Requiem for a Fallen God--Ch 9-13

9



Grayson lay on the bed, running the redsteel dagger through his fingers.  He couldn’t believe the events of the last couple of days.  He didn’t know what to think.  He had been searching for the Order.  He had found the Order.  He had been hoping for a chance to put his past behind him.  He had been given just that, if only for the time being.  He was at peace.  He thought about his life up to that point.  All of the things that had happened to him over the last decade of his existence.  The pain he had felt, the tears he had shed, the things he had done and witnessed…soon maybe he would be able to put those thoughts to rest and move on.

He had it planned.  When Jonah was ready to leave the city, Grayson would ask to follow.  He would go with Jonah and join the Order.  He would fight for a noble cause, and make a name for himself.  And when the people asked who he was, he would no longer be an assassin, a villain, a bringer of misfortune.  He would be a Blade, a keeper of peace. A hero.  He laughed at his own idealism.  A hero?  Really?  But that’s what he wanted to be.  That was what he would push for.  He was still a child, a mere boy.  He was still allowed to have the occasional childish thought.  He held on to these thoughts for all he was worth, because he knew that soon sleep would be upon him and the dreams would return.





Cold, dark rock surrounded Grayson in the tunnels underneath the city.  He had spent the entire day exploring the side tunnels.  Old abandoned mineshafts were common and in great number.  His parents did not approve of this tunnel scavenging, but they accepted that he felt the call to adventure and gave their support.  Of course, their idea of exploring the tunnels was much different than Grayson’s interpretation.  He spent his time in the oldest of the old, far under the city, where even some of the miners wouldn’t go.

The tunnel he had chosen to explore that day had ended with a cave-in not too far from the entrance, so Grayson made his way home.  He slipped through the narrow opening that was left of the entrance to the ancient tunnel and made his way through the underground streets on his return to Wyvern, the great underground city of the Northern Desert.  He didn’t know what time it was, but he felt for sure it was later than he wanted it to be.  He was sure to get a scolding when he got home.

Grayson smelled the smoke long before he reached the main tunnel.  He could see the fire over the great stone city long before he arrived.  Flames licked the cavern walls and rolled through the streets.  And the screams.  The screams tore at Grayson’s youthful mind.  People ran in all directions, trying to escape the inferno.  Grayson fought his way back to his house, but his mother and father were nowhere to be found. 

He huddled by the wreckage, letting the smoke bathe him.  The flames were far away now, too far to ever return.  But the sound of iron boots on stone reached Grayson’s ears.  Soldiers were here.  Why were soldiers here?  Maybe they were here to help! Grayson ran out and turned the corner onto the next street, but what he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.  A soldier in Imperean blue stood over the body of a young man, holding a sword still bloody from the mortal wound it had inflicted.  The life drained from the young man as Grayson watched, and the soldier did nothing.  Nothing but stare.  A cry of fear escaped from his lips, and the soldier, startled, turned to face the source of the noise.  The soldier saw the pale young boy, and stared into his white eyes.

“Gods forgive me,” a female voice said, muffled by the iron helmet the soldier wore.  “Not a child.  Anything but a child.”  The soldier began walking toward Grayson, hesitating with every step, as if forcing herself to keep moving.  Grayson turned and ran, and the soldier did not follow.  He could hear more soldiers in the distance.  He ducked back down the street, back to his old house.  It was the only place where he could feel safe.  The soldiers drew nearer and nearer as Grayson hid in the wreckage of the building.  A piece of glass lay by his feet.  He picked it up, holding it like a knife.  He wouldn’t go down without a fight.  The glass cut into his hand, and blood ran down his unmarked wrists, but he barely noticed.  The boy who just that morning had been so innocent now had only one thought in his mind: survival.





There was a knock on the door, and Grayson woke from his tortured slumber.  He noticed that he was still holding the knife in his hand.  He moved to put it away, but stopped when he saw the mark on his wrist.  The tattoo he had carried since that day, against his will.  The knocking continued, and he slid the knife back to its sheath and got up to answer the door.  He was surprised to see the waitress from that evening.

“The guards are evacuating the area.  The city’s on fire!  Gather your things and get out of here while you still have time.”





