Requiem for a Fallen God--Ch. 6, 7, 8

6



Grayson did not struggle.  He did not try to escape.  These men were right.  He was an assassin.  How could he have been so naïve as to believe that he could put that life behind him?  That if he pretended that it never happened at all it would just go away?  He deserved to be caught.  He deserved to die.

It was obvious why the guards were present.  They were investigating the murder he had witnessed the night before.  It was more than just an average murder.  It was much more serious, much more sinister.  Grayson had watched a lot of people die, but this was different.  Something about it had scared him, in a way he hadn’t thought possible since his more innocent days.  The man, whose name appeared to be Jonah, had mentioned the word “Cleric.”  Grayson didn’t know much about the Imperean religions, but rumors of the Clerics had reached even the Northern Deserts.  They were very powerful people, and they were very dangerous.  Just what had he gotten himself into?

The guards had tightened their grip on him after the man Grayson assumed to be the guard captain had said the word “assassin.”  Grayson hated that word.  He could not deny what he had once been.  The tattoo would always be a silent reminder of his former life.  He was not proud of it, but he didn’t want to forget.  He didn’t deserve to forget.  He just wanted to move on.  Now it was too late.

Jonah walked past Grayson, and out of the corner of his eye Grayson saw Jonah pick up the bloody dagger off of the street.  Jonah took a cloth from his pocket and wiped the blade clean, then stuffed the blade and the cloth into his cloak.

The guard captain muttered various obscenities as the guards placed shackles upon Grayson’s arms and legs.  Two guards grabbed him, one by each shoulder, and proceeded to drag him away.

“Not so fast, Richmond.  Keep him here for a second.  I have a few things I want to ask him,” Jonah ordered.

Richmond paused, and a minor hint of surprise scraped across his face.  He was not used to being told what to do, and Grayson had a feeling that if anyone else had said it, they would have gotten more than a demotion in rank.

“Fine, he’s all yours for five minutes, but I’m taking him with me when the time is up.  No exceptions.  Understood?”  Richmond explained, defeated.  “Let’s get him out of the streets, though, these people have seen enough for today.  I’ll be waiting with him inside the empty house on the corner.  Stop by after you examine the body.”

The guards behind Grayson gave a push, and Grayson stumbled toward the empty house with Richmond behind him.





Jonah knelt by the body and examined it.  The body belonged to a young but solid Imperean.  He was well built, and certainly not a weakling.  And judging by the scars on his body he wasn’t exactly new to fights.  Whoever had done it wasn’t a novice fighter.  The murderer was experienced.  The cause of death was obvious; there was a cut along the man’s neck.  The murderer had slit this man’s throat, but there was very little blood to be accounted for.  Either the body had been moved, or someone had cleaned it up.  Who would bother to take the time to clean up a body in the middle of a public street?  He couldn’t be absolutely sure, but he had a very strong feeling that a Cleric was responsible.  The assassin boy couldn’t have moved the body.  He was much too small to move such a heavy mass.

         Jonah hurried to the house Richmond had taken the boy to, and a couple of guards took their places next to the body to protect it from the onlookers.  Looting wasn’t exactly common place, but it wasn’t unheard of, especially in the “dirtier” parts of town.  It didn’t hurt to be cautious.  Jonah heard nothing but silence from the small shack, and he hoped that was a good thing.  Richmond hadn’t been himself since he had seen that mark on the boy’s arm.  Jonah knew of some of the things the assassins had done, but it didn’t justify the captain’s behavior.  The “deadly assassin” was just a boy, nothing more, nothing less.  He had probably just fallen in with the wrong crowd.  The look of guilt on the boy’s face had said it all.  A yell woke Jonah from his deep thoughts.

         





         Grayson was shackled to a wooden chair in the kitchen.  There were no windows, which meant no witnesses.  He knew how this kind of operation was run.  He braced himself for the worst.  The captain was still muttering various words and phrases that he guessed were meant to be insults, but he couldn’t tell.  Imperean wasn’t his native language, so he still had trouble translating once in a while.  But the man’s intentions were clear.  Especially when he pulled out his sword.

