Part 22

It was my first conquest, as some would come to call it. I preferred to think of it, even then, as my first victory. Conquest was a word to describe the shackling of minds, the power I’d developed on my own. Victory implied only that. It was a defeat of ignorance and indoctrination, the downfall of dogma.

It might have been the first time I truly knew joy.

Not all of them listened. Not all of them ever would, but most did, and those who disagreed did not stand in the way. I had Narissa’s display to thank for that. The mutilated High Priest was not even touched by any of my new congregation, for I had forbade it following that first sermon. Those who raised hand against others would be punished. Those who tried to prevent others from hearing the Truth would be killed.

But my message was one of peace. Is still one of peace, though wars dogs my footsteps everywhere I go.

In those days I often underestimated the belligerent defiance of the truly deceived. No longer. My home, my tribe, I was family to them well before I brought them the good news. Now my eyes needed to be set on the horizon, on spreading Chaos to those who did not know me. To those who saw my people as the enemy.

It was no easy task I pondered as I lay in a new tent, my own burned when I was declared a heretic. The Nine had each taken accommodations of their own, introduced as my allies in this war of faith. Some slept beneath the stars. Some among the grass. Others had been given shelter, as I had. None was charity, for we did perform a great service for the Marallah. I had to remind myself of this constantly, as my natural inclination was to avoid burdening anyone.

Among those who loved and treasured me, it was an inclination I needed to start recognizing as false.

The tent flap opened with a whisper of sound, the interior dark. I assumed it was Narissa, who had come to speak to me aside in a manner none of the other Nine had done. She seemed eager to follow my lead, the others more resentful. Still, the figure silhouetted in the entryway was no woman. It was the old and crooked form of the High Priest, a knife gleaming in his hand.

I panicked at first, rolling to the side as he slashed my bedroll to ribbons, the fiery eyes of a fanatic burning in his skull. Gouges marked the corners of his mouth, where Narissa’s whip had struck before neatly plucking free his tongue. He snarled wordlessly, the only way he could speak now, and came after me again.

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Peace.

Be still.

All is as it must be.

Trust in your blessings.

No mere knife can harm you.

Especially wielded by a man blind,

As well as mute.

I took a breath, and I rolled to my knees, then unfolded to my full, unimpressive height. The old man came at me again, both hands around the knife, and he put his full weight behind the blow as he plunged it into my stomach.

Though my skin was still soft and supple to the touch, the blade skidded off of it, ripping through my shirt and stabbing the empty air. I smiled.

“Muuuraant!” he squealed with obvious distaste, flailing as he fell backward. His balance was thrown by the deflected blow, he was unstable as it was, his cane left on the ground just inside the tent flap.

“Mutant?” I asked, shrugging. “I suppose so. Blessed by the true gods. Where is the strength of your Emperor, if you are so favored? He cares not for you. He doesn’t care for any of us and never has.”

The flap was flung open once more, this time admitting Veros of the Nine. The robed magician from the east stared without surprise at the prostrate High Priest, and the knife resting near his hand. “My lady, do you require assistance?” he asked. He said it in a way that suggested he’d be delighted to step in, but also knew I did not require him to.

“I do not, but our friend here seems to have fallen.” I replied flippantly, a gesture from the mage locking the High Priest in place. “Help him up and back to his quarters, then inform the rest of the Nine that I require their assistance this night. A vessel has been found for my friend, Shiss, and I do not want to prepare it all myself. Especially since I do not know how.”

Yes, it is time.

Shed his blood and his skin.

Place within him the divine.

Call our servants, one each from four.

And they shall show you the way.

Yes, as distasteful as this ritual sounded, it was the only way. Shiss needed a body for our message to spread, and nothing was free. The High Priest had chosen to betray our terms of peace.

If a price was to be paid for the truth, it was only fair that the wicked be the ones to pay.