Grayson gathered Jonah’s belongings as well as his own, and ran down the stairs and into the streets.  In the distance, blue and violet flames engulfed street after street. They crept closer and closer as Grayson watched.  The more he watched, the harder it was to look away.  The wall of destruction entranced him, and he almost lost himself again.

A shove brought him back to reality as the crowds barged through in their attempt to escape the field of fire.  Men, women, and children of all ages hurried through the streets to the safety of the outer walls.  Guards patrolled the area, keeping the group in line and making sure that nobody was left behind.

Grayson almost followed them, but a thought hit him.  The man he had seen…he was a Cleric of the Imperean fire god.  What had Jonah called him?  Klivan DiAngelo?  Jonah more than likely was making his way into the fire, not away from it. After a moment’s hesitation, Grayson slipped into the next alley and bypassed the guards and escaping citizens.  He started towards the fiery hell that had once been the slum district of Earthenholm.









10



Jonah covered his mouth with his sleeve to hold back the smoke.  The smoke and the heat stung his eyes.  Through the thick blackness he could see silhouettes of people running, trying to escape the fire that surrounded them.  Some, it seemed, succeeded, but countless bodies still littered the streets as more fuel for the fire.  The smell of burning flesh mixed with the smell of burning wood, and the stench made Jonah sick to his stomach.  More and more people ran through the streets, and more and more people were swallowed by the flames.  There was nothing he could do for them.  It killed him inside.  The only thing he could do for them was to end the source of the suffering before more fell prey.

Jonah trudged forward, through the smoke, through the unbearable heat, into the slums bathed in fire.  Though he could feel the force of the fire, so much so that his entire body was soaked with sweat, he did not fear for his life.  He knew the flames would not touch him. As the Clerics were blessed by the gods, the Blades were blessed by the Clerics.  It was impossible for a Blade to die by the powers of a Cleric alone.  So, for the moment, he safe.

Not too far in, a group of guards that had braved the fire were helping the wounded escape.  One of the guards approached Jonah.

“I recognize you.  You’re Jonah Black, the Blade that gave the speech at the barracks yesterday, aren’t you?  Better get out of here with the rest of us.  There’s a camp set up outside the city where the survivors are gathering,” the guard explained.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,” Jonah said reassuringly.  “What happened here?”

“We really don’t know.  We found another body hidden in an old shack.  The neighbors were complaining about the smell, so it had obviously been there for a while.  It was a lot like the recent murders you’ve been investigating. Knife wound along the neck, very little blood.  Must have been one of his earliest kills.  We were going to send word back for you and Richmond, but before we could, the body just…burst into flames.  We evacuated the house, and did our best to contain it, but once the fires hit the other wooden houses, it was impossible to control.  We sent one of our own to get help, but I imagine the flames got to him before he could do anything useful.  We’ve been doing our best to evacuate the area, but I’m afraid it won’t be enough…”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Jonah ordered.  “You’ve done your best with what you were dealt.  Just do what you can.  Nobody can ask for more than that.”

“With all due respect, Sir, you might want to save the encouragement for someone who needs it,” the soldier countered.  “But I’ll pass along the message to the others.  They could use the kind words.  Oh, and another thing…the guy responsible for this could still be nearby.  A young girl said she saw a tall man in a black cloak walking into the center of the blaze.  The fires couldn’t touch him.”

“Sounds like it could be our culprit,” Jonah agreed.  “Focus on getting everyone out alive.  I’ll deal with the Cleric.”

“Need any help?” the guard asked.

“No I work better alone in hunts like this.  Besides, you can’t spare the men.  You need all the help you can get.”

“Suit yourself.”  The guard shrugged.  “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Jonah nodded in farewell and continued through the streets.  In this area, far from the epicenter of the inferno, the fire was still fairly tame.  It burned only the buildings, and the streets were more or less clear.  It was as if the fire was being deliberately kept at bay.  Klivan had started the fire using his seal, and therefore had full control over its actions. Was this an act of mercy?  Why?

Further and further he dove into the burning district, and the fire slowly became more and more intense.  He stopped looking out for survivors.  He knew there wouldn’t be any.  Even the bodies were gone, long since burned away into ashes and mixed into the air.  The buildings were gone as well, revealing a flat plain bathed in flames like a violet fog.  Only the occasional stones or metal scraps littered the barren landscape.

