Chapter 5 – Unforgivable
“You killed them – they were innocent,” Lee breathed, lying on his back outside the cave while an older woman attended his wound. She had removed the arrow and was stitching him up.
“I did what I had to,” grunted Kasparian. “They would have killed us.”
Lee squirmed as the needle entered his skin. “They had every right. We have doomed ourselves by kidnapping Lindell. The gods will never forgive it.”
Kasparian barred his teeth as he kneeled next to the younger man. “We are what no one wants to be. Outcasts, condemned, doomed. Call us what you want, but it is necessary.”
Lee shook his head. “You are crazy. We should never have followed you.”
Kasparian grabbed Lee’s arm. “For some people, life is not a gift. There will be moments of utter darkness, moments to decide whether to fight or leave it all behind. This is such a moment – the greatest challenge of our lives. If we succeed, if we don’t lose faith, then the reward will be worth all our sacrifice.”
Lee shook his head, baffled.
“Only you can choose. You can leave, but remember, you are not safe in Kanthos.” Kasparian cocked his head. “Or in Pineview.”
Lee’s head dropped, and he let the woman do her work.
Kasparian nodded. “We need you, Lee. Every one of you is a pillar supporting our goal. Our path may not be virtuous, but our destination undoubtedly is.”
When Lee sighed, Kasparian moved into the cave. He paused for a few seconds while his eyes adjusted to the low light and then moved to the stone slab.
Lindell lay on the stone altar of sacrifice, where many others had died. He lay on a blanket, shielding him from the cold rock, a blanket that one of his disciples must have placed there. It pleased Kasparian to know that none of them took this lightly. They were still humane, and he intended to keep it that way. If it were up to him, he would be the only one carrying the burden of murder.
The bishop had his eyes closed, almost as if he were at peace. When Kasparian stepped up next to the rock, Lindell’s eyes popped open. “I’m terribly sorry for all of this. Help us, and you will be returned unharmed in just a few days,” Kasparian explained.
There was no indication that Lindell had heard him. He just kept staring.
“I never meant for anyone to get hurt, and I will do everything to make up for what happened to the three hunters,” Kasparian continued.
Lindell cleared his throat and said in a calm voice, “I know who you are. Word reached us weeks ago, but I never thought you would be reckless enough to attack Pineview.” He looked around the cave. “What about these good people? Have your dark mind corrupted their hearts as well?”
Everyone in the cave paused and looked at the two men.
“If you know who I am, you will know that I am not the one who’s cruel. These men and women are here of their own free will. You have to look to the sky for the real corruption,” Kasparian proclaimed.
“You took them in pretending to care. You brainwashed them to believe your evil actions make sense. Dammit, you even trained these people in the destructive ways of the flares, and you call yourself the victim?”
Kasparian’s lip curled. He loved his disciples. They were his family – the only ones he had left. His hand grabbed the knife in his belt, but his hand froze just as he was about to cut into the bishop’s chin. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. Lindell didn’t have to believe in what they were doing. He was just a pawn in his plan, and pawns didn’t need to speak to be of use. He cut a piece of the blanket and stuffed it into the bishop’s mouth. “Pray. Tell them where you are and what I’m doing to you,” Kasparian whispered, gently running the knife’s edge down Lindell’s forehead, over his nose and lips.
Kasparian kept at it for hours, threatening without hurting the bishop, but the old man wasn’t easily intimidated. Or perhaps he believed that Kasparian wouldn’t dare to hurt him. But he would soon learn otherwise.
That evening, the former bishop of the Khur District moved out of the cave as everyone else had fallen asleep. He greeted the two women standing watch at the entrance before moving into the night.
He fell to his knees in the tall autumn grass, gazing into the sky filled with thousands of stars. Up there were so many worlds and many unknown races. Was anyone out there about to commit an act as unforgivable as him? What if it wouldn’t work? What if the wisaris didn’t come, or his disciples were no match for them?
He threw himself to the ground and rolled to his back. Lying there he saw the faces of his two sisters before his eyes. They had lived to the age of sixteen before the disease had struck them. None of them had borne children or had the chance to experience the beauty of Elonia. Their lives and deaths were meaningless. The only thing they had brought to his world was pain.
He picked himself up, realising there was no other choice. All those families and all those children having loved ones ripped from their grasp. He had to act when the gods would not.
Kasparian rushed back to the cave, the knife ready in his hand.
