Episode 6
Evil
Something big was planned, he knew. Was it true that the Duke was a heretic? The city held two churches, large structures dedicated to the God Annis. The true God, the one that the priests spoke of. Everything else, the priest told him, was demon worship. Heretics and murderers worshipped demons, and the priest said that they might be hiding amongst them, pretending.
But hearing about it like a scary story and actually allowing the idea to hold credence were totally different things. What would they do to the Duke if he was a demon worshipper? What about his family?
What about Suzanne?
Petro hurried toward the town center along with the masses of people. Everyone had come out, bakers, farmers, workers. Today was turning into an auspicious day, Petro decided. He had to get there. He had to find Suzanne and set her free. He wouldn’t let them call her a demon worshipper. She was a good girl. His friend.
He rounded a bend in the road and saw the town center spread out before him. Hundreds of people were gathered, separated into two groups and with a line of knights down the center. There was a thrum as people engaged in low conversations, punctuated by the occasional shout from the guards or commoners.
To the right was a smaller group. Many of the richer folk were gathered there, as well as the Duke and his family. His household guard as well. To the left was a much larger group of commoners and poor people. The uneducated.
As Petro approached one of the knight’s came over to him. This one was older than the first two and fatter. He looked bored and tired and was carrying a clipboard.
“Name?”
“Petro,” Petro replied.
“Do you have a family name?”
“No,” he said. The Knight made a note on the clipboard.
“Do you follow Mithras?”
“Who?”
“The demon lord, Mithras,” the man replied, yawning. “Do you worship him?”
Petro shook his head. He’d never even heard of Mithras in his six years on Earth. He glanced over at the gathered groups. “Is that why…” he started to say, then trailed off. His ears went scarlet and his heart started beating faster. The knight looked down at him over the clipboard amused.
“…why they are in two groups?” the knight finished. “Yes. The ones on the left are good citizens. The ones on the right are heretics.”
“What are you going to do to them?”
The man chuckled. “The Knights are setting up The Mistress as we speak. We call her Riss.”
“Riss?” Petro asked, confused.
“The mother of our Lord Annis,” the knight said, then gently patted Petro on the shoulder. “I suggest that the next time you hear her name, you recognize it.”
Petro nodded. If she was related to the Lord of Light, then Petro had best learn about her. He didn’t want to be declared a heretic.
“Go to the left group,” the knight said, turning toward another person walking in.
Petro started toward the milling crowd, scanning faces and looking for Suzanne. He ran up and down the outside of the clustered group, shoving his way through, before realizing the truth he’d already suspected.
She wasn’t in the left group.
He didn’t dare cross over to the right group for fear they wouldn’t let him leave, but he dodged around his own side trying to locate her. Finally, he spotted her near the front of the right cluster. He waved at her, trying to get her attention, but she didn’t seem to notice. She looked terrified and confused, but at least she wasn’t with those cruel Knights anymore.
He heard a grinding sound, followed by a series of muffled thumps. The knights and guards surrounding the citizens were pounding the butts of their spears into the ground. The last of the milling people had been brought in and separated, and now they were all surrounded on the outside by a line of Imperial Guards and Knights from the Order Annis.
The crowd hushed as an enormous platform was wheeled into the square. On it stood a tall man in white robes with a thick black mustache and jet black hair. He stood calm as the platform was wheeled to a stop in front of the crowd. Behind him on the platform stood a large device with two poles sticking up into the air and attached by a beam at the top. At the bottom was a sheet of wood that reminded him of stocks where people would be stuck and left for days as punishment. But this one didn’t have holes for the hands or a hinge, but just a hole for a head.
At the top was a blade. It looked rusty and old but the angled edge gleamed in the torchlight. The crowd stared at it in quiet amazement.
A man near Petro spoke: “Gods help us. It’s the guillotine.”
A minute passed in silence. No one else dared to speak, and all eyes were on the priest. That minute stretched into two, and finally he stepped forward, to the edge of the platform. His eyes swept over them, not settling anywhere in particular but seeming to take them all in. When he spoke, his voice was deep and rhythmic:
“The Lord of Light gives us everything. All we are. All we become. These are His gifts to us. His love for us. He is a generous Lord who watches out for and protects his people. He gives us everything, yet asks for very little in return.
