The Grand Temple of Allor sat in the center of Midar, the capital city of the Empire of Allor. It had a long bit of stairs leading up to the main chambers used for religious ceremonies. There were even large wooden doors at the front of the temple, doors that stood nearly ten maatars high. It took more than one person to open them. But we’re not interested in the doors. Or the main chambers. We’re interested in the warren of rooms and areas behind and underneath the Grand Temple that stood on the cliff overlooking the raging River Tal.
Yes, it was one of the first things that happened when Allor came to power. Yes, the decree was a forgery, and Allor was quite upset about it. He threw the actual decree document at his mother. Almost hit her too. The metal ends of the scroll will hurt if they hit you. I dropped one on my foot once.
Anyway, by shrewd calculation, Tal knew that her son would not rescind the decree, lest he look weak among his followers as one of his first acts as their ruler. The transition from savior to ruler has never been done well. Ask any communist.
So deep inside of the temple on a mezzanine level between the main entrance level and the dungeons and storage rooms in the basement were several large rooms. We are interested in the smallest of those large rooms. Why? Because in it was a table. And at the table they were having an interesting conversation.
“We will have our men in position at the border,” said Demos.
“How many?” Allor asked.
“Ten thousand.”
Demos was the general with command over the growing army of the Cult of Allor. He had never commanded troops in battle. And most of his troops had never seen combat, except during border raids. But Demos was the man that tricked a Ceros raiding party of over one hundred into running away. And he did it with only bits of a broken mirror and fourteen children scattered in the hillside.
“The Expected will start over the border before you cross into Ceros territory. We will begin bombing their temples thirty tox later. Initially it will be areas closest to our border,” Tal added. “But I have a group of two hundred fifty that will go to the farthest border and start working their way back to Pyramos. And while this is happening, I will take my troops and push towards Pyramos (the capital city of Ceros),” Demos added.
“Do we have a solid deal with Rom?” asked Canto.
“Yes,” replied Allor. “As solid as it can get,” he said, with a sigh with a hint of sadness.
“Total time to stability must be under fifty revs,” Allor said.
“Excellent,” said Canto. “Fast and brutal is best.”
“We have the priesthood ready to fan out and begin conversion services immediately,” replied Pens. He moved his hand down into the pocket of his maroon robe. He fingered the handle of the knife he kept in his pocket.
One of the challenges of taking new territory was indoctrinating the population to the rules and behaviors expected of new converts of “His Own,” as they would be referred to. While Tal would be executing priests and bombing the ugliest of the temples, but keeping the most lavish ones, the priesthood under command of High Priest Pens would be teaching former Cult of Ceros members. They would now be required to tithe only half as much as before, pray only twice a day instead of three times, and the elaborate food prohibition and preparation rules from the Cult of Ceros were abolished. Bottom line: a 50 percent tax cut, more free time, and as much junk food as they want. Hearts and minds, dear reader. Hearts and minds. And stomachs.
“Are the commandments ready yet?” Tal asked.
“No,” replied Allor in an annoyed tone.
“Why not?” asked his mother with an equally annoyed tone.
“You know why,” replied Allor.
“Then let your sister write those. Or Pens, he’s your high priest. Or I’ll write them. You’re holding up one of the most important foundations of the Cult of Allor. Without the rules, it doesn’t come together.”
“Listen,” said Allor as he wrinkled his forehead. “I can give you all of the obvious rules. Don’t steal, don’t kill, don’t hurt children. But I can’t tell them that I am the only god and there are no other gods but me.”
“Damn it, I’ll write them,” said Tal, now very annoyed with her son.
“Let’s not write them at all. Let’s just go with the ones I have,” pleaded Allor.
“No. It’s the Cult of Allor, not the Cult of Don’t Steal. If it’s the Cult of Allor, it needs to have some commandments that speak to how His Own should worship you, else it will fail.”
“Mother, let’s discuss this later.”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll write them and present them to the group this time tomorrev.”
Tal interlaced her fingers on the table in front of her in prayer like manner. Her lips were still pulled tight in disappointment.
Allor turned to Pens with an angry look on his face.
“And can you make them stop imitating me?” he said, still angry.
“But imitation of their god is the highest form of worship to them,” replied Pens.
“Just make them stop,” Allor replied, pointing his finger at Pens.
“Yes, My Lord” replied Pens returning to his place in the hierarchy.
Let me explain. Allor used his cloaking capabilities often. Whenever he was out among the people and it was quite a lot, he was often completely invisible to everyone. He liked this, as most people didn’t act normal in his presence.
And when Allor the Healer went from invisible to visible, or visible to invisible, he liked to appear mysterious and throw open his cloak or pull it rapidly around him. It was a very dramatic theatrical gesture, that’s all. But with the cloaking it was quite something to see. He particularly liked throwing open his cloak to reveal the skintight PPS and its most detailed outline of his body, including one particular area which he was most proud of.
