The Broken Pieces(63)
Luther listened to this with his head bowed and his eyes downcast. When Jerico stopped, silence lingered between them, broken only by Luther’s raspy breathing.
“I have thought often of her since that day,” Luther said when Jerico stood to leave. “I never expected to. When I cast my spell, I saw the light in your eyes die. I saw your hope crushed, and it was everything I’d desired. But to see the joy on that woman’s face suddenly extinguished…she had never harmed me. No, she didn’t even disobey me, for Kaide is far too stubborn a man to listen to anyone, not even his sister. Yet I killed her. I thought I’d teach you, teach Kaide, teach the whole North a lesson. But it was…wrong of me to do so in such a way.”
Jerico stood there, lost in a swirl of emotions he could not make sense out of. Looking at the priest, he tried to understand him. Ashhur’s gift assured him the man spoke the truth, every word of it. But what did it mean? What did it change?
“You took the life of another, all to torture me,” he said. “I strive to not hate you, yet you so openly hate me. What have I ever done to deserve this? Or is the god you serve so terribly cruel? What a joke this is, that we march to stop Cyric as if the Karak he envisions is any worse than the god you serve.”
His heart hammered in his chest, and even then Jerico had to fight down his rage. It would be so easy to attack the priest, to give in to his fury. Crushing the skull of a wounded man…what a way to honor Sandra’s memory.
Luther breathed in deep, then let out a sigh.
“I do not expect you to understand, but I will try,” he said. “There is fire in the Abyss, and who better knows how to avoid it than the god who rules amid it? We preach an ironclad law, a way to live so that men may escape the purifying fire through their works. Yet you paladins of Ashhur would show men a different way. It is easier, to be sure. Weaker. You elevate the sinner instead of condemning him. You cast aside all laws and rituals in favor of a single moment of repentance. You lead men astray, Jerico, how can you not see that? You heal wounds with your hands, but we purify the wretched with fire. We spill the blood of thieves and murderers, and like a gardener we pull away the weeds so the pure may become numerous. You are a destroyer of souls. Your words send men and women to an eternity of torment until Karak’s fire can purge away every last bit of their sin. And then you wonder why I hate you. You wonder why we so desperately desire the blight of your faith removed from the world. Is it not obvious? Is it not, even to one of the blasphemers, something so easy to understand?”
Jerico opened his mouth, then closed it. Against such a mind, his words would mean nothing.
“I am not a strong man,” Luther continued. “Nor am I a good one. But I am faithful. I pray that faithfulness will lead us to victory in the end. But what I did to Sandra was done out of spite. It was done out of malice. I will not ask for your forgiveness, for it is folly to ask for forgiveness from sinners. Karak’s forgiveness is all I will seek.”
“Then why tell me?” Jerico asked.
At last Luther met his eye.
“Because you are a good man, and seeing hatred in your eyes sickens me. If only you were as faithful as you were good. To have you at my side would be a wonderful thing. Imagine us together, instructing the weak of this world, and through our strength helping Dezrel become a new kingdom of righteousness.”
Jerico felt something in his heart finally give way. Luther’s words had helped him, though not in any way he might have expected. He knelt before the priest. Reaching out a hand, he touched Luther’s chest, and immediately he felt the wound. Closing his eyes, Jerico began to pray. His hatred, while not gone, was greatly lessened. Instead it had been replaced with pity. White light shone about his hands, and after only a hesitation, he plunged it into the wound. Luther gasped in air as his body straightened. Finished, Jerico stood.
“We save this world by healing it,” Jerico said. “Not with fire, not with destruction. I pray you one day realize this, and believe.”
Luther touched the bandages on his chest, and when he spoke, his voice was firm, healthy.
“A good man,” he said. “But we don’t seek to make good men. We seek believers. Go your way, Jerico. I will ensure the rest of my brethren treat you with respect.”
Jerico stepped out of the tent into the far reaches of the camp. The privacy was welcome after such a long day amid the mercenaries. For a moment Jerico looked over the rows of campfires and tents, seeing an army sworn to kill, fight, and destroy in the name of Karak. It made him sad, but at least it might accomplish something worthwhile if they stopped Cyric’s conquest. As he walked away, he glanced back, thinking of the torn, twisted priest inside.