         “Filthy desert dog!  I’ve seen enough of your kind to know you aren’t too keen on talking, so I’ll keep this short.  We know you had something to do with the murders in the city, and we want to know how you are connected.  Was it an assignment?  Or did you just happen to be in the area when you got the urge to stab something?  Let me know, quickly, or I’ll finish this before Jonah has a chance to save your sorry hide.”  Richmond placed his sword against Grayson’s neck for just a second, and then flicked the blade up, across the boy’s face.  Grayson winced as the pain set in and blood began to pour down his nose and over his mouth.

         “So, you don’t like my work?  I thought for sure you of all people would be able to appreciate it.  I guess I assumed wrongly.”  The angry captain stared into the eyes of Grayson, who stared back without a hint of fear.  It was all an act, however.  Grayson was terrified.

         “Put down the damn sword before I cut it from your hand!”  A familiar voice yelled from the doorway.

         “Jonah! Glad you could make it!  I could use a little help here.  He doesn’t seem to want to talk!  Maybe you could convince him better than me.  I’m sure the Order taught you some fun techniques for just this kind of occasion.”  The captain slid the sword back into its sheath, and chuckled.  Jonah didn’t seem to be in the mood for jokes.

         “They also taught me not to hurt innocent people.  You have no proof tying him to this.  Leave him be,” Jonah said angrily.

         “Oh, don’t let his age fool you, Jonah.  Let me tell you a story.  After you left Border Watch, we had a few run-ins with these assassins.  I was talking to one of my subordinates when I heard a yell.  I turned around, and do you know what I saw?  There was an arrow sticking out of his chest!  A gods-damned arrow!  He was dead before anyone could help him…we searched the camp trying to find the man responsible.  One of the soldiers caught a glimpse of a shadow, and he took aim.  Got the bastard right in the arm.  He made a run for it, but eventually we caught up to him.  Got him in the chest for good measure.  Do you know what we found on the other side of that arrow?”  The captain was visibly shaking, out of anger or sadness Jonah did not know.  “A boy…younger than this one.  So don’t think for a second that his age means a thing!”

         “Calm down, Richmond.  Get a hold of yourself!” Jonah said impatiently.  “I understand you faced a lot of hardship, that’s not up for contention, but this is neither the time nor the place to let your emotions get in the way of your judgment!  You were chosen for this assignment because you had the experience and the knowledge to keep a clear head in times of danger.  Now, please, show me that this trust was not misplaced and step outside to guard the house while I ask the poor boy some questions.”

         “Fine,” The captain, who Grayson guessed was Richmond, grunted.  “Have it your way.  You’re the boss.  I’ll be outside if you need anything.”  He walked to the door and opened it, then hesitated before walking through the door.  He looked back over his shoulder and glared at Jonah.  “I hope you know what you are doing, Jonah, for your own sake as well as ours.”  With that last remark, he was gone.

         “Sorry for that, boy.  I had no idea he would do something like this…please forgive me.  Let me wipe the blood for you,” Jonah said as he pulled another clean cloth from his cloak and dabbed at the cut.  It stung, but Grayson had felt worse.  “Would you mind answering a few questions for me?  I know you’ve been through a lot, but there’s a man dead in the streets, and I want to make sure more bodies don’t follow.  Can you tell me what you know?”

         Grayson thought, and then nodded.  “Yes.  I’ll tell you what I know.”





         Jonah was angry.  The killer was still on the loose, and Richmond had the nerve to bring personal bias into the mix?  They were wasting valuable time, and—oh who was he kidding?  The killer was already gone by then.  He probably escaped when the guards broke formation to capture the boy.  The whole day had been a mess.

         Still, it hadn’t been a total waste.  Judging by the assassin’s body language, he had something to say.  If Jonah was lucky, it would be the information he was looking for.  Jonah waited for an answer to his question, as he stared into the boy’s eyes.  The dull grey eyes of the boy stared back, until finally the boy broke the silence.

         “Yes.  I’ll tell you what I know,” The boy said.

         Jonah was happy to hear it.  “Please, start at the beginning.  Don’t leave anything out.”

