“Next,” cried a female seneschal who stood beside the throne with a sheath of parchment that seemed never to end.
“Fernando, who do you bring us from my wives in Bruenor this day,” asked The Grim.
“Master, I bring you, Vern Kile, from an outlying village called Frost Marches.” The reaper called Fernando said with a slight bow of his skeletal head.
The shade almost shook himself to death before he fell prostrate before the immortal crying in a pathetic voice for mercy. The Grim looked in pity at the man and gently soothed him. With a gentle and calming big hand, he reached down and picked the man’s face up to look at him, “Be at ease Vern, for no harm can come to you here.”
The shade stopped crying and got back to his trembling knees. He took in a shaky breath and spoke, “Your Grace, up till this very afternoon, I knew not that you even existed. I have not worshiped you in my entire life. Please forgive me. I have heard the fireside legends, change me not into a reaper.”
Fernando let out a sigh and shook his bleach white skull side to side. The Grim gave him a sharp look and spoke softly to the frightened man, “I only cast that Judgement on the living. In fact, it is the only Judgement I cast on the living. This Judgment room is for souls, and no harm can come to souls. I am not to be worship; I am not a God and do not serve you, so do not give me your worship. Live as you may on the Overworld. Do you understand?”
“My father’s father warned me that the necromancer’s told him as a boy that to not worship your grace would end you into a reaper.” The man said in a little unsure voice, “’Tis why we moved to Frost Marches.”
“That was not one of my necromancers. Charlatans will tell you to worship me to make money off you and sorcerers will tell you to worship me to try to steer you to Chaos. My wives know I am not to be worshiped,” then he gave a low chuckle, “They argue with me enough.”
“Then what does happen here, if you can forgive the ignorant one.” The shade said humbly.
“No good sir, that is wisdom to admit when one does not have the answer. Too many times the prideful show up here sure of the answer, and they find themselves ignorant. The Judgement is just to see how you died, how old your soul is, and which way your soul tends to lean, Order or Chaos. There is a balance to maintain and all the things I just mentioned all play into it. Your soul has a memory. It tends to lean one way or the other, over the eons. The older a soul gets, the more often it needs to take a respite from the Overworld or else it gets weary, and it will tend to lean towards Chaos alone. If you died through violence or rape, your soul could require a rest. Sometimes, violence can make a soul suddenly switch allegiance. I must Judge how you might turn out in your next life; it has nothing to do with your previous.”
The man nodded his understanding and thought for a few minutes absorbing all that he had just been told. Finally, he looked up and spoke, “I do apologize, for I imagine you have to explain that too much, but I do thank you too, Grace.” The Grim nodded at him with a smile, “Sire, my manner of death was falling through the ice on a pond. I have few regrets. Life is harsh up where the sun disappears during the winter, and it is night day ′ round. How judge you me sire?”
“Vern, your soul, is good and you are not so old as to need rest. If you feel it and are ready, the world is suddenly in need of Order at the moment, will you accept rebirth.” The Grim asked with his arms opened wide in invitation.
“Truly Father,” the shade said with his arms reaching eagerly for the All-Father. He stepped forward and embraced the Grim. A glow overtook them, and slowly the shade transformed, as his memories transferred to the Grim, both good and bad. What was left was an infant. The Grim gestured to the reaper, who had brought him.
“Fernando, bear him to Gremlin’s domain. At Port Salvation, you will find a young woman waiting for this soul for her infant. Be careful. Then return to Bruenor straight forth by the Temple at Port Salvation, tell Matron Velra I sent you.”
The reaper nodded reverently, as it took the reborn soul in its arms. The second part of the reapers damnation is to deliver the reborn souls to the newborn infants. They hated that portion but craved it with an uncanny longing, always being taste tester of rebirth but never being partakers of that sweet nectar of life. Each moment they got to spend with the soul was but a short, agonizing respite from their withdraws of life. They took their time, but it always made the moment of letting go that much worse. The skeletal reaper slowly made it’s way back down Judgement way.
The Grim turned his attention back to his seneschal smiling, “You know Lucy, it never gets old. The knowledge that is received is such a reward, something to be envied. Sometimes, I think they are the lucky ones to experience such grandness in their short walks of life.”
“I was truly blessed in the short thirty years in which I got to live in Luth, Grace.” the seneschal replied reverently back, “The best of which was the last ten after you choose to marry a simple cooper girl.”
“You were never a simple cooper girl Lucy.” The Grim said fondly, “Your ability to control reapers even after the body has left, is proof of that. Well, let us reminisce when there is not so much war and famine on the Overworld, my love.”
“Truly Grace,” she said with a slight bow of respect. Off in the distance, a gong could be heard, long reverberating tolls. The sound echoed throughout the city, reapers and shades looked around confused. All activities in the city ceased as eyes turned to look upon the Throne, where their Master and Creator sat. Lucy edged closer to the Grim and whispered out the side of her mouth, “Please tell me you know what that is sir.”
The Grim looked sadly at his wife, “Yes Lucy,” he said with a sad resignation in his voice, “It means one of our houses is in trouble. For the first time since the Sorcerers’ Wars, a Grim-Ward has fallen.”