In the middle of this wasteland, a lone figure sat upon the remains of a stone fountain.  At first, Jonah thought it was an illusion. A trick of the intense heat.  The closer he came, the more certain he was that the image was real. A hood covered the figure’s face, making even gender impossible to predict.  Jonah was so focused on the scene before him that he tripped and stumbled over apiece of debris.

The figure turned, and the opening of its hood lined up with Jonah.  The fire distorted the features of its face, but Jonah knew who it was.

Klivan DiAngelo.









11



The two men stared each other down for several moments.  Neither moved.  Neither spoke.  Only the constant roar of the fire dared break the silence.  A chuckle, like a low growl, emanated from the figure upon the fountain.

What do you think of my work?” Klivan DiAngelo said coldly.  Jonah remained silent.  “Still in shock?  I suspected as much.  I had no idea I was capable of this magnitude of destruction.  It’s sickening…but somehow…liberating.  I feel free.  It terrifies me.  It terrifies me beyond comprehension.”

“It should,” Jonah said sternly.  “You violated the teachings.  You spilled blood.  A lot of blood.  This is unacceptable.  I can’t let you live.  You should feel sick.  You should be terrified.”

“You are right.  I do deserve to die for my actions.  I will not deny that.  But I cannot let you kill me.  Not yet.  My work is not done.”

“I can’t let you kill any more innocent people, Klivan!  Turn yourself over and accept your death, and the gods may yet show you favor!” Jonah ordered.

Klivan laughed grimly and a dark smile appeared from under his hood.  “I must give you credit, that was a very powerful speech.  You certainly do have a way with words.  How many times do you rehearse it?”  He said with a voice saturated with sarcasm.  “Do not try to preach to me, Blade.  You may study the scriptures, but I lived by them.  I know their meaning better than anyone.  As for turning myself in, no.  I refuse.  If you want to kill me, do it, but don’t expect me to die peacefully.  I still have a mission to complete.”

“What mission could possibly justify so many deaths?  So much destruction?”  Jonah asked.

Klivan thought for a moment, and in that moment his mood seemed to change rapidly.  Gone was his anger.  Gone was his sarcastic one.  All that was left was a solemn sadness.  He pulled back his hood, revealing a pale, scarred face and sunken eyes.  Long and unkempt brown hair flowed from his head, over his shoulders.  A scraggly beard covered the entire lower half of his face.  The once handsome Imperean now resembled more of a corpse than a man.

“I do owe you that much, I suppose.  The Order deserves an explanation.  I will not deny them one,” Klivan said.  He stood and raised his left arm high above his head.  The black sleeve of his robe slipped from his arm up to his shoulder, revealing a bony hand and an ornate tattoo.  A burning cross encased in chains.  The mark of a Cleric and the mark of a fire god.

“I entered this world with a mark on my arm.  I did not ask for it.  No explanation was given for my fate.  Countless times I asked, ‘Why me?  Why was I chosen?’  Nobody had the answers I was looking for.  Then the Order came.  They told me I was special.  Unique.  They told me a god had chosen me.  Chosen me to carry out his will.

“They took me in when my own village had abandoned me.  They showed me how to behave.  How to act.  And not once did I question the teachings.  Every word spoken to me, I took as an absolute truth.  Finally, when I came of age, I was taught the tenets.  The three tenets guided me for decades.  ‘Follow these laws,’ they said.  ‘Follow these laws.  Never stray from them.  For such is the will of the gods.’

“Never did I question these words.  Never did I doubt their truth.  The will of the gods became my reason for living, and I followed the tenets to the very best of my ability.  Until just a few months ago…I was mugged here in Earthenholm on my way to the temple.  A thief pulled a knife on me.  I had been saving back my blood, making small offerings to the gods each day, as required by the tenets.  When the man threatened my life, I acted on impulse.  I touched my seal, drew forth my power, and struck him down with a bolt of fire.  The flames were so intense that within just a couple of moments, only a few ashes were left behind as a reminder of my deed.

“The guards never caught on when the scene was discovered.  I was already gone.  I had panicked and ran.  Over the next couple of days, I did not eat.  I did not sleep.  All I could do is focus on the screams of the man as the fire had hit him.  Why had the gods allowed me to do such a thing?  Why did I hold such a power? These questions haunted me until sleep finally took me.  It was then that I was visited by a dream.”