         “Okay,” the boy began.  The boy gave his full account of the events of the morning.  How he had witnessed the murder of the street vendor, and the words of the killer.  He gave in full detail the markings on the man’s arm.  Jonah listened intently until the boy finished, then took a few minutes to get the facts straight in his own head.  The killer was male, which wasn’t very surprising considering the state of the body.  The man was also probably mentally unstable, also not a surprise.  The promise of power tended to have that effect on people.  Last, and most important, was the design of the man’s seal. 

The burning cross, covered in chains was the traditional mark of Pyron, the god of flames.  Of the dozen or so Clerics on record with the mark of the flame god, only two had gone rogue in recent years: Wrenza Giralt and Klivan DiAngelo.  Giralt had last been spotted on the other side of the Confederate, so that left only DiAngelo.  Even long before leaving the Order behind, Klivan had emitted a questionable level of sanity.  He fit the clues perfectly.

“Thank you for your help,” Jonah said to the boy.  He could now put a face to the murderer.  He knew who to look for, and that was more valuable than any help the guards could give.  He braced himself for the conflict that was about to occur.

“…Am I going to die now?” the boy asked.  The way he had said it, so calm and cold, devoid of emotion, sent a shiver down Jonah’s spine.

“We shall see, boy…we shall see…” Jonah answered grimly.  “Richmond!  We’re done here!”

Richmond walked back into the shack and slammed the door behind him.  “It’s about time.  Get anything interesting out of him?”

“Yes, he’s a witness.  He saw the murder, and the killer was a Cleric.  There’s no doubt about it.  I believe the man we are looking for is Klivan DiAngelo.  He’s a piece of work.  Mentally unstable, most likely.  He left the area long before we arrived.  We lost our chance, and now all we can do is wait,” explained Jonah.

“So, what should we do?” Richmond asked.

“Take your men back to the barracks, let them rest.  When the killer makes his presence known again, we’ll strike hard.” Jonah suggested.

“Nice to hear.  Back to nothing, practically,” Richmond sighed in frustration.  “Well, I’ll have my men take the body up to the temple for burial rights.  Wait a second, and I’ll get some guards to escort the assassin to the holding cells.  He won’t see tomorrow’s sun.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” Jonah said.  “The boy stays with me.”

Richmond stood still, in shock at what he had just heard.  He still wasn’t used to being told what to do, but despite this he did his best to hold in the full force of his temper.  “What is the meaning of this, Jonah?  What do you mean he’s coming with you?”

“I mean exactly what I said.  I can’t let you have him.  Here, take a look at his dagger.”  Jonah drew a dagger from his cloak.  “I found this on the ground.  It’s the same one he stabbed the guard with.  Take a close look at it and tell me what you see.”

Richmond saw it, but did not want to see.  He took the dagger by the golden hilt, and examined the blood-red blade.  “Redsteel?  You can’t be serious!”

“There’s no mistaking the craftsmanship.  It’s a genuine redsteel blade, forged by the Order.  The crest of the Order is on the handle,” Jonah countered.

“It’s gotta be a mistake!  Maybe he looted it off somebody.  You can’t just let him go!  I won’t let you!” Richmond argued.

“I can’t take that chance.  It’s part of the code of the Order.  Anyone carrying a Redsteel blade with the sacred crest is to be welcomed by the Order with open arms and treated as a true member of the Order would be treated.  By this reasoning, if you take him, you will have to take me too.”  Jonah smiled a grim, dark smile.  “I’m not even supposed to be here.  Arresting me would be a bad idea for a man in your situation.”

“Jonah, you are playing a very dangerous game with me right now.  But I really don’t see any way out of this.  I’m not happy about it, but I’ll let him go.  Anything he does will be on your head, however, not mine.  And I can’t allow the guards to work with someone openly supporting an assassin, so consider our partnership over.  You’re on your own with this mess.”  Richmond quickly untied the boy and retreated to the door.  “And Jonah?  When all of this is done and over with, you owe me a drink.  I expect you to pay up, too.  You won’t weasel out of it this time.”  Richmond left the shack quickly, without looking back.