“Didn’t the Voice tell you not to interfere that time,” Lucy asked, “I thought I was going to have to chain you to your Throne to make you comply.”
“Yes, but it also told me the next gong to sound would be the voice of prophecy. It would signal the beginning to a period of time for my poor world in which it would become a battleground to a war that I accidentally started the day I created second-man.” He said as he sat heavily in his chair.
“May I ask the prophecy that makes you so sad,” Lucy asked.
“I can tell it to you but it will only make you as sad as it makes me, for it tells you one thing that will happen for certainty. But it’s the second part that frustrates me. It eludes me as a thought lost on the verge of sleep; maybe I am not to know it.” He said shaking his head in frustration, “In the days of the falling away, the Great House of the Lake shall burn with despair, for the Father shall disappear but rejoice, for the wolf who is not a wolf shall descend to become the Father.”
Lucy shook her head, “You have spoken truth, if this is the prophecy in which the Voice has referred, there can be no doubt to the first part. But I do wonder to the meaning of disappearing, my Lord. It does not say perish.”
The Grim gave an indifferent shrug and turned back to the crowd before him, “We can only wait for the Most Beloved of that House to send a messenger to me, then we will know to where I go to do battle, till then we have work to do.”
Lucy nodded and called for the next shade.
Around four hours later, they heard a commotion coming down Judgment Way in the city. They could see shades being punched down, carts being overturned, and they even saw one reaper get tossed through a window.
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“That’s our reaper,” Lucy said.
“Can you make out who’s it is yet?” Grim said as he stood and made a slight gesture and a sword appeared in that hand. A suit of chain appeared on his body, and The Crest of Grim appeared on his chest. It was a snake in a figure of eight, its tail in its mouth. In the clutches of its two circles of infinity were two trees. On the Overworld side was a dead tree and on the Underworld side was a live one.
“Give way damn you,” came the distant, distinct voice of the reaper as he hit the bridge, “Give way in the name of that immortal over there.”
“That would be Rascus sire,” Lucy said with a little smile. Rascus had been turned somewhere just under a decade ago and had still not worn into the whole submission and honor to the Grim thing.
“Then Tharpe is in trouble, let us wait to hear what Bethel’s message is,” The Grim finished as he paced back and forth restlessly before the massive, black basalt throne.
The clicking of the reaper’s heels got closer, and so did his cursing, and consequently, the cursing of the other reapers and shades grew closer too as he broke the Grim’s peace order on his court and bashed, shoved and kicked his way to the throne. Finally, he stood quite angrily before his Master.
“Really! Some people around here don’t understand the word EMERGENCY. Even when you yell it in there damn deaf ears.” Rascus fumed, “Sorry your Grace, I am bound to you from Bethel at Tharpe. The city revolted when the Matron tried to bring to justice a criminal of great notoriety. When the citizens tried to hinder the guard from their sworn duty of escort, the guard detained a member of the crowd. The crowd broke into a riot, and they started to slaughter those associated with the guard and your Temple. Bethel lowered the Grim-Ward to offer them shelter and protection of the Temple to those who are in need and to fortify the Temple in an attempt to retake the streets.”
The Grim thought as he strode back and forth before his throne. There was more to this than that, he knew there was dissatisfaction with the Temples in the East and it had been building since the Matron in Tharpe had come to power. Maybe there was a connection here. Perhaps the recent deaths of two of his wives were related to the fighting that now took place at the Great City of the Lake. He turned to the waiting reaper and looked him straight in his empty eye sockets, the Grim’s red eyes burning.
“I know you may not lie to me, now that you have relayed this message of how dire things are. Who was this criminal that was hated so to bring this forth or is there something more? What has my wife not told me Rascus? What is she hiding.”
“Sire, the Prisoner was mine and Bethel’s own son, who she has been harboring from the law for years. Dissatisfaction in the Temple has been growing since the Matron has taken over, as she has raised taxes to the point of starvation so to provide our son a life of luxury. Damon, our son, has a thirst for hunting people and anytime anyone threatened our son, she has punished or got rid of them. The final straw, two years past, Damon was caught with his girl in bed. The girl's father demanded Damon’s manhood for what he called rape. Bethel changed the laws concerning the ownership of people and offered to buy the damaged goods. Since then, the Temple has bought three more people that were not related to Damon’s case.” The reaper reported obediently.
The Grim felt his temper rising. His wife had chosen to own something that belonged to him. She had broken her marriage vows and now flaunted her power to hide her adultery, and he had a son. Of all the events he needed right now, dealing with another Seed was not one of them. Grim turned and punched the reaper in a burst of fury, sending the bones flying backward.
“You helped her bear a son. That is forbidden, you shall say nothing, nothing, to my wife. I will have to deal with this atrocity that has happened before any more evil comes of it. It is my place to chastise her. Lucy, I must leave to the surface. This new problem has me a new need to consult the…” and the Grim stopped and looked at Lucy. The Grim smiled a big, toothy grin with a look of realization.
“What is it Grace,” she asked as she helped Rascus reattach his skull. The Grim came over with the reaper’s femur, handing it down to Lucy.