“You did all of this because of a dream?”  Jonah couldn’t hold back his anger.  “These people died today because of your dream?  This isn’t a dream, Klivan! This is reality.  These people are real people.  How dare you let illusions guide your judgment?”

“No…it may have been a dream, but it was no mere illusion.  What I saw cannot be explained in simple words, but I will try my best.  I saw…the gods.  What they are, what they will become, and more importantly…what will become of us.  Their subjects,” Klivan explained.  “What I saw…it destroyed me.  I wish I could unsee it.  But the images are still there.  They will not die away.  They will not leave me alone.  I can’t forget.  Gods damned onto hell, I cannot forget!”

“They are only dreams, Klivan!  The delusions of a tortured mind!  Do not let them control you!” commanded Jonah.

“I wish you were right.”  Klivan’s voice slipped as he spoke.  Tears rolled from his bloodshot eyes and down his gaunt cheeks.  “Oh, how I wish you were right.  But I assure you, it was a vision.  A true vision sent by the Lord of Dreams himself for my eyes only.  He spoke to me as the vision ended.  He spoke to me.  He told me what is to come. These are the words he whispered in my ear.  ‘Soon the truth will be known to all, and a god shall fall from grace.  Its wrath shall be let loose upon the land.’  As I woke, I realized what I must do.  I must save these people.  I must make sure they will never know the truth of their masters.”

“But you are killing them, not saving them!  Don’t you see?  Whatever lies the vision showed you, it cannot justify what you have done today!” Jonah yelled.

“You didn’t see what I saw!  Do not judge me so quickly!  Given the chance, I would have taken death over what I was shown.  I am giving these people the chance I never had!  To die with their innocence still intact, ignorant of what is to come!  I will save them before their minds are tainted by the truth!  I refuse to let them become like me!”  Klivan let his arm drop back to his side, and the seal was covered up once again.

Jonah was sickened by Klivan’s testimony, but he couldn’t help but express his curiosity.  “If you truly believe you are helping them.  Why did you let some people escape?  Do they not deserve the same fate as the others?  What makes them different?”

Klivan cleared his throat and did his very best to control his voice.  “I do not mean to disappoint you, but it was not an act of mercy or hesitation.  Just as I started the fire within the temple to draw the guards away from the slums, I allowed most to escape with a similar plan in mind.  Those who survive are being taken to a camp just outside of the city.  All of them will be in one place.  I will be able to save everyone there…”

Jonah’s eyes grew wide as the realization hit him.  He drew his sword from its sheath and pointed it at the chest of Klivan.  He started slowly walking toward Klivan, swaying under the heat and the stress.  His body was nowhere near as young as he remembered it being.  “No!  I won’t let you touch them!  Enough people have died!  This ends now!”

“No, I’m sorry, but I cannot be stopped!  I will see my goals to their conclusion!  I won’t allow you to stop me!”  Klivan pulled back his left sleeve and slammed his right palm down on the seal on his wrist.  He pulled his hand away from the seal, threads of raw power and fire latching onto his fingertips.

Jonah rushed forward, drawing back his sword as he went.  He neared Klivan, and readied himself.  He reached out, bringing the sword down onto the killer’s skull.  The sword never made contact.  Klivan brought the fire from his palm to meet the blade, and the blade melted before the two men’s very eyes.  Jonah fell forward and onto the ground, and Klivan dropped his boot with overwhelming force onto Jonah’s face.  Jonah lost consciousness almost instantaneously.







Jonah laid there for hours as the fires crept around him, unable to lull him from his slumber.  The source of the inferno had moved on to other things, and gradually the wild flames tamed down to barely a glow of embers.  A noise awakened him from his forced sleep.

“Jonah, wake up!  Jonah!  Come on, we’ve got to get out of here!” a voice called out desperately.

Jonah opened his eyes and looked around.  Above him stood a pale, silver haired boy with dull gray eyes.  His expression had not changed, but it was plain to see that the boy was greatly concerned.  “Grayson!  What are you doing here?  You should be at the refugee camp with the others!”  As he said it, Jonah inwardly cringed as Klivan’s words came back to him.  The refugee camp wasn’t safe.  “We have to get there now!  No time to explain, but Klivan is about to murder the rest of the city as well.