Lindell’s scream ripped through the silence of the night, but it didn’t stop Kasparian. He raised the blade and made another cut into the bishop’s shoulder.
Mura came rushing to his side, and so did the rest of the disciples, torn from their slumber by the dreadful scream of an old man realising his gods wouldn’t be able to save him.
Kasparian looked at the faces of everyone around him. “This has to be done. It’s the only way they will come. You are my family, the only one I have, and together we will stand up for what we believe in. We can create a world without loss and pain. Are you still with me?”
Mura was the first to pull her sceptre. “You have given me more than just life,” she said, looking at the crystal in the sceptre. “You have given me a taste of how things could be. I’m with you till the end!”
The disciples shouted in unison, “Hope and faith restored!”
Kasparian glanced as three shadows slipped out of the cave. He knew it was a lot to ask. “So be it. Prepare yourself, just like we planned. They will come soon.”
Mura led everyone away from the stone slab, and Kasparian turned his focus back to the bishop. “Pray. Tell them how the monster Kasparian Tellis is torturing you and will take your heart.”
Lindell’s eyes widened. He groaned through the cloth he still had in his mouth when the knife bit into his skin again.
Kasparian ripped the old man’s shirt and ran the blade down his chest, drawing a long red line of blood.
The cloth muffled Lindell’s agonising cry, and when the knife stopped, his nostrils expanded and pulled back rapidly as he fought to breathe.
Frustrated by Lindell’s stubbornness, Kasparian moved the knife up and started again. If he continued like this, the bishop might bleed out before he could reach out to the gods. Kasparian moved closer and whispered in Lindell’s ear, “Soon, it will be too late. You won’t see the men, women or children of Pineview again. I will take your heart if you don’t do what I ask.”
Lindell’s mouth moved, but the sounds made no sense. Not before Kasparian pulled the cloth from his mouth. “W-what do you hope to gain? They will never give you their power even if they could. More likely, they will kill you for what you have done.”
“They will give me their power, whether they want to or not. And with that power, we will do what the gods won’t. We will help everyone, not only those deemed worthy by the wisaris twisted view of humanity.” Kasparian moved the knife towards the old man’s torso.
Lindell fought to move out of its path. “If there’s one thing our world should learn from your demise, it is to keep a closer eye on those who greedily seek power.” He nodded at the knife. “I will pray, but you only have yourself to blame for what will happen next.”
Kasparian watched as the bishop closed his eyes and started whispering.
“Beings of light, hear my prayer. Adalyn, mother of gods, I beg for your aid…”
With a grunt of disgust, Kasparian wiped Lindell’s blood from the knife and took his leave. He moved to the cave entrance and watched as his remaining disciples ran about, preparing simple wooden spears and nets. “My friends!” he shouted. “Our goal is near – closer now than ever before.”
The disciples positioned themselves in a half-circle around the opening of the cave.
“It is often at the final, most dangerous step when courage falters and loyalty fades. But we are family. Together we will fight through this day of fear and despair only to come out stronger, with everything we have searched for all these years.”
Some smiled but most kept glancing to the sky, prepared for a fight yet fearful of what the coming hours would bring.
“Be ready. Fight, but don’t throw away your life,” Kasparian said and moved back inside with Mura and the seven others, trained in the ways of the flares.
Bishop Lindell was still praying as they entered the cave. The wounds on his chest were still bleeding, and Kasparian ordered a disciple to bandage him and cut the rope around the bishop’s hands. As he did, Lindell turned his head, staring at Kasparian. “There will be no redemption for you. No way back from the dark path you chose,” the bishop gasped.
“Can you not see? Redemption is not our goal. The gods could have prevented all of this had they only listened,” grunted Kasparian.
The bishop opened his mouth to answer but was cut short by a woman rushing into the cave. “They are coming! We can see it in the sky. It’s a god!” Her tone was desperate.
“It’s not a god and not a human being. It is just a creature from another realm. Take your positions!” Kasparian barked and ran to the cave entrance, his gaze following the woman’s finger as she pointed up.
A black shadow against the blue skies grew larger and larger as it quickly approached. “Only one?” Kasparian mumbled. Why would they only send one? Perhaps they were conceited, thinking humans were no match for them? Or maybe they wouldn’t risk more than one of their kind? No matter which, it only added to their benefit. “Get it to the cave!” he shouted and took a step back into the protection of the cave.