“There are some who won’t accept his gifts. They scorn what they do not understand and mock that which they cannot see. Such people are to be pitied, for it is only through His light that we can be made whole.
“And there are others still who do understand. They understand what the Lord offers and yet willfully disobey His will. They seek to do harm to others and seek to disavow His teachings. Such people are heretical in nature and disastrous to culture. We priests are shepherds. We tend to the Lord’s flock and look after His people. But we are also gardeners. We seek out the weeds that run rampant in His garden and root them out. Only after the garden is purified of suffocating weeds can the Lord’s flowers truly flourish.”
Here he paused, letting his words sink in over the crowd. It was the middle of the day, but overcast and cloudy. A rainy day, the kind on which Petro would lounge inside, listening to the pitter patter against the roof.
Thunder rolled in the distance. Torches were lit and passed out amongst the guards.
The priest waited for several minutes before spreading his arms to the sky.
“As you can see, the Lord’s light is diminished here. Here, in this duchy, there is corruption. No one here can know the Lord’s love and the Lord’s grace because you are all being suffocated by the weeds of those which would do you harm. Those who scorn His will. Those who worship demons.”
A communal gasp rang out in the crowds. One man from the right group shouted “Mithras is not a demon!” before receiving the butt of a spear into his stomach, knocking his wind away.
The priest waited patiently. Gradually, the crowd settled. Then he spoke:
“But our Lord is a benevolent Lord. He believes that all of us, no matter how small or weak, deserve a second chance. We are imperfect beings living in an imperfect world. We can be better, if only we know the way.”
“What is the way?” a man shouted. This time it came from the left group.
“Teach us!” a woman shouted.
“Save us priest!” another woman shouted. This received a ragged cheer. The priest held up his hands, quieting them.
“The Lord loves you all. But today we are here to witness his wrath. There are those who cannot be saved. Today those people will be purged in His light. And, like the phoenix that must experience death to be reborn, so too will this duchy be reborn in the light of our Lord!”
This time the cheer was louder from many of the peasants. Petro wasn’t really paying attention. He was trying to think of some way to get to Suzanne and slip out. They were small, and people rarely noticed children. Maybe they could blend into the crowd and sneak past the guards…
“Bring forth the unbelievers,” the priest said, raising his hands to the sky, “and together we shall be reborn!”
Six guards walked to the right group. The first guard grabbed the duke and pulled him away. The second grabbed his wife. The third grabbed the Captain of the Guard, and the forth and fifth grabbed the thirteen year old son of the Duke and a nobleman in expensive clothing. All five were unarmed and struggled but little as they were dragged forward.
The sixth guard, Petro saw in horror, grabbed Suzanne. He dragged her forward with the rest to The Mistress. She didn’t struggle, but had a look of sheer terror on her face that made Petro sick.
The Duke was led first to The Mistress and forced to his knees. The priest raised his hands to the sky again. “Lord, we offer You this heretic that You might forgive these good people. Will you find it in Your heart to accept our offering?”
Then he turned to the Duke. “If you have any final words, speak them now and be damned.”
The Duke, on his knees, looked up at the priest. “Your God is silent priest. Remember that when you go to your bed. Remember that and ask yourself if their really is an afterlife for you.”
“I know of theKingdomofHeaven, promised to all who offer their heart to Him. What has your God promised you?”
“More than you could ever imagine.”
The priest smiled. “Then perhaps you can prove me wrong. When you arrive there, come back and tell us if Mithras kept his word.”
With a wave of the priest’s hand, the Duke was pushed forward so his head was through the hole. The crowd was silent. The blade fell. It hit the bottom, separating the two sides of the hole, and the Duke’s head thudded to the wooden deck. It rolled several feet before the priest put his foot on it, stopping it in place.
The Duke’s eyes were open, seeming to stare out over the crowd. Petro looked into those eyes, expecting vacancy and finding understanding instead. Horrified, terrified, and full of understanding. Gradually, the understanding faded away, but the eyes remained open.
Those eyes, Petro knew, would haunt his dreams.
