Chapter Eleven
“Trust in the Lord and his shepherds with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge His Word, and He shall direct thy path.”
–Father Abraham, “The Holy Word”. 14 Months After.
* * *
Another day. Another member added to their family, hungry for answers.
Brother Zion bowed low. “You honor me with my inclusion into your ranks, Brother Ezekiel.”
Ezekiel nodded. “The honor will be yours only if you earn it. There is no greater glory than serving as the Lord’s Inquisitor. He needs every warrior He can get.”
“Thank you.”
Ezekiel remained silent. In truth, he did not like the idea of including one such as Zion in his ranks. That he was a Brother now only went so far. Especially when his heretical ways weren’t far behind from that valley they had plucked him from. Even the baptized needed more time to internalize the Lord’s message. Of this truth, Ezekiel knew all too well.
But it could not be helped but to initiate this training. The Inquisitors were weakened after their attempt to capture Liam Fenix, and the Father had rendered his judgment. More would need to be trained to ensure that the congregation remained safe, and the more experienced ones could always use a refresher after so much time without a major conflict.
Ezekiel studied his Brothers. They watched back with empty stares, probing for anything but revealing nothing. Same as him.
He focused back on Zion. “As an Inquisitor, it will be your job to combat Sin directly, wherever it may form. You must study your tools intimately if you wish to render God’s judgment.”
He flipped open his cloak and drew the first. “The cudgel will be your most direct tool in this camp. The Devil can tempt even the most devout of heart, so you must always be vigilant against any signs of Sin within our congregation.” He tapped Zion on the shoulder. “A firm reminder of the damage our mortal shells can receive is often enough to make an Inquisition unnecessary. Your Brother or Sister will see the bruising and be reminded of their shame, and the Lord will remove that shame only if they become pure of heart again.”
Ezekiel pulled his next weapon out and gripped it with both hands. “The bo staff is needed for those who would dare to fight back. You must always treat this tool as an extension of your own body. Just as a hand can stroke with kindness, so too can it form a fist.” With a twirl of his wrists, he spun the staff around, hitting the open space near Zion’s head. “Never forget your own strength with this weapon, or it will result in your death or another’s.”
Last, he set the staff aside and took out their most complex tool. Light gleaned across the limb where it had been coated in pine tar. “And this is the crossbow. Mine is a simple hand crossbow, but we also carry larger ones that pack more force and medium-range repeaters that can fire in rapid succession. Very rarely should you need to use these weapons in camp. It is most effective against the Devil’s forces that would do us harm. With one pull of the trigger, God will smite your enemy as long as your aim and faith remain true. Sinners and heretics alike can be destroyed at a distance with this device.”
“…Would be easier with our guns,” someone muttered nearby.
The other Inquisitors fell hushed and averted their gaze while Ezekiel focused on his challenger. “Brother Jericho, did you just speak in error?”
“I did not,” Jericho said, his scarred brow in a hard slant. “You speak of arrows and sticks as if they’re divine weapons, but the crossbow is powerless against enemies with steel barricades and high-caliber rifles. We nearly lost more men when capturing Zion’s Enclave because of this handicap.”
“Need I remind you, Brother, that it was these arrows and sticks that felled your own heretical kindred.”
But Jericho merely folded his meaty arms. “With all due respect, Brother Ezekiel, your tactics defeated my old crew, not your weapons. Had we known that you had others in ambush, you would have never stood a chance.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You doubt God’s power?”
“No. I merely understand warfare.”
“What point are you trying to make, Brother Jericho?”
He clenched a fist. “My point is that we could bring God’s judgment to so many others if we were more willing to use our guns. When all else is equal, the side with the greatest firepower wins, regardless of whom the Lord favors.”
Such heresy! The others leaked doubts as they considered his words, their thoughts bleeding into the open more freely. More than one murmured to their kindred, perhaps in agreement. Even Zion stared out, his lips a thin line as he pondered the possibility.