“Well, that was unfortunate,” Jonah sighed.  “Unfortunate but necessary.  It will be much easier to be discrete with only one person on the investigation.  Unless, of course, you want in on the action too.”  He smiled at the boy.  “We’ve already established you know how to handle that dagger of yours.  How would you like to put it to use?”

Grayson didn’t have to answer.  When Jonah left the little shack, Grayson followed without question.







7



Grayson followed Jonah through the streets to an old but sturdy stone building.  Candlelight flickered through the glass windows and the sounds of muffled laughter and music played through the thick walls.  The smell of food reached Grayson, and it was only hen that he realized just how long it had been since he had eaten a proper meal.  Jonah walked to the door, and Grayson followed.  He couldn’t read enough Imperean to understand the sign on the door, but judging by the actions of the two pigs on it Grayson guess that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Jonah opened the door and Grayson was blown back by the noise that emanated from the little stone inn.  People were shouting and laughing, and in the corner an old bard played a lute and sang a cheerful ballad.  Some of the older patrons sang along with him, recounting old stories of the land before it became the Province of Terrum and part of the Confederate.

Jonah flagged down the barkeep and ordered two of the house meals, and then he found a couple of stools near the bard’s corner and pulled them to a small open table.  He sat down and motioned for Grayson to do the same.  The two sat quietly as the bard continued to play.  Finally, Jonah broke the silence.

“I don’t believe we were ever formally introduced.  My name is Jonah Black.  I’m a member of the Blades, and have been for the last twenty years.  Before that, I worked for Border Watch for a few seasons.  I came here to track a murderer and bring him to pay for his crimes.”  There was a long pause as Grayson thought of what to say.  This continued until Jonah had all but given up hope of hearing a reply.

“Grayson Kayne,” Grayson said.  “My Name is Grayson Kayne.”

“Grayson, you say?”  Jonah said in slight surprise.  “It is a great name, full of spirit and history, but hardly a traditional name in most Northern Desert dialects.”

“My mother was Imperean.  A soldier.  She and my father met during the Peace Conference.  When the army left, she stayed with him.”  Grayson explained.

“I see, I see…”  Jonah paused as the song came to its conclusion and a new one took its place.  “I loved this song as a child,” Jonah said as the lively tune began.  “Have you ever heard it before?”  Grayson listened intently for a moment to the song.  He did not recognize the melody, or the words.

“No, I haven’t heard of it,” Grayson answered.

“I’m not surprised.  It’s in the tongue of the First Great Empire, and it tells the story of the creation of the world and the role of each god.  My favorite verse is about Faranim, the god of life, creating the forests and the deserts.”  Jonah hummed along for a few lines before Grayson spoke again.

“Faranim?”  Grayson had never heard that name before.  It sounded strange to him, almost unnatural.

“Sorry, I guess you wouldn’t recognize the name.  I don’t know any Northern gods to relate him to.  I’m sure you worship him, even if you don’t know him by the same name as I do.”

Grayson doubted Jonah’s words.  He had seen the rituals at the temples in his home city, and he couldn’t imagine the animal sacrifices made by the blue-robed priests occurring anywhere near the Confederate.  This thought was interrupted by the arrival of the waitress carrying platters of food. 

She set two plates on the table, one in front of Jonah, and one in front of Grayson.  She left, but returned a minute later carrying two mugs.  One was full of beer, while the other was full of water.  Grayson took the cup of water, assuming Jonah had ordered the beer for himself.  Jonah smiled, picked up the beer, and handed it to Grayson.  He took the water from Grayson and stole a long, loud swig.

“You need it more than I do.  You’ve been through a lot today,” he explained.  “I’d take one as well, but it’s not a good idea for a member of the Order to get drunk in public.  Secrets tend to become not so secret anymore.  I can’t take the chance.”

Grayson shrugged, and took a drink of the brown liquid.  He didn’t quite care for the taste.  It was somehow bitterer than the Northern beverages, but it went down okay.  The food, though subpar, was much better than anything Grayson had tasted in recent days.  Before he knew it, the food had disappeared and the plate was empty.

The pair sat in silence, listening to the music of the bard and the conversations of the other patrons.  Grayson noticed that as the night went on, the songs became sadder and softer, and the crowd reacted.  Some bowed their heads, as in prayer.  Others stared out in to space, entranced by the words of the poet.  All of this continued until the last song.