The wisari descended rapidly, and when Kasparian’s men and women raised their wooden spears at it, it responded by stretching its clawed legs.
It moved fast – faster than anything Kasparian had ever seen before. None of the spears ever touched it as it crashed into a grey-haired man, forcing him to the ground with blood spraying from his chest. Surrounded by the disciples, the wisari stared at them in turn, waiting for their move.
“Take it down!” Kasparian shouted from the cave, prompting his disciples into action.
A man forced his spear forward, but the wisari moved out of its path long before it hit its target. The elegant winged being launched at the man, gutting him with its long claws. Triggered by the attack on their brother, the rest of the disciples charged in.
So much for the mercy of the gods, Kasparian thought, watching the spectacle unfolding before his eyes with increased concern. The eagle form allowed the wisari to move extremely fast and strike with utmost precision. His disciples stabbed and swung their spears at it, but it danced around them or leapt high into the air, supported by a beat of its wings, only to drop back down, tearing into the attackers with its powerful claws.
When only three disciples still stood, Kasparian forced his gaze from the captivating dance of death. “Get back inside!” he shouted and watched them running towards him.
The wisari didn’t follow. As soon as the disciples threw the spears and ran, it let them go and instead looked directly at Kasparian.
He recognised it as the same wisari that had approached him that night when everything fell apart. When it spread its large wings, jumping into the air and rushing at him, Kasparian spun, running inside as fast as he could. “It’s coming!” he shouted.
The three disciples were the first to enter, but the wisari came right behind them. It had to land and fold its wings to enter the narrow entrance but stayed in eagle form, ready to strike.
Kasparian was waiting for it, his knife on Lindell’s throat. “Stop! Or the bishop dies.”
Inside the cave, the wisari bent down and spread its wings, staring hard at Kasparian. “You should have accepted your punishment. Now, all of you will pay.”
“Now!” shouted Kasparian.
Mura and the seven disciples, trained in the arts of the flares, leapt forward. They all pointed their sceptres at the wisari, yelling, “Conratu spinura!”
The wisari’s eyes widened just before its body froze up, its great wings and upper body slowly being forced back from the united power of the eight disciples and their crystals.
Kasparian grinned as he let go of Lindell, who fell to his knees, watching his paralysed god in horror. “No! You cannot do this,” he begged.
Kasparian ignored the bishop and closed in on the wisari. “Do you feel like a god now?” he asked. “We know the truth. You are nothing more than selfish beings, using your power to make us puppets of your will.”
He raised the knife, but the wisari suddenly started moving. With great difficulty, it regained its posture and attempted to strike.
Jumping back, Kasparian pulled his sceptre. “Conratu spinura.” He used the same incantation, joining the rest of his disciples in holding the god in place.
The willpower and strength of the wisari were admirable. Even with the power of nine crystals, it held back but was in no condition to fight.
“We can’t hold it!” Kasparian heard Mura shout from behind. He moved closer, keeping his sceptre pointed at the wisari and looked into its eyes as he plunged the knife into its chest, again and again.
Dark red, almost black, blood streamed down the magnificent being. With its lifeblood escaping, it could no longer withstand the incantation and quickly got forced backwards.
Kasparian lifted his curse and placed the sceptre back in his belt.
The others followed his example and moved to his side, looking down at the beautiful wisari, bleeding out on the cave floor. Its body lay on a bed of its great grey-feathered wings, and it looked up at them, a tear escaping its bright yellow eyes. “You don’t know what you have done,” it said in a frail voice.
“You left us no choice. We will take what you keep from us,” replied Kasparian.
The wisari started cramping up. “A-all we wanted was to help. We should never have interfered. We should have let you suffer the Aratulan.”
Kasparian kneeled. “The what?”
The wisari’s head dropped, barring its slender neck.
Kasparian sighed. It was disturbing how much these things looked like humans, removing the wings and talons from the equation.
“W-we killed one of the gods. Did you hear what it said? They saved us, and this is how we repay them?” a black-haired female disciple said, staggering back towards the stone slab.
Kasparian ignored the woman. He forced the knife into the chest of the wisari and started cutting out its heart. It was bigger than a human heart but otherwise much the same.
“You have doomed us all,” said Lindell, still sitting on the floor, staring at the dead god.
Kasparian ripped the heart from the chest of the winged being and stared at it intensely, a smile spreading on his face. He had been searching for a way to wield the power of the gods for years. This had to be it.