“You tell me that the Divine Lord was a member of the church?” Father Tremo asked, utterly shocked.
“More or less”, the knight answered after chewing on a piece of meat. “The Crimson Hand wasn’t an official part. It didn’t even exist, considering everyone involved. No need to burden the common populace with the existence of demons and their hunters.”
Tremo didn’t want to believe this knight. After all, he could tell him whatever he liked. There wasn’t even a minor chance for Tremo to verify those claims anywhere. Most books of the church had been destroyed. But why would a knight of the Divine Lord lie to a priest, for that matter? Especially considering what he told him.
“The story isn’t finished, by the way”, the knight continued after he had finished the remainder of his supper. “So, let me continue…”
—
Rosomil and his companions fought many valiant battles against dark magic and those who stoop so low to wield it. But it didn’t help. No matter the number of lives saved, Rosomil felt further despair, which made him susceptible to the very forces he had sworn to fight. And as fate would have it, he was presented with an opportunity.
It was about five years ago. Monks in a monastery in the north made a peculiar discovery. Upon an increase in ghostly murmurs and whispers floating around the monastery, they sought the source of those apparitions. A source, which they found remarkably fast. Namely, they listened for the whispers and traced them towards an old wall, a remnant of the pagan temple which the monastery was built on. Without delay, they tore the wall down and found a peculiar room.
The room was huge and shaped like a pentagon. Its walls were lined by rows upon rows of books, scrolls and stone tablets and where the wall were unobstructed they found ancient runes and scribbles depicting ghastly rituals. But the heart piece of the room was a large tome bound in rough leather, showing pagan tattoos and leaving no room for doubt considering its nature. Frightened, they called the bishop for help and the Order of the Crimson Hand became involved.
Rosomil and his companions seized the books, performed the necessary rites to seal off all ill magic within this room, and closed the wall again. Afterwards they build a small altar of Saint Micheal in front of the wall, then they left. A task well done.
Rosomil, despite this being one of the easier and more enjoyable deployments, still felt inadequate, for the scribbles on the walls had shown him more innocent lives lost to barbaric and cruel means. Despite it being centuries in the past, despair upon his own human limits to help them, made his mind weak.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
Before he left alongside his companions, he went back to the newly erect altar of Saint Micheal and kneeled in front of it. His prayer expressed his still utter devotion towards the Lord and all his Saints, yet also his doubts. He asked for a sign or a word, but God remained silent. Unbeknownst to himself, Rosomil supplied that moment the dark seed within him with fresh water. But the seed needed more to take truly root.
As it was custom within the Crimson Hand, all members also had to study the powers they fought against. It was a necessity despite the danger it held, since it helped them understand what to expect of their enemies. Thusly also the skin-bound tome was moved into their main place of study, an old monastery hidden in the high mountains. And, as its captor, Rosomil was expected to study it and find out who had created the book and to what end.
This task proved to be more difficult than any might have expected. The letters within the book and even what appeared to be pagan tattoos upon the skin were unlike anything the Crimson Hand had ever seen. No spoken or written language accounted for the strange symbols and mesmerising pattern drawn onto the dry parchment pages.
Rosomil went through pages and pages of the records of the Crimson Hand to find anything alike. It was straining work, making his mind swirling with suspicions, doubts and frustration. It went even so far that, when he closed his eyes, he saw the patterns and swirls from the pages. They curled and coiled like snakes through his mind and mixed with his thoughts and feelings of inadequacy.
Frightful for his soul, he doubled down on his prayers and acts of devotion to the Lord. He wished with his whole heart for answers and a remedy for his human inability to understand the machinations behind the book. But the sign or hint he hoped for eluded him. It went so far he considered revealing his heart to his companions, seeking relief from the pain in his soul and the growing hole in his heart. Yet, to consider isn’t what causes a thought to become an act and, thusly, Rosomil remained silent. After all, he couldn’t show weakness in front of his brothers. He was among the highest-ranking members of the Order. To express doubt would weaken the entire Order and spread it like a plague. In the end, he continued his research and prayers in silence.
—
“There is a thing I need to ask of you, Sire”, Tremo said, as the knight didn’t immediately continue with his story.
“Ask, little brother, and answers shall reveal themselves”, he replied mocking.
“There’s a rumour about the Divine Lord”, he began cautiously. “They say, he… In order for him to gain the power, he needed, they say… They say, he killed his heart. For without his heart, even God can’t touch him any more.”
“It’s a metaphor rather than the truth”, the knight replied, thoughtful, and placed a few more branches in the fire. “The truth is much grimmer than that. He killed his four companions. Or rather, he sacrificed them in the name of the demon he pledged himself to.”
“Oh Lord, why?” Tremo breathed and felt tears well up in his eyes. “I don’t understand. How? How can someone do something like this?”
“Despair, little brother”, the knight replied, stern. “Unchecked, it breaks all ideals one holds and pierces one with those, like shards from a mirror.”
“Did they suffer?”
“They did. But one more so like the others.”
“Why?“
“Because he was closest to Rosomil.”