“Sorry about that Rascus,” He said apologetically and then to Lucy, “Because my son on the Overworld and I need to meet, for he sounds like quite a predator.”
Fredrick marched his newly found prize through the streets he now owned. When Marlin had sent him a message telling him Damon was going to be in the open this morning, he knew it was just a ruse. Marlin had raised Damon; he wasn’t about to see the boy killed, no matter what he had done. No, Fredrick had taken the chance to move his plans ahead of schedule. His partner, the Lady Thewar, had set up their headquarters in the Inn of the Second Home.
At First, it was so if they failed to get the populace into a frenzy, their little army of two hundred would go unnoticed and melt into the background of the three thousand odd population of the city. He wished he could spare some more men from elsewhere in the East but at the moment he couldn’t. In the inn, Fredrick and Lady Thewar would be out of sight. No one would be any the wiser about who was calling the shots and would think it to be a simple riot.
What they found in the city was a fire cask ready to be set off, and it exploded. Now he had an army numbering almost one thousand, and he had the necromancers bottled up inside the Temple nicely. He opened up the door to the luxurious inn and marched the three into the common room, signaling for the two younger ones to be tied up. He turned to the smith, who was bent slightly in the low beamed ceiling and smiled a warm smile of friendship.
“Sorry old friend, this place wasn’t meant for bigger folk like you,” He said gesturing to a seat that was brought in by an armed mercenary.
Marlin looked at the chair and remained standing. Fredrick only shrugged, as the door opened and a woman in her thirties and a man in a heavy robe in his fifties, joined them.
“Well, now that we are all together. Marlin, I want you to know that as long as you help, you have always been a friend and will be free to go.” He stated, “I believe you know the Lady Thewar, the new proprietor of the Inn of the Second Home and this is Sedrick, Sorcerer of the First Circle from Salastar.--” The middle-aged Fredrick gestured negligently at the two who stood beside him. He glanced at his gagged daughter with disgust, “--Two years ago, I find that one of my daughters has been spoiled and is worth no more than the pile of dog shit that I stepped in walking in to find her and that dark-haired demon rutting around in the dark. And the Temple, who is supposed to dispense the justice of Grim? Well, it took them long enough, but they finally came to their senses and bought that pile of shit off me. The Mother Matron gave me just a little jingle in my pocket to compensate me for what her demon did.” As he spoke, Marlin could hear Cariline sobbing through her gag and Faldo throwing cruse after curse after Fredrick, the veins bulging from the young man's neck. One of the guards kicked Faldo hard in the side. He fell silent but gave a murderous glare at the guard.
Fredrick continued, “It was at that time I decided to start forming the Resistance against the Temple, and really, it wasn’t that hard. The distaste against the Temple was alive and well. Some of my very first prominent members were the Lord Vicor, Faldo’s grandfather, and The Lady’s father. The Eastern Coalition of Trade is a supporter of our movement. We started to branch out and disrupt the Temple’s supplies coming in and were doing such a good job that the Sorcerers’ Council of the Free City thought it a good idea to send help. We now have branches all the way down to Port Hope. They already sank one Matron, by next Grim-Tide, we are hoping to be rid of that Temple.”
“So what has this to do with me,” asked the big smith as he found the place in the ceiling that allowed him to rise to his full height, though his head still brushed the bottom of the second floor. He sighed in relief and stretched his massive arms out to the side and rolling his bear-like shoulders. Some of the guards near shifted uncomfortably, eyeing a man they were unsure if they could incapacitate.
“We just want you to play along and help us to breach the Temple without a fight. Help us save thousands of lives and free the city from a tyrant.” Fredrick said tantalizingly, “Then the city will be set up as it should be run, by a council. Taxes set by people who understand them, by businessmen. What say you? You stand to gain a lot.”
“Just to lose my soul, no thank you.” Marlin sneered at him, “I think I will take that seat now.” As he finished the big smith went over and sat heavily beside his friends. Marlin had never been one to mince words. He spoke plainly when he did talk at all. Faldo gave his friend a look of respect and nodded at him. Cariline sat crying softly to herself trying not to look at her real father.
“Well then Marlin, I am afraid we will have to execute you with the other two on the ’morrows morning. This evening, we will tie the three of you to stakes outside the Temple walls to see if they will try to rescue you. Maybe in that, you can finally be of some use for once in your life.” He said that last bit as he leaned down to Cariline and grabbed her face hard by the chin, and then he slapped her, “If it weren’t for you, your mother would be here for this glorious day. She died for the shame of birthing you. I saw to it myself.”
Faldo tried to kick at him, and Marlin tried to come up only to find a sword at his neck. Fredrick turned to them shaking a finger, “Ah, ah, ah, don’t get in the way of a father chastising his daughter.”
The leader went to walk out of the room with the other two, over his shoulder to the guards he called back, “You have two hours, try not to wear her out too bad. She enjoys that sort of thing.” Cariline looked at the guards as they started to try to push each other out of the way with wide eyes. Marlin tried to rise but the nearest guard stabbed him in the side, and another knocked Faldo hard for kicking him. Cariline started to thrash wildly, screaming for salvation.