The priest cocked his head to the side, listening. “I hear nothing. Perhaps he never made it to his other side.”
“You mock, priest, and the mockery makes you a coward.”
The man who spoke was the Guard Captain. The priest stepped away from the Duke’s head and walked over to the Guard Captain. “I mock that which is beneath my contempt,” the priest said. “And your insult means nothing when it comes from a heretic. You reside beneath my contempt and consideration. You are nothing. A scavenger on the desires of other men. You prey upon their weakness and turn them away from their only chance of salvation. You consort with demons and drink the blood of virgins.”
The captain laughed. “You are clearly as ignorant as you are self-righteous.”
“Spoken like a man afraid to die.”
The captain shook his head. “No, I am not afraid to die. I’ve made my peace. What you do today is out of fear and stupidity. You accuse me of the manipulation which you have perfected. These people you shepherd over? You make them into sheep. Mithras makes us strong. All of us. He doesn’t force some into poverty so you can Lord over them like a child with an ant hill. And this is why, priest, you and yours will fail.”
The priest took a step forward, smiling. But it was a cruel smile. “Will I? Maybe. But not today. I’m sorry, but today it is not my head on the chopping block.”
Two men grabbed the Captain and dragged him to The Mistress. They forced him down, shoved his head through the hole, and only a second later the blade sung. Another head rolled across the wooden machine. Blood poured down, drenching the sands.
The crowd watched in mute fascination. Petro couldn’t believe it. He didn’t think this was right, but he couldn’t understand why no one else did anything. The duke wasn’t a bad man. People often talked about him, and how good he was to his people. Yet no one spoke up. No one said this was wrong.
The Duke’s wife was brought forward next. She cried, begged, and pleaded. Her head rolled.
The son cursed the priest and all who worshipped Annis. His head rolled. The other nobleman muttered and chanted a prayer to Mithras. His head rolled.
And Suzanne was alone. A guard guided her toward the block. Her lip was twitching and tears streamed down her cheeks, but she didn’t make a sound. The priest watched, a smile curling his lips.
“She isn’t a heretic!” someone yelled. No one moved. A second slipped past and Petro realized it was him. He’d shouted.
Oh God, he’d shouted!
“Who said that?” the priest asked, his eyes scanning. Petro felt someone roughly shove him forward. He stumbled and landed in the open area before the priest. The sand and dirt underneath him was wet and his hands came away sticky and red. He stayed on his knees, staring at his hands, too afraid to speak. Would the priest kill him now? Would he be next, after his friend, to have his head chopped off?
Someone touched his shoulder. “Arise, child,” the priest said. Slowly, Petro stood. His knees where shaking. He took off his hat—a faded ragged old thing he’d found in a refuse pile years earlier—and held the brim in his hands, rubbing his sticky fingers across it like he did when he was nervous. He stared at the priests legs.
“Look at me,” the priest said. Petro’s eyes climbed up and finally found the priest’s face. He looked stern, but not overly angry. “Please repeat what you said.”
Petro was terrified. He didn’t want to speak, but he was even more afraid of not doing what the priest told him to: “She isn’t a heretic,” he said, then added, “She’s my friend.”
“Heretics come in all shapes and sizes,” the priest said. “What if I told you that she was found by knights while carrying a book? A terrible book that proves her guilt.”
Petro looked back at the ground. “She can’t read,” he said softly.
The priest was silent for a long moment. Finally he crouched down and lifted Petro’s chin so they faced each other once more. “She is your friend,” he said. “Will you vouch for her? Will you accept the responsibility of what she is if she is in fact a heretic, even if it means your own death as well?
“Will you die for her?”
Petro was silent for a long moment, staring at the priests face. There was a sudden spark of remembrance. He remembered a time a few months ago after one of his father’s worst beatings. Petro wasn’t able to walk for days. He’d crawled to his alley hiding place and passed out, delirious and incoherent. Days slipped past with him in and out of consciousness, and whenever he’d woken there had been food and water next to him. He ate, he drank, and he gradually recovered.
Only once he’d spotted Suzanne, crouched behind a box and watching him. He knew she was the one leaving food and water for him, the only one keeping him alive. The only one who cared.
He’d never even thanked her.