Ezekiel closed his eyes. A hot temper could only further strife, whereas a cool demeanor would squelch this Sin before it grew.
It was not his Brother’s fault. Jericho was also new to their congregation and had not bathed enough in God’s light to understand the truth that he had spent years learning. Ezekiel turned around and went for his tent, where the unholy weapons were kept locked up. Another moment, he had a pistol at the ready.
“Perhaps we can put your words to the test, Brother,” Ezekiel said, handing over the weapon.
Jericho took the pistol in hand. “What do you expect me to do with this?”
“Exactly as you remember. Holster it at your waist and then attempt to strike me down. I will protect myself with nothing other than my staff.”
He gulped. “That would be murder.”
Now, it was Ezekiel’s turn to remain unfazed. “There is no murder here. Let our fellow Brothers stand witness to the words I have spoken. If you are successful in striking me down, then God has chosen you, and you are innocent of all crimes. If I can disarm you before that happens, then God has chosen me, and you will seek repentance in your heart for questioning His power.”
The other Inquisitors looked from one to another without words. They no doubt questioned the wisdom of this exercise, but that was because they lacked the same faith as him. Ezekiel remained content with putting his fate in the hands of the Lord. No one else could interfere with His divine plan.
Jericho stood in place, his fingers near his gun.
Ezekiel began to pace backward. “I know that you have not forgotten what we did to you, Jericho. I can see it in your eyes. You still value the lives of the heretics that you once loved. I understand your feelings. They are natural, and I used to experience them for myself.” He stopped, now over fifteen feet away. “Go ahead and exercise this hatred against me. If you can. You have my permission.”
Again, Ezekiel closed his eyes and breathed deep. He was incapable of hearing the auditory voice of the Lord like Father Abraham, but He still found ways to speak through him. The muscles in Ezekiel’s limbs loosened, from his fingers and toes, to his hands and feet, to his knees and arms, to his shoulders and hip, and into his torso itself, settling in his heart before rising to his head. Cool and clear, like the soft wind around.
Ezekiel opened his eyes. “Let us begin.” He watched his Brother and waited for movement.
Jericho’s eyes twitched, his fury burning. He ripped the pistol from his waist and took aim.
Too slowly, of course. The instant Jericho moved his wrist, Brother Ezekiel launched into a charge, the Lord carrying his legs with a speed that none could match. By the time his Brother raised his pistol, Ezekiel was well within reach. With a mere twist of his staff, the unholy weapon tumbled to the ground.
Jericho’s anger melted into shock, but this lesson was not yet complete. Ezekiel advanced another pace and flipped his bo staff around, angling the other end behind his opponent’s legs. As Jericho began to slip, Ezekiel elbowed his chest. His Brother fell below, still crippled in bewilderment.
The remaining Inquisitors remained hushed, just as astonished by the display performed.
Ezekiel did not avert his gaze. “What is the lesson here?”
Jericho did nothing but lay on his back for a moment, the sun falling across his face.
Zion’s eyes widened. “He trusted in the weapon of a sinful world, and you – no, God Himself – brought him onto his knees for his hubris!”
Ezekiel held out his hand. “That is correct.” Jericho begrudgingly reached back. “The Beholding may have robbed us of our minds, but through the Lord’s grace, we were able to redesign these weapons for ourselves. The cudgel is simple but effective, the bo more refined and lethal, and the crossbow our pinnacle of success. Even with our bodies weakened by Sin, we are able to utilize this tool again by installing a mere lever at the base to compound our strength. That is an enhancement of old world technology, not a step backward.”
He held up the pistol. “Make no mistake, however. There is some wisdom in Brother Jericho’s words. These weapons are still kept in this camp because they are sometimes needed for defense. The Lord only protects those willing to protect themselves, and there have been enemies too dangerous for us to combat through faith alone. Then and only then do we use these unholy weapons of war. Against the Devil’s army itself.