After a last ballad, the old man stepped down, and the waitress took over.  She took an old violin from its case and placed it against her chin.  Some of the patrons looked away, and even walked out as if they knew what was coming and couldn’t bear to witness it.  Others stayed, but bowed their heads in solemn silence.  After the silence became deafening, the woman pulled the bow across the strings of the old violin, and the song began.

The violin began with a whine, which slowly gave way to a crescendo into a heartbreaking melody.  Ounces of emotion poured like water into the little instrument, and Grayson could feel every bit of it.  He could feel himself being pulled away from the scene, into a deep and dark hole as the music echoed throughout the tiny little inn.  He could feel his soul escaping.  Around him, everyone was mouthing words to the cries of the strings.  Jonah bowed his head, almost in shame as the music continued.  After what seemed like ages, the song ended.  Jonah must have noticed the passive wonder in Grayson’s eyes, because he explained without a prompt to do so.

“That piece is something left over from when the Impereans took this land over a century ago.  It isn’t a story.  It’s a plea.  A cry for help from the people of this land, asking for the gods to intervene.  To save them from the invading armies.  They sacrificed themselves hoping to get the gods to act, but the will of the gods did not waver.  The people go on to ask the gods what they had done to deserve such a fate.  The story ends with the invading armies setting the last hold ablaze, and the death of the last free man.”  Grayson swore that he could see tears in Jonah’s eyes.  “It’s a very sobering song for an Imperean to hear.  It reminds me of the mistakes we have made.  Of the mistakes I have made.”

The two sat in silence as gradually the laughter returned to the mouths of the patrons and the overwhelming noise made its presence known yet again.  Again, Jonah broke the silence.  “I rented a room here, upstairs on the left.  You take the bed, and I’ll take the floor.  Get a good night’s rest.  I have a feeling our path will become clear when the sun rises tomorrow.”

Grayson got up to leave, but thought for a moment and asked.  “Why did you help me?”

Jonah smiled.  “You have the mark of the assassin, but I could see the regret in your eyes.  You have blood on your hands, and you hate it.  All you want to do is wipe your hands clean.  I’ve been there more times than you can imagine.”  Jonah reached into his cloak and pulled out the Redsteel dagger and handed it to Grayson.  “I believe this is yours.”

Grayson looked puzzled.  “About that…that isn’t my dagger.”

Jonah chuckled.  “I know.  It is now.”







8



Jonah handed the rusted key to Grayson and left him for the empty streets outside the inn.  The streets were quiet and peaceful, if only on the outside.  Jonah knew what he would find if he took the time to look more closely.  The inn was a far distance away from any major point in the city, including the watch of the guards.  If shady dealings were to occur, this would be the place.  If someone wanted to hide without fear of being caught, this would be the place to stay.  Jonah had wanted to start his investigation in this part of town, but without a name or a face to go on, it would have just been a waste of time.  Now that he knew who he was searching for, the real work could begin.

He walked through the empty streets, his footsteps echoing in all directions around him.  He pulled the hood of his cloak up over his face to hold the cold around him at bay and picked up his pace.  The narrow street that passed by the inn trailed up and up until it opened into a large open square.  From that one point, over half of the city could be seen.  Lanterns trailed down the main roads and into the market district before reaching the main gates to the very east of the city.  The temple rose high on the horizon to the north.  Its stone walls were adorned with eight torches, each representing a god, and at the very top of the temple was the Guiding Beacon.  The Beacon was lit, signifying that someone was being carried over to the afterlife.  Jonah imagined it was probably the latest victim of the Cleric’s, the Imperean merchant.  The middle of the night was a common time for smaller ceremonies.

As Jonah watched, another light emanated from the holy shrine.  It was somehow different than the others.  A few moments later it dawned on Jonah that the light was not another beacon, but a fire.  The temple of the Order was on fire.







Richmond wasn’t having a good night.  He was still pissed off about losing the assassin to Jonah.  He’d never expected Jonah to do something so disrespectful; he’d always thought that he and Jonah were on the same terms.  But that night Jonah had played the seniority card over him in front of his own men.  And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.  That problem had to wait for the moment, however.  There was a man that had an appointment to keep with Sagmort.