Grayson showed a hint of surprise, but his normal, expressionless self soon resurfaced and all he did was nod in understanding.  “I have your pack.  Do you need anything from it?”

“Yes.  Grab me my iron short sword.  My redsteel blade won’t be of much use now.”  Jonah reached as Grayson tossed the short sword to him.  “Okay, now ready your dagger, and be ready to fight when necessary.  It’s crucial that we stop him before he makes his move.  We need to set a fast pace.  If you can’t keep up, stay behind.  I don’t want you getting hurt.”  He threaded the sword and sheath onto his belt and grabbed the rest of his pack from Grayson.  The two hurried, almost at a sprint, in the direction of the camp.











12



Charles Richmond walked briskly through the camps, checking over the guards and keeping everybody in line.  He was not a person to be crossed at any time, but at that particular moment pissing him off was practically a suicide attempt.

A little boy rushed through, and in his carelessness ran into Richmond’s right side.  As the boy ran through, Richmond swore and instinctively reached for his left sleeve.  All he clutched was a handful of fabric.  He sighed and let his remaining arm drop to its normal position.

“Captain!” a female voice shouted.  “Captain Richmond!  I’d heard you were injured!  We didn’t expect to see you so soon!  I…”  She stopped as she saw the empty sleeve.

Richmond turned his right side toward her and walked past her.  “What news do you bring?” he asked in a bitter tone.

“Well, um, yes sir.  The people are still pouring through the gates!  At this rate we will be short on room in a very short while.  What do you suggest we do?” the guard asked nervously.

“Set up more tents!”  Richmond said angrily.  “And if you run out, make them stand in the open air.  They aren’t on a vacation.  They don’t need comfort.  Don’t feel that you must provide everything for them.  Luxuries aren’t our focus right now.  Lives are.”

“Yes sir!  I’ll pass along the message to the other officers.  Captain Nolan would like to have a word with you if you can spare the time.  He’s in row 22, column 4.”

“Noted.  Carry on.” Richmond said.

The soldier nodded and gave a quick salute before returning to her duties.

“Richmond!”  A familiar voice called out from behind,

Richmond turned to look, and was surprised to see a middle aged man looking back.  “Jonah?  What are you doing here?  It’s a little too early to be taking me up on that drink.”

“No, I bring word of the killer.  He’s here, in the camp.  He’s going to burn this place to the ground!” Jonah exclaimed.

“Shhh!”  Richmond said quickly.  “We don’t want to start a riot!  Are you sure he will be here?”

“Yes.”  Jonah confirmed.  “He is here.  He told me he would be.”

“Told you he would—never mind.  Forget it.  I won’t even ask,” Richmond said.  “Do you still have that assassin with you?”

“Yes.  He’s out patrolling the camp for any signs of DiAngelo,” Jonah answered.

“Let the killer kill the killer.  I like your style, Jonah,” Richmond laughed.  “But you are wasting your time.  We’ve been doing the same thing for hours now, and we haven’t—“

A scream echoed across the camp, followed by several more.  Jonah and Richmond turned quickly towards the source of the sound.

“Go check it out, Jonah.  I’ll get some backup,” Richmond said as he motioned for a couple of guards to come his way.  Jonah nodded and sprinted away.





Jonah hurried to the scream, and what he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.  A man, Jonah recognized only moments later as Klivan, was in the middle of a crowd.  In his arms was a boy.  He held the boy by the neck, and clutched a knife to the boy’s throat.  The boy, to Jonah’s dismay, was Grayson.

“Don’t make me do this, Jonah!  It’s not yet the boy’s time, but I can’t just let you stop me!  Not yet!”  He motioned with the knife at Jonah’s sword.  “Drop it.  On the ground.  Do it.”

Jonah complied.





Richmond and a couple of guards hid just out of sight.  One guard was a bow, and quickly he notched an arrow.  “Target in my sights, Captain.  Awaiting your orders.”

Richmond responded instantly.  “Permission to fire granted.  Send the target to hell where he belongs.”  He clutched at his left sleeve again.

The guard hesitated.  “He’s holding a civilian hostage.  I cannot make a clear shot.  What are your orders?”