“Yes,” he said, looking straight into the priest’s eyes. He felt a sudden burst of courage. Of surety. He was just a wretched broken little thing, unworthy of being loved or taken care of. She had taken care of him. “Yes, I will die with her. I will die for her, if you will let me.”
The priest studied him for a long moment, and then nodded. He stood. “Very well.”
A guard grabbed Petro by the shoulder. The priest walked over to the platform and climbed atop it once more. Suzanne stood near the guillotine flanked by guards, waiting. “This young man,” the priest said, “has told me that his friend here is not a heretic. He believes that she is incapable of such evil. I, however, am less convinced. It is my duty to ensure that all evil has been wiped clean from this duchy and that a new beginning may come.
“The courage this boy shows for standing up at all and speaking out makes me think that he might have been sent by the Lord to ensure His Grace is seen by all. Could this child, caught carrying a Dark Tome, be worthy of a second chance? Could even she be worthy of forgiveness?
“I am but a humble servant of our Lord, unworthy of such a decision. I ask you, good people, if this boy’s courage will grant this girl’s forgiveness? Can we forgive them and welcome them lovingly back into the light?”
A roar echoed through the crowd. Several people cheered, many people clapped. Everyone shouted for forgiveness. The priest let the din wash over them for a few moments before raising his hands once more. Silence descended. The priest smiled.
“I believe the Lord has spoken. Through you all and His Grace, even this heretical child can be granted forgiveness.” The priest turned back to Petro, who stood transfixed and confused. The priest knelt, placing his hand on Petro’s cheek. “Young boy, the Lord of Light has listened. Sometimes it is from the mouths of babes that we have our greatest insights. Take your friend and cherish her. You, like me, are a servant of Annis. May you live long and happy lives.”
The crowd cheered again. The soldier guided Petro over to Suzanne, who was staring at him in awe. She threw herself into his arms, and he held her close. The crowd cheered even louder.
“Thank you,” she muttered into his shoulder.
A soldier ushered them off the stage to the ground below, back to the left side and the gathered commoners. Petro felt himself get patted on the back several times as they moved through the crowd and everyone was smiling. Suzanne never once let go of his arm.
The priest waited until things settled. Lightning struck in the distance, followed seconds after by the roll of thunder.
“We have seen the Lord’s punishment. We have also born witness to His forgiveness. Know, you people who have been walking down a terrible path, that His arms are ever open. He is waiting for you. Today, you will be granted the opportunity to throw down your false idols, your demonic worship, and swear yourselves to the Lord of Light. All transgressions will be forgotten. Today this town dies, but tomorrow it will be reborn in the Lord’s Light!”
A procession began. People from both separate groups—but mostly from the left group—stepped forward. They walked to the priest, dropping their idols and symbols on the ground and spitting on them. To each, the priest offered a blessing and benediction.
The line moved slowly. Petro held Suzanne in his arms and together they watched. The baker passed, dropping a sigil of Mithras onto the ground, followed by two mill workers in dirty clothing. The butcher and his family, a whole procession of mine workers. Only a few of them had actual heretical items. Most just wanted to be close to the priest. To see him and to receive the Lord’s blessing. Any Lord would do for such people.
The line paused. Petro saw Hank standing at the front of the line. The boy whose father had been beheaded with the duke. Petro felt bad for him.
But then again, Hank had been the one who hit him on the hand. The one who bullied him. Even if it was only unintentional because he was bigger and stronger than Petro, it had hurt.
Hank was staring at the priest, hatred in his eyes. The priest waited calmly. The line was growing restless and a few people started shouting, asking what the holdup was.
Suddenly Hank ran forward. He grabbed the holy symbol hanging around the priest’s neck, and with a yank jerked it loose. A hush fell over the crowd and the priest’s eyes went wide in shock. Hank spit on it, then threw it on the ground.
“This is not my God! This is not our God! Our God is Mithras! Annis is an anus!”
Then he stomped on the symbol and picked up the Mithras sigil lying no the ground nearby. First there were murmurs. Then:
“He’s right!” someone shouted. “This isn’t our God!”
“We worship Mithras!”