“But we must also never forget that this only proves how much we still have to learn. Even our reliance on the staff and crossbow demonstrates our weakness compared to the Lord.” The polymer grip felt alien as Ezekiel activated the safety again. He holstered the pistol.
“God’s true warriors need no weapons.”
* * *
Sunlight covered all in sight.
There was no escaping it. After the congregation had left the mountains and traversed these empty plains, less and less cover remained available to them. The trees were no taller than Ezekiel, and a dusty expanse enveloped all in front. Shrubs bitterly clung to the sands beneath, with no water to bring them succor.
The congregation continued their pilgrimage through this desert. As Moses once had with the Israelites, the Father assured them, but Ezekiel felt this akin to the expulsion of Adam and Eve. Their bayou might as well have been Eden when compared to here. Though the strength of the Lord’s light aided them on their journey, their cattle could not handle such strain. Many had to be killed as their limbs failed within this wasteland, and their Brothers and Sisters struggled against the Sin that their exposed blood produced.
Communion was becoming a challenge as well. Consumption of flesh was heresy for the Beholders, so they relied on produced milk alone. The Friars ordained this process to form the Holy Communion that their Brothers and Sisters relied on to keep their spirits from becoming vulnerable to Sin. With so many cattle harmed during this journey, less milk could be produced, which meant less Holy Communions were performed. How much longer could this pace be sustained?
A few more weeks, maybe. But Father Abraham held his head high as he marched onward, his sight piercing through the shifting horizon to lands not yet seen.
If only everyone could share in his faith.
Brother Ezekiel closed in, his long-range crossbow in hand. “We should consider making camp again, Father.”
He chuckled. “On a day so fine? Now, what would compel you to think that we should?”
“We’re vulnerable right now. The Inquisitors are too busy helping transport supplies, and only a handful of my Brothers still keep watch. There’s no telling what lies beyond those hills. Or whom.”
“Oh, my son. Such cynicism. Do you not see the progress we make? Why, those mountains were once so very small, and now, they could be no further than a day away.”
Ezekiel studied the terrain in front and swallowed the bile in his throat.
An act that did not go unnoticed by the Father. He raised an eyebrow. “The more we advance our pilgrimage, the more disquieted you have become, Ezekiel. What is it that troubles your heart so?”
“We’re drawing too close to the Unholy City.”
“Is this not our intention?” Brother Aaron called out from behind, with a troupe of his Friars hauling a cart with him.
When did he get there? “Our intention is to find the Chosen One and return home.”
“And yet, by your own admission, our path brings us there.”
“No,” Ezekiel corrected. “Our path brings us near. Those tracks took us west. We know little more than that.”
Father Abraham hmph’d. “Is that so, Ezekiel? Do you believe your Brothers would lead us this way on little more than a hunch?”
He blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“The Inquisitors are not our only source of intelligence,” Brother Aaron said, angling his nose so as to look down on him. “The Friars have been conducting our own investigation.”
Now, this was unexpected. “Explain.”
He continued with a sigh. “As you know, when this pilgrimage first began, many of your Brothers were sent out on tasks of their own. Brothers Philip, Nathaniel, Uriel, Mateo, and Reuben. Each took charge of a small group to distant lands. Have you not wondered about this purpose?”
“They were sent to scout other likely places where Liam Fenix could be found,” Ezekiel considered.
“Untrue! They were sent out to locations where heretics gather in the hopes that the Lord’s message could reach new ears.”
“What!? Our Brothers were sent to the Unholy City? Do you not know the risk!?” He looked to Abraham. “Were you aware of this foolishness?”
The Father merely glanced his way, his lilac eyes cutting deep. “I was the one who ordered it. Do you not remember this discussion, Ezekiel? Has your soul become vulnerable to Sin again?”
Ezekiel quivered under the revelation. He had no memory of such a conversation, but if the Father declared it so, then his spirit was more shattered from his failures than he first realized. The Father could not be in error. Not about such matters.
