught.

He knew that she was certainly having difficulty wrapping her hands around it all, but she was as strong as any of them. She always had been. Rialev and Papal merely awakened the strength within her. They had done a remarkable job. He’d not seen such rage since Valimaar. It was haunting how similar they were. He knew that it was obscure to her, but he was certain that Valimaar was aware of it.

It was terrible to know that somewhere, Ecclesia held him. He knew what captivity was like, though he himself was never a prisoner, he partook in the questioning. It was not the simple act of asking questions, but rather it was the breaking of the mind and body. Once the they slipped through the cracks of the mind, they could learn almost every secret that was held captive. Interrogation not only broke down the doors of secrecy, but the walls around them.

Valimaar was strong, but none could endure such methods forever, not even an Expurgator. Eventually, he would break. It was difficult to imagine it, but he knew that it would happen if nothing was done.

The message came from Ecclesia. News of his whereabouts came from a friend that found himself in the bowels of the enemy. Friends still remained in the north, but who and where they were was still unknown. The hands that grasped Lokken’s throat were strong, but they were slow. Something held the army back. Such a force could easily sweep through the desert cities, but why hadn’t it done so? It made little sense to him. Something contained the beast. Whether it was the mere politics of the Ecclesiarchy, or something much more powerful, it was there. He knew that much.

Something slowed the progress. There were powers in motion that were obscure to them all. He dwelled in the world of truth, and it was troubling to not know what truths lay beyond the veils of secrecy. They needed knowledge. What little information that Abbadin sent them, was not enough. They needed to know the innermost workings of the Ecclesiarchy. He was part of it once before, but that time was gone. He was now little more than a man in exile. The times had changed, and what once was Ecclesia was no more. It was something else now. Not a nation, but a juggernaut. The workings that spun and twisted beneath the surface were surely changed. Politics were a thing of the past. Despotism was now the currency that fueled their motivations. It couldn’t be anything else. Their progress was far too fast for it to be driven by the stalemates of hierarchy. The squabbles of priests and bishops would have slowed their advancements for an eternity. Something else was turning their wheels. They were no longer bound to the earth. Abbadin had told them that much. They were now as much a part of the sky as the Avians.

He’d seen the great mechanical monstrosities that laid waste to the city walls. He’d thought that was as far as it had gone. News of their dirigibles changed his opinions. How could they have advanced so quickly? Such discoveries in science had surely taken years if not centuries to hone and develop in Lokken. How then, could they have done it all so fast?

What advantage Lokken had in science was no more. They were equal in the fields of intellect, but Lokken was greatly outmatched in the fields of sheer numbers. They stood little chance against it. If the rest of the world had already collapsed under the weight of the beast, what chance did they have?

Xalimfal was little more than a lost hope. Regardless if they would help them or not, they still stood little chance against the might of Ecclesia. Hope faded more with each passing day. Ever more, the world faded into twilight. Soon the shroud of darkness would fall.

They needed help beyond that of men and bullets. They needed to wound the beast. Dead was better than wounded, but wounded would certainly do under the circumstances. Friends remained in Ecclesia and though they were few, perhaps they could help.

“It’s a dreadful night.”

Papal’s voice came to him and startled him from his thoughts. “Indeed.”

The priest leaned over the rails of the great ship and stared down at the darkness below. “I hope we’re out of this dreadful mist soon. I despise not being able to see.”

“As do I.”

He hated speaking to him, but he found himself welcoming the conversation. Despite the fact he was the Monsignor, he’d helped him. Trust was something he would not give willingly, but Papal stood in defense of him that day. It was an act that placed him in a new light. He may have been a priest of the Ecclesiarchy, and he may very well have done unspeakable things, but he was no different. They had all done unspeakable things for their own reasons.

Papal stood upright against the rail and scanned the dark mist. “I know you don’t enjoy my company Judaes. There are few that do, but I want you to know that I’m not your enemy.”

“That remains to be seen.” He carried no emotion in his voice.

The priest smirked. “I understand your reasons Exarch, but the fact remains, I am not your enemy.”

“I appreciate what you did earlier priest, but it was foolish.” The memory of the man defending him burned in his mind.

Papal nodded. “One death is better than two… that is true, but what would you have accomplished had no one helped?”

He shook his head. It was an arrogant question. “We need all the swords we can get. What would you have accomplished in fighting them off? We both would have died.”

The priest scratched at the smooth wood of the rail. “I suppose we have the Vicar Forane to thank. We both would be dead if not for her.”

“Indeed.” She in fact was the only reason that they still drew breath. She took action. He did not expect it, but that was the greatness of it. She’d finally awakened.

“I wish it have happened differently, but at any rate, we’re still here.”

He nodded.

“You feel that it’s all in vain?”

He hated the prodding. His questions grew from a barrage of irritation to an onslaught of annoyance. “As a matter of fact priest, I do.”

The priest sighed. “You may be right. We may have no chance against Ecclesia but we continue to fight. Why is that?”

“I don’t know. What other choice do we have?”

Papal breathed in the cold air in a large gasp. “We could lay down our weapons and let it all end. We could let them take what they want, and watch the world wither away. That of course, is not at all acceptable, but if it’s in vain, then why try?”

He struggled to contain himself. He desired deeply to push the man over the rail and rid himself of his irritating voice. “Dammit priest! We try because we care! The world is a terrible place, full of wicked men and women. Ignorance is their sustenance and torture is their religion, but still there are some that push through it all. They rise above the darkness of their souls and stand against the temptations.”

He nodded. “Exactly. There’s still good in this world Exarch. Out there in the darkness, people still hold strong against all of it. If we don’t protect them, who will?”

He shook his head. “Don’t pretend to be some beacon of righteousness. You’re as every bit as wicked as the rest of us.”

“You’re right. Every light casts a shadow. No matter what we do, evil will always linger beneath the shrouds of good. We cannot rid the world of darkness, but we can hold it at bay.”

How? Ecclesia was far beyond any chance of containment. They were a force like no other. It could not be held at bay. “We can do little more than prod at their side. We are nothing more than an obstacle to be pushed aside.”

“You don’t understand.” His eyes fell upon the wood rail once more. “Men follow their leaders because most are blind, or unwilling to think for themselves. They obey orders because they simply fear stepping beyond the confines of servitude. We were both like that once, but we are no more. Who’s to say there are not more like us?”

It was an interesting thought. He was right after all. Most men were little more than sheep following the shepherd. If they were not commanded what to do, they did nothing. Enlightenment was perhaps the true weapon. Minds were fragile and easily swayed under the right circumstances. It was a small chance, but it was a chance.

“We need a way to communicate with Abbadin.” He looked out at the cloudy shroud of the fog.

The priest raised an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”

“Rebellion.”

It was the ultimate weapon - the slayer of entire nations and the destroyer of hierarchies. The tangled web of intricacies was complex, but fragile. The slightest spark could catch flames. Pawns were weak and limited in their resources, but there were far more pawns than there were leaders. The sheer mathematics of it was daunting, but turning their weapons against them held more hope than recruiting the shattered remnants of decimated nations.

Use the devil’s own tools against him.

It was the first lesson of the Expurgators.

Papal nodded. “I was hoping you would say that.” He turned toward the quarter deck. “The falcon that delivered the message is still here. Perhaps we could use that.”

Judaes turned to face the quarter deck. The falcon sat, hooded, upon its roost near the helm. It was unreliable at best, but it certainly could be done. It managed to find them after all. The mysteries behind the Avian’s art of communicating with the birds was obscure to him, but it could be done.

He would see to it.