“This is our town. How dare they come here—”
“We can’t take this—”
“—fight back—”
“—treat us like—”
People started shouting. People cursed. Some screamed for Annis, some for Mithras. Some just shouted to be heard. The priest narrowed his eyes, staring down at Hank. Several of the nearby guards had drawn weapons, but the priest raised his hand to stop them from approaching.
“Young man you have just made a grave mistake,” the priest said, stepping forward and reaching out. “I’m afraid that what you have done is unforgiv—”
As the priest laid his hand on Hank’s shoulder, it erupted into flame. His robes and skin caught fire like dried kindling, rushing up his arm to his body. It ignited as well, bursting into blue flame, and the priest began to scream.
Hell broke loose.
Everyone was screaming.
The priest stumbled into one of the guards, and fire spread to him as well. Both burning men ran about, and everything they touched erupted into flame. A commoner ran past, flames dancing across his body, and threw himself into a horse trough. Smoke sizzled out.
Petro and Suzanne backed away, still holding hands and looking for an escape. Several of the armed knights and Imperial Guards drew swords, shouting and slashing. Peasants fell. Others banded together and pulled knights down, pummeling them with sticks and stones.
Blood flowed in the streets.
Rain began to fall from the sky.
“We need to go!” Suzann said. Petro spun in a circle but saw no clean exit. Everywhere people were burning or fighting. It had taken but seconds to spiral out of control.
“Where?”
“Anywhere!” she shouted.
But there was nowhere to go. Petro spun and saw the priest lying on the ground, twitching and burning. Hank, though, was gone.
“This way,” Suzanne said, yanking his arm. Together they rushed through the crowd, ducking past one Knight and jumping over a few bodies. They rain came down harder, drenching their clothing and putting out many of the fires. The smell of burnt clothing and the sickly sweet smell of something that reminded him of pork hung in the air. They rushed past, stumbling down one alley and then another. The fighting spilled out of the main courtyard as people fled and killed up and down the side streets.
Petro took charge, leading them past a few skirmishes, through the butcher’s shop, and to his alley. His hiding place away from the world. He pulled her down into the cramped corner behind the shop and held her close to him. The rain washed past them, drenching both. They saw feet pass, then the legs of horses. They heard screams and shouts.
The night passed slowly. Suzanne shivered in his arms and they both cried, neither daring to step out and check. The rain let up finally, but by that time it was night and freezing. He felt her shivering in his arms. He had to get her warm. Or they would die.
“Wait here,” he said. She nodded her head, emerald eyes bleary and teeth chattering. He crawled out of the hole and stretched his legs, taking in the devastation around him.
Several houses were smoldering. A few men pulling a cart dragged past, bodies piled high, but they hadn’t even put a dent into the dead on the streets. Petro passed bodies at every turn. Mostly peasants, people from this town, but more than a few of them Imperial Guards and knights.
So much death. It was hard to fathom. Petro had seen people die. It was a common enough event on the streets in any town. But so many and at the same time. He’d watched the light go out of the Duke’s eyes. He’d watched the priest catch flame. The priest who forgave Suzanne.
Hank had set the priest no fire. Was hank a heretic? It seemed hard to believe, but at the same time he was glad he’d never pushed Hank too hard. Would Hank have done that to him, setting him on fire, if he’d beaten him with sticks? He’d never believed demons were real. He just thought they were stories told by priests to scare children into believing.
But now he’d watched another child barely older than him turn a man into a raging inferno. Petro was young and ignorant, but he knew that he’d been in the presence of pure evil.
“Boy,” a voice called, pulling him from his thoughts. The voice was weak and distant. He saw an old man, one he didn’t recognize, leaning against a building. He was just outside the courtyard.
The man coughed. “Boy, come here. Do you have any water?”
Petro shook his head, taking only one short step closer. “No water.”
“What about wine? Do you have any wine?”
Petro had only tasted wine a few times, and those were when his father was too drunk to notice. It was sweet and bitter and entirely too thick for Petro’s taste. But he didn’t have any of that, either. He shook his head.
“Oh,” the man said, crestfallen. “That’s too bad.”
He had a wound across his chest and a pool of blood around him. His breath was coming in ragged gasps. “I…I’ll go look for water,” Petro said.