“Fire anyway,” ordered Richmond.  “Earthenholm does not negotiate with terrorists.  Kill the boy if you must.”

The soldier nodded, and let loose the arrow.  It grazed the assassin boy’s arm and embedded itself in the arm of the murderer. Klivan dropped Grayson and clutched at his arm.  He reached out to the boy, as if decided what to do, but instead turned away and ran.

“Follow him!”  Richmond ordered.





Grayson fell to the ground with a sickening thud.  All around him the action continued, but for him the scene came to an end.  He lost consciousness, and soon after the dreams began again.  The ashes returned.

He was in the ruins of his old house.  Sounds of soldiers came from all directions.  They would be on him soon.  He clutched a piece of glass in his hand.  He knew what he would have to do.  Part of him knew he wouldn’t be able to do it, but that wasn’t the part making the decisions at that point.  Only survival counted for Grayson.

The soldiers came and went, they hadn’t seen Grayson.  He gave a great sigh of relief and went to put the glass down when he heard a voice.  A voice he knew all too well.  His father.  He couldn’t make out the words, but soon it didn’t matter.  He heard a yell, and a clash of blades, and his father gave a death cry and fell to the ground.  The guards left as quickly as they had come, and Grayson made his way from the ruins.  He saw the thing he had most desperately wanted not to see.  His father lied in a pool of blood, dead and unmoving.

As he knelt beside the body, something inside Grayson snapped.  He lost all form of reason.  Without a second thought or a second glance back, he crawled back into the ruins and grabbed the sharp glass.  He crawled back out and made a guess of where the soldiers had gone.  Then he started out after them.  Blood for blood.  That was all that mattered.

Grayson woke in the same position he had fallen to.  The real world replaced the nightmare, but not fully.  The transition had not been completed.  The ashes still remained.  The two scenes melded together until past was indistinguishable from present.  Fire was everywhere.  People were dying.  Someone needed to pay.

Grayson started out after the soldiers as a child, but continued the chase as a much older boy.  Images of caverns and stone structures swapped with open blue sky and canvas tents.  He was chasing soldiers.  He was chasing a Cleric.  He was chasing soldiers.  He was chasing a Cleric.  He was chasing a murderer.  He was chasing a murderer.  He was going to kill a murderer. 

He rounded the corner between two canvas tents and made his way through a dark stone alleyway and soon the soldiers came into view.  Grayson gave a yell and threw himself on top of the nearest one, plunging the glass into the soldier’s neck.  The Cleric reached up to feel the wound in disbelief, but Grayson pulled back the dagger and struck again.  This time it was the soldier crying out in pain.  One more time, and both the Cleric and the soldier were silent.  Unmoving.  Dead.





Jonah rushed through the camp after Grayson.  What had happened to the boy?  He had just snapped.  Jonah had called out to him, trying to stop him.  But Grayson hadn’t been listening.  He was out for blood.  Jonah hoped to Faranim that Grayson was still alive.

He rounded the corner, and a strange new sound became audible.  A constant thumping.

Thump. Thump.  Thump.

Jonah braced himself for what he was about to see.

Thump.  Thump.  Thump.

Jonah reached for his sword, but it wasn’t on his belt.  He cursed himself for leaving it behind where he had dropped it.

Thump.  Thump.  Thump.

He readied himself and turned the final corner.

Thump.  Thump.  Thump.

A small boy sat on top of an unmoving mass.  He held a dagger in his hand.  He raised it above his head and brought it down on the corpse.  Again, and again and again.

Thump.  Thump.  Thump.

Jonah stepped forward and took hold of the knife.  The boy resisted for a moment, but understanding returned to his white eyes and he let go.

“You’re shaking.”  Jonah stated.

“Y-Yeah.”  Grayson answered.

“Let’s get you some medical attention.  You’re shoulder looks sore,” Jonah said.

Grayson hesitated, and then nodded as the pain set in.  He got up, clutching his arm, and took one final look back at the dead Cleric upon the ground.  Was it a trick of the light?  Or were there tears flowing down the motionless face?  Grayson felt weak, and sick.  He stumbled and almost fell.  Jonah stepped forward and caught him.  He offered an arm for Grayson to use as for balance.  Grayson took it, and the two walked together back to the camp.