Richmond walked in front of two men, who carried the body of the young merchant.  The body was covered from head to toe in black cloth, the color of Sagmort and the color of death.  The temple was in sight, and moments later they arrived.  The doors were already open, and an old Cleric stood in the doorway waiting for them.

“I’ve made the necessary preparations.”  The old man said.  “Place the body on the altar and we will begin.”

The men shuffled past Richmond into the temple.  Richmond waited until they were out of earshot, then he spoke to the Cleric.

“I trust you were given the full message?” he asked.

“Yes, I am aware of the situation.  I did not personally know Klivan DiAngelo, but I knew of him, and I assure you if I hear any news of the man you are searching for, you will be one of the first to know,” The old man promised.

“Good, I expect no less from you.” Richmond said.

“I hate to ask this of you, but would you be willing to bear witness to this man’s passing?  Nobody has arrived as of yet, and this is not something the spirit should do alone.” Asked the Cleric.

Richmond didn’t want to stick around too long with the killer still on the loose, but tradition stated that at least one person had to be present during the passing of a dead man’s soul that knew the man in life.  Richmond had crossed paths with the merchant, and although he was not fond of the man it seemed the duty would fall on him.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” Richmond said with a nod.  “But let’s make this fast, I’ve got things I need to do.”

“Thank you, Captain.  Take your place in the hall, and I’ll begin the Rite of Passage.” The Cleric bowed and motioned to the doors.

Richmond walked into the empty hall, and walked along the center aisle.  Rows upon rows of ornately carved wooden benches surrounded him.  Murals lined the walls, some depicting the gods of the first empire, some depicting the gods as the earliest Impereans saw them, and some even showed scenes that portrayed the gods of the desert dwellers of the north.  All of this was lost on Richmond, however.  He didn’t care about architecture, especially anything concerning the tunnel rats.  He took his seat in the middle of the hall, at the very front of the steps leading up to the altar.

The altar took up the entire back half of the temple.  It was not much more than an elevated stone platform.  The platform was decorated with six tapestries, each one depicting one of the gods.  The elemental gods were broken up, with two on each side.  The god of life, Faranim, was depicted in the very middle of the wall.  He was holding a tree in one hand.  Richmond faintly remembered something about the tree being the source of life, Faranim’s greatest creation.  But he wasn’t the religious type.  Below Faranim was Sagmort, lord of the dead, holding the realm of the dead within his palm.  Sagmort was reaching with the other hand into the branches of the tree of life, while Faranim was shown reaching into the land of the dead with his own free hand.  The cycle of life.

The guards had already placed the body in the middle of the altar, and were waiting for their next order.

“Go to the doors.  Guard them until I’m done here.  I won’t be too long,” Richmond ordered.  The guards nodded and took their place at the doors.  The old Cleric closed the doors and walked slowly and carefully up to the altar.  He stood behind the body overlooking the mostly empty hall, and cleared his throat.

“Throughout history, man has wondered at the idea of mortality, “He began.  “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.  Tonight, we send another soul into the care of Sagmort in hopes that one day Faranim may pluck this soul from the depths of the afterlife and allow it to begin anew in another time and place.

“Faranim sent this soul into this world, and allowed him to admire all of his creation.  The fires of Pyron kept this soul warm and provided a light to follow even within the deepest of darknesses.  Margurg provided the waters of life which kept this soul alive.  Terrum provided the nutrients that allowed this soul to grow and change.  Lustracand provided the air for this soul to breathe.  Faranim, Pyron, Margurg, Terrum, and Lustracand have all played their part in this soul’s creation and preservation.  Now it is time for Sagmort to take over.  The time has come for this soul to step down from its place upon the land and make way for another soul to take its place.  And in doing so, this soul plays its part in the Great Cycle.  So it is, so it was, so it shall always be.  From now until the end of time.  Amen.”  The old man finished the chant and pulled down a torch from the wall. 

