The Trouble With Clerics
Part 5. Kassar's Story
Glantri-Ethengar border, near the Principality of Bramyra.
“Send him into the city preaching the commandments of Tubak!”
“Send him on a dangerous quest in the name of Yamuga!”
Manacled and manhandled, Kassar Krinagar of the Paparazzi Glantri tried to maintain some modicum of decorum amidst the rants and raves of frenzied fanatics.
“Please, I swear, I am not a wizard!” he declared calmly and firmly.
This was the truth. Though Kassar had the knack of casting a spell or two, and he was familiar enough with the ways of Glantrian wizards to pass himself off as an arcaner in the Principalities, he was not a full-fledged magic-user and was never formally trained in the wizardly arts.
Of course, that blurring of distinctions was a distinct disadvantage for him at that point, now that he was at the hands of the Ten Thousand Fists of the Khan.
“But that’s not what you are here for…” hissed the apparent leader of these zealots—an Ethengarian of the Steppes, powerfully built, but rough and unshaven, smelling of grass and horse, far removed from his sophisticated Glantrian cousins in Krondahar or Bramyra.
“You’re a spy!” declared another of the Fists, clearly a priest with a prominent golden medallion in the shape of the sun, the symbol of Tubak the Lawgiver.
“A spy for that snake in the grass Krinagar, no doubt!” announced the zealot leader.
Kassar thought it best not to correct the mob’s error—that, in fact, that snake Urmahid Krinagar, Prince of Bramyra and his very own half-brother, did not want Kassar to be in his spy network, because for all his skill, Kassar was too disobedient and could never follow instructions—which is why Kassar was now here on a hopelessly botched up mission of the Paparazzi Glantri to investigate clerical activities within the Principalities.
“Turn him into a sloth in honor of Cretia!” cried one of the Fists, agitating once again the impatient horde of religious fanatics.
“Turn him into a yak-cow and leave him in a heard of horny yak-bulls!”
Kassar was taken aback by that last form of punishment, and even the cult leader was visibly disturbed by that last suggestion. But the barbaric Ethengar soon found the vicious humor in it and broke into rowdy, if all too eager, laughter.
“No.” commanded a one voice, hardly raised but clear enough to be heard through the clamor and clangor.
The Ten Thousand Fists fell silent—as silent as a belligerent band of clerics and cultists could be—and the crowd around Kassar began to part.
The zealot leader suddenly became reverential and ceremonious as he greeted the newcomer.
“O Radiant Avenger of Tubak, Punishing Hand of the Khan of the Sun, Keeper of the Saffron Scrolls of Law, Master of the Golden Punishments, what is your most sacred will for this most maculate sinner, this wretched servant of our godless enemies?”
“In Makistan,” began the Radiant Avenger, in a regal, authoritative tone, “we practice a ancient punishment adopted from the Ylari, who once called the Immortal Lawgiver as Shams the Sun-Sultan. The ritual is called The Sacred Pillar of Sun Flame.”
The Radiant Avenger, finally face to face with Kassar, was strangely exotic, a majestic mix of Ethengarian and what Kassar presumed to be Ylari—and yet Kassar could not help intuit that he was vaguely familiar.
Before Kassar could scrutinize the suspicious character any further, the Radiant Avenger began calling out commands.
“Four pegs on the ground! Tie him! Back twenty paces all of you! Away from the sacred circle!”
The Ten Thousand Fists were suddenly organized and surprisingly obedient (much to Kassar’s dismay) and he found himself tied down spread-eagle face up into the noonday sun.
“The ritual must commence before the Fiery Wheel reaches the zenith. Cover your heads and your eyes, unless you think yourself worthy to gaze upon the divine glory of the Immortal Khan of the Sun!”
The clerics and zealots of the Ten Thousand Fists obeyed without question, and Kassar found himself alone in the clearing with the Radiant Avenger.
“I must anoint the sacrifice!”
The Radiant Avenger began intoning in a strange tongue, presumably Ylari, and knelt to daub some tangy yet fragrant oil on Kassar.
Suddenly, Kassar hear a clear, intelligible voice call to him.
“Kassar, keep your eyes closed and don’t make a sound. It will be over soon.”
Kassar was not sure if he actually heard it, and if he did, he was not sure if it was the Radiant Avenger who spoke, for he was busy reciting some bizarre chant.
Kassar followed his instinct and obeyed the disembodied commands, and he could swear that the last thing he saw as he closed his eyes was the face of the Radiant Avenger relaxing almost into a smile.
All Kassar could do now was to listen and feel.
The Radiant Avenger’s voice chanting droned on for an eternity, and Kassar could feel the heat of high noon beating down upon him. The ritual chant then rose into a crescendo and Kassar heard those savage Ten Thousand Fists gasp in one united, reverential if fearful chorus.
At that point, Kassar chose to peek.
Kassar then could not help but scream in terror as a column of golden fire was dramatically descending upon his helpless body from the brilliant sun. Kassar’s ears were filled with the roaring of the flames and the terrible screams of terror, which Kassar wondered if they were actually his own—or not?
Suddenly, and most unexpectedly, Kassar felt a hand firmly closed down onto his eyes—a delicate, gentle, perfumed hand, but firm and commanding, not unlike his mother, Kassar thought. He then heard a very familiar woman’s voice through the inhuman screams and squeals of agony.
“By Jherek’s beard! You were supposed to keep your eyes closed! Stay calm! It will be over soon.”
Against all instincts, Kassar did begin to relax, and he realized that he actually did not feel any pain or burning of his flesh, and that he was no hotter than he already was under the noonday sun. Even the sounds of screaming, he heard, were not his own, but clearly coming from his direction.
With eyes shut and spirit much calmer, Kassar became attuned to the subtle workings of the magic around him. He felt his body shift abruptly, like he was being teleported away, but more powerfully.
The terrified screaming, the crackling of the flames, the voices of the Ten Thousand Fists, even the very noise of the Bramyran countryside was suddenly gone, replaced by an eerie nether sound—or lack of it.
Kassar felt his limbs released from their bondages, and the soft rustle of silk cushions as he moved his aching limbs. The perfumed hand was finally removed from his eyes. He felt dizzy, as if he had just woken from a dream—or entered one—but he finally focused on the face of his rescuer—his sister, Lan-Syn Virayana.
“You were supposed to keep your eyes closed, Kassar!” she scolded tenderly, as she wiped a cool cloth against his hot, badly burned skin. Kassar realized that because he believed the scorching flames were real, his body had reacted in accordance to it.
Kassar was startled by a voice behind him, not particularly loud, but commanding in its tone. “You could never follow instructions, could you, Kassar?”
Kassar turned to see his brother Prince Urmahid Krinagar, newly arrived in the dreamlike bedchamber, still disguised as the Radiant Avenger of Tubak.
“That’s why I never hired you as my spy…”