13



“Throughout history, man has wondered at the idea of mortality,” the old Cleric recited.  “Of how each soul has a specific time among this world, then must take its leave.  Men once feared this departure.  They saw it as an end.  Faranim taught us better.  Death, as we now call this sudden departure, is merely the next step in the Great Cycle.”

Jonah looked around the green meadow at the countless bodies being laid to rest.  Behind him sat the family and friends of the victims, most still in shock.  Emotion had not yet registered upon the faces of the men, women, and children present at the mass funeral.

        “The time has come for these souls to step down from their place upon the land and make way for yet more souls to take their place.  And in doing so, these souls play their part in the Great Cycle.  So it is, so it was, so it shall always be.  From now until the end of time.  Amen,”  finished the Cleric.

“Amen,” the crowd echoed.

          The Cleric, as well as many of the city guards took torches from a nearby stand and lit them from a candle resting on the table.  Each approached a body and placed the torch upon the death shroud.  With a whoosh, the meadow became engulfed in flames.

          Jonah turned slightly to his right and looked out of the corner of his eye to check on Grayson.  The boy was watching intently, and seemed somewhat uneasy, but he showed no signs of instability.  He seemed to be fine for the moment.

          When the fires had died down, the Cleric motioned for Jonah to step forward.  Jonah took his place at the foot of a black shroud, emblazoned with the symbol of Pyron, the fire god.  He waited for the crowd to quiet down, and then began.

          “Today we lay to rest a Cleric.  A servant of the gods.  Though he strayed from the path of light, we must take a minute to impose upon him the same honor we would give to any Cleric of the highest Order.  May the gods carry his soul into the afterlife, and may they show him the mercy befitting of him.  So it is, so it was, so it shall always be.  From now until the end of time.  Amen.”

          “Amen,” echoed the audience.  Jonah took a torch from the stand and lit it, then dropped it onto the corpse of the former servant of the gods.  He watched as the body burned, and turned away only when a pile of ashes remained.





          “About that drink I owed you,” Jonah said as he slid a bottle of Northern Whiskey across the table to Richmond, who caught it with his good hand.

          “Really?  This stuff?  It tasted bad in the service, and you bought a bottle of it for yourself?” Richmond asked.

          Jonah shrugged.  “I thought it would bring back some memories.”

          Richmond chuckled.  “That whiskey was a memory I would have been happy to keep repressed.”  He poured a shot for himself and passed the bottle back to Jonah, who also poured a shot.  The two raised their drinks in toast.

          Richmond downed the shot, and made a face of disgust.  “Yep, it’s just as bad as I remembered.”

          Jonah laughed.  “I actually kind of like it.”

          “Then you can like the whole bottle.  I’ve had enough of that trash to last myself a lifetime!”

          The two gave a few lighthearted chuckles and sat in silence.

          “I dug up some info on that boy for you.  He registered under his real name, which isn’t very common for an assassin, let alone one on assignment.  I guess I owe you both an apology.  I’m sorry,” said Richmond sincerely.

        “The great Charles Richmond apologizing?  I never thought I’d see the day.”  Jonah said.

        “Yeah, well, there’s a first for everything.”  Richmond replied dryly.  So do you plan on taking him with you when you head back to the Order?”

          “Grayson seems pretty intent on following me when I go.  I suppose he will follow me whether I want him to or not.  The Order could use someone like him too.  We’re always looking for numbers wherever we can find them.”

          “He’s fourteen, Jonah.  Not even the Confederate takes them that young.”  Richmond said.

          “I understand that.  I’ve thought a lot about it.  But you saw what happened to Klivan.  You saw what he’s capable of.  If he stays here, people will come looking to take advantage of him.  Life’s hard for someone with his particular set of skills.”  Jonah said.

          “Who’s to say you aren’t taking advantage of him?”  Asked Richmond.

          A horse whinnied outside of Richmond’s house.  Richmond chuckled.  “No time to answer.  Lucky you.  Just keep that question in mind.”

          “I will,” Jonah said.  He made his way to the door and opened it.  A carriage awaited his arrival just out front.  He climbed into the cab and sat next to a white haired boy.  Jonah couldn’t believe his eyes.  Was the boy smiling?