Repentance would have to come soon.
He frowned. “I seem to have forgotten, Father.”
“Then let me remind you of these divine truths. We all have roles to play in this congregation, Ezekiel. Yours is to lead Inquisitions to ensure the faith is kept, while the Friars must interpret and spread the Word for all to hear. That is for all. Even heretics. As we marched across the land and the Inquisitors sought out Liam Fenix, many Friars dispatched themselves to find others willing to listen. We cannot forget how close we are. When the seven bowls of judgment are poured, and the Beholding is resolved, none but the purest of heart will be saved.”
“The Lord truly blessed the Father for his foresight,” Aaron filled in. “Nathaniel and Uriel have spent months in the Unholy City now, and their reports have worked their way back to us. Within days of your failed attempt at capturing the Chosen One, vehicles matching your description worked their way back there. An odd coincidence, do you not agree?”
Father Abraham grinned wide. “It is the Lord’s plan that guides us onward. Where the Inquisitors fell blinded, the Friars gained new sight. One could not have happened without the other, and that is only because we have changed our ways. No longer can we hide in our swamp over fears of the evils beyond. As the Beholding grows in strength, so to must our world diverge into something new. That is His will. Or, in the case of you and many of your Inquisitor Brothers, Ezekiel, does your world converge.”
“You were once a member of the Unholy City, were you not?” Aaron asked.
Ezekiel grunted. He did not like being reminded. “That was a long time ago.”
“And yet, you quake at the mere thought of seeing those walls again. Does this place bring a temptation you seek to forget?”
He sighed. “It is not that, Brother. My concern is where it has always been, with the safety and purity of our congregation. You have always been shielded from what the heretics can bring, while I have done what I can to combat them so we were never found.
“To that end, the Hunters that have crossed our path are mere gnats compared to the demons within that city. They have thousands of soldiers in their ranks, armor-plated tanks, automatic rifles, guided missiles. A false god of death leads them, bearing the name of Hades. He is a fierce warrior with a heart of the Devil, and would have no qualms about destroying us all on sight.” He thought back to his lesson with Jericho, along with the paradoxical nature that the Lord’s tests often bring. “To go against him directly would be suicidal.”
More than that, they would be undoing everything that had been built. Father Abraham cultivated a vast and powerful congregation, to be certain, but their ranks were still a bubble in an ocean compared to what the Devil could bring. The Unholy City was the capital to Sin itself. A profaned monument that stood against all that they believed. Could it be true that the Chosen One went there? Would the Lord really send them to breach a wall so impregnable?
But Brother Aaron only smirked. “What if I told you that your god of death has fallen?”
“Hm?”
“The heretics have continued their barbarism in your absence, Ezekiel, only to have one dictator be replaced by another. Their new ruler is a queen who covers her face in red cloth to hide the Mark of the Beast that the Lord scarred her with, and it is said that she consumes her subjects for sustenance, much like him.” He stared forth, his red eyes twinkling. “Do you cower in terror to the weaker sex as well?”
“She is the Whore of Babylon,” Father Abraham echoed. “The text of the Holy Word continues to align with our journey, and this is only further proof of our place in the Beholding.”
Ezekiel walked on in silence. His instincts told him to agree with his Brother, but something hid within those words. A memory. Distant, fleeting, obscured by his rebirth, and the Sin that came before. But it was there. Whispering in the back of his mind.
Could it be her that rules this land now? Brother Ezekiel halted. The others stopped soon after, seeing his resolve suddenly shift.
He cleared his throat. “If what you say is true, Brother Aaron, our fears have only been compounded. The Lord may have liberated my soul from those heretical days, but there are some memories that still bleed through. Just as I can handle a gun without being trained, so too do I recall this sense. Hades was a powerful warrior, but he had never been the greatest. There has always been one more deadly.
“And she is not to be underestimated.”