“No, don’t leave me!” the man said. Petro continued backing away. “Don’t go!”
But Petro couldn’t stay. It was too scary. Too painful. He didn’t want to watch the man die. His feet kept on, moving past the bodies into the courtyard. Here the devastation was worse, the death toll higher. It was quiet and still, like a graveyard. Nothing moved.
Many bodies were stacked on top of each other, along with wood, and had been lit on fire. The fire was smoldering now and only a few of the bodies were burnt at all. The smell was stronger and more terrible than anything he’d ever experienced. The worst part was Petro was hungry, and the smell of burning flesh only made him hungrier.
He wandered aimlessly through the yard and found himself at the spot where the priest had fallen. The body was gone, into the pile. All around was sand and blood, smeared around rather than washed away by the rain. The guillotine had been smashed and used for firewood.
He spotted something gleaming, half buried under the sand, and knelt down. Gently, he worked the holy symbol of Annis free. It was a golden sun and heavy, worth quite a bit. He slipped it into his pocket and stood.
“Who are you?” a voice asked. Petro spun and saw a Knight standing there. He wore different colors than the other knight’s who’d been here this morning. He wasn’t from the Order of Annis. The man stood easy, with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His beard was gray and his eyes kind.
“Petro,” Petro said finally. “An orphan.”
He added the last as an afterthought, realizing his father must be dead. He’d been in the crowd, and he was too stupid to get away. The funny thing was, Petro felt worse about the priest dying than his own sire. The priest had been good. A good man battling against evil. Evil like Hank. The priest had forgiven Suzanne, and given her back her life. His father just beat him and treated people cruelly.
“I am Sir Martin ofWestminster. I’m going to ask you a very important question and I need you to be honest with me. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” Petro said.
“What happened here?”
Petro was silent for a few minutes, looking around at the bodies and devastation around him. The Lord of Light had killed people in this town, true: the Duke, his family, and the guard Captain. But he’d forgiven everyone else. And if Petro had ever doubted that there was evil in the world and that the Lord of Light was fighting against it, he didn’t now. Beyond those five corpses, the rest had been caused by this demon Mithras.
Mithras and his servant Hank.
When he finally spoke, his voice was sure. “A priest came here. To save these people. But a demon came here too and killed them all.”
The Knight studied him quietly, and then nodded. “An orphan you say?”
“Yes.”
“Are you alone?”
“I have one other with me,” Petro said.
The knight nodded.
“You shall come with me. It’s important that people hear of this. We must know what has happened so we can prepare.”
Petro didn’t dare to disagree. The knight gathered him and Suzanne up and put them on his spare mount. They rode out of the small town to the northwest. Suzanne was quiet for a few weeks, never leaving Petro’s side, but gradually she opened back up and became the sweet girl he remembered. He swore to her that he would never leave her, that they would look after each other.
When they arrived inWestminsterhe was amazed. It was huge and bustling. The knight took them to several priests and lords where they told their story. Many asked for details. He gave them what he could. Some he made up. After a time the Sir Martin took him as a squire and trained him. He learned about martial prowess and knighthood, training daily with all of the knightly weapons. When he was thirteen he married Suzanne. They were fifteen when he had his first child by her. She flourished in the new surroundings, becoming a great beauty that caused envy in many men and boys alike. But she never wavered in her loyalty to him, nor he to her.
For years he traveled with the Knight Sir Martin, squiring for him as the Knight dealt out justice in the name of the True God. They spent much time at odds with the Knight’s Invictus, sharing a difference of opinion in regards to punishment. The Knight’s Invictus, Petro discovered, believed that evil and corruption could manifest inside anyone, and that no one was inherently evil because of their beliefs.
But he knew the truth. That evil hid behind such gray colored beliefs and preyed upon weak people. He had seen true evil. He knew the power that heretics wielded. The priest’s only mistake, all those years ago, was trying to forgive them. A heretic was a heretic no matter how pretty to look upon or how smoothly they spoke. Petro learned how to kill them all.
He developed his skills to become dangerous, a servant of the Lord ready to mete out justice to those who defied the church and to stand strong beside those who needed his protection.