He walked to the body.  He poured a liquid upon the body, chanting as he went.  Then he stepped back and carefully placed the torch near the edge of the cloth.  The cloth caught flame with a whoosh of air and the body was soon completely blanketed in fire.  Richmond and the Cleric watched and waited as the body burned and burned, and the cloth turned to ash.  The body became exposed to the light of the torches.  The fire continued to burn, but it was obvious something was wrong.  The body was not burning.

All at once the fire died down to barely a flicker.  Richmond stood suddenly from the bench he had occupied and stared at the body in agitated wonder.  The body had not burned, not a single strand of hair or piece of skin had been charred by the flames.  He wondered for a moment if this was a joke, a prank of some sort the Cleric had played on him, but the Cleric wore the same astonished expression as he did.

The two men stood in silence as the body began to smoke once more.  But something was still wrong.  The smoke was not a product of the oil and the torch.  It couldn’t have been.  That fire had completely died out.  The smoke was somehow darker.  The body caught fire, but the fire was different as well.  The flames were dark blue, and otherworldly in appearance.  They surrounded the body, Richmond noticed, but not one lick of flame touched the body itself.  Even the Cleric had begun to back away from the unholy spectacle.  A low rumble had begun from within the body.  Without warning, the fire began to spread.

The violet flames leapt from the altar and ignited the wooden seats.  Richmond cursed at the top of his lungs, and pulled his sword from his sheath.  The fire spread from row to row more quickly than Richmond could keep track of.  The old Cleric was running down the steps of the altar and making his way to the door.  Richmond followed, but before he could reach the door a blast of fire grasped a hold of his right arm.  He screamed in pain as the flames melted through his leather armor and charred him to the bone.  The pain became overwhelming, and he tripped over his own feet and lost consciousness under the unbearable warmth of the inferno.





Jonah reached the temple shortly after the fire had died down.  The unearthly flames were gone, and the only smoke left came from the charred remains of the temple.  Everything had burned, and only the stone shell of the building remained.

The resident Cleric was nearby.  He did not seem to be hurt, but the man next to him was hurt tremendously.  The man’s arm was a mangled mess.  There would be no choice but to amputate.  The Cleric pulled back the sleeve of his robe to reveal a very detailed leaf tattooed upon his left forearm.  The mark of Faranim.  He turned to Jonah, and spoke.

“I recognize you.  You’re with the Order.  Jonah, is it?  Can I borrow a knife?” the man said.  Jonah handed him the knife from his pocket, the one that had belonged to Grayson.  The man nodded in gratitude and ran the blade across his right palm.  Blood immediately rose to the surface of the cut.  The man dropped the knife and held out his left arm, with the Seal facing up.  The blood from the self-inflicted knife wound seeped onto the Seal, and was immediately absorbed in a flash of green light.

He then placed his left hand over the burn victim’s arm.  Both the Cleric’s hand and the man’s arm began to glow, and muscle and flesh grew back over the exposed bone.  The dead and charred remains of the arm, however, did not go away.  A Cleric could only do so much.  It would take much more blood than a man could give to fix something so serious.

“What happened here?” Jonah asked.

“The body was cursed.  It burst in to flame of its own accord.  It’s a wonder we survived at all,” explained the Cleric.

Jonah looked away from the graphic scene before him.  It was worse than he had thought.  Much worse.  The body had been tampered with by Klivan.  If it had been in the streets, there’s no telling what would have happened.

“Get the sick sonovabitch, Jonah.  I don’t care what you did to me or what happens to that boy.  Just make that bastard pay,” the burn victim, which Jonah startlingly realized was Richmond, said with as much anger as he could possibly muster in his condition.

“I will, Richmond.  Just rest, take your time, and I’ll handle it.  I’ll handle everything,”  Jonah reassured him.

“You damn well better!” Richmond exclaimed.  “Make him suffer.”

Jonah looked away from his old friend, and spotted a piece of parchment on the ground.  It wasn’t charred, so it hadn’t come from the temple.  He unfolded the parchment, and read it.

“I have been waiting,” it said.  “I have been waiting to set you free.”

A blue light shown in the distance as another flame came into existence.  Jonah stared in astonishment, and then acted.  He ran in the direction of the new inferno, leaving the old Cleric to handle the damages.