Problem was that while Allor would appear like a god and then open his cloak to let everyone marvel at his good fortune, members of the priesthood had taken to doing the same thing. Except without cloaking capabilities or Allor’s good fortune. They would enter rooms pretending not to be seen then fling open their robes with a dramatic gesture which on Allor worked exceedingly well. But when they did it, it looked exceedingly ridiculous.
“How did the latest test go?” asked Canto.
“As planned. The Apostle took out the entire island,” replied Allor.
There is only one continent on Earth 7. But there are thousands of islands offshore. And there is a large cluster far away that only the most capable or the most desperate boats can reach. Allor tested the weapon they call The Apostle on one of the deserted island yesterev. Everything on the island was destroyed.
“But what if Duvi isn’t in the temple when you get there?” Pens asked.
“Then I will wait,” said Allor.
“But we may have started while you are still waiting,” replied Demos.
“True. But please continue without me. Just do not make any motion towards Pyramos until you see that it is destroyed. Remember, nobody crosses the Drim River until after the flash.”
“Understood, my lord,” replied Demos.
“I will wait fifty tox then detonate The Apostle. I would prefer to look Duvi in the eye right before he dies. However, I will forgo my pleasure for the sake of controlling the chaos. I can get to healing the survivors sooner this way. Rao would want that.”
“And what if Duvi offers to surrender?” asked Demos.
“He will cook anyway,” replied Tal with her usual forceful tone.
“But what if we were him?” asked Demos.
“Then we would deserve to die for our crimes,” replied Tal emphatically. “Can you imagine what it is like to be a slave to the Ceros? I’d rather die.”
Demos nodded his head. His wife had disappeared years ago after a Ceros raid. No sign of a struggle. Demos believed his much-loved Obo was frozen in her terror and taken without force. He will forever regret their argument in the hours before the raiders came over the hills. Eventually he was able to drive the Ceros away with a broken mirror…but you already know that part.
“When do we go?” asked Demos.
“No one knows until the time,” replied Allor. “Keeps you safe from harm.”
“Or a victim of torture and murder by someone demanding to know from us things that we really don’t know. There is that possibility also,” replied Canto with an exaggerated frown.
“Someone is a cloudy day today,” replied Tal harshly. “Keep your suit turned on low. And use cloaking when you are out among His Own. They don’t need to know we are there.”
It was later in the evening when Allor was out among the crowd in the Valley of Trade, the noisy, raucous market, far from the priests. The air was hot and black with thick smoke from the lanterns rising towards the stars. He watched the man on the stairs. The ragged and dusty man stood near the top of steps.
“There is none. Never has been. That’s right. I come to give you my message. And my message is that all gods are false. All gods are human-made creations and reflect our willingness to believe fantastical stories rather than be uncomfortable in not knowing.”
Allor looked at the tall man with the long dark hair now streaked with gray. Allor had been coming to listen to this man since he began in the valley eighty-two revs ago, when it was much colder.
“And for an answer that makes you sleep well at night, what do they want? Complete and utter submission. Oh, and money. Let’s not forget that. Money, always lots of money. When was the last time you saw a priest go hungry? They don’t. Because they take your money. And in return they tell you fantastical stories and make up rules for you to follow. And don’t misunderstand me, there must be some rules. But the rules we need are the ones that we can all figure out for ourselves. Don’t hurt anyone, don’t lie, don’t murder. Those are easy. But what we don’t need is a rule insisting that we get on our knees to pray twice a day to some guy who says he is a god.”
“But if he isn’t a god, then who is?” yelled a man from the crowd below.
“No one. That’s my point,” yelled the atheist prophet.
“Then where do we come from?” the man yelled back.
“From the stars. We were brought here many kilorevs ago from another Earth,” came the reply.
“So the people who brought us here, they are our gods,” the man yelled back with a triumphant tone.
“No. Again, you’re missing the point.”
Being a religious prophet, the kind that preached in the public squares far away from the temples, had been a time-honored profession on Earth 7 for as long as anyone could remember. But it always maintained that element of demented entertainment more than anything remotely resembling truth or facts. Those two spiritual anomalies were sparsely used and then only in a manner to add credibility to the most outrageous bullshit. It was that old Ecclesiastical classic: Use Truth A as a character witness to Absurd Bullshit B. It goes like this. Since I proved A is true, then you must believe me that B is true also. But don’t look too closely. That’s how it is supposed to work. Finally I claim Absurd Bullshit B to be a rabbit, Truth A to be a hat, and charge everyone money for lying to them.
And here in the Valley of Trade was a religious prophet that was telling the truth but having a hard time getting someone to agree, much less pay him for his opinions. And when the lamps got low in the night a man would come along and offer the atheist prophet a place to sleep for the night. And a meal. Allor always made sure of that.
Even with age, Allor’s father was still a handsome man.