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Divine: Chapter 4

Vicar Morrel wiped the cold sweat from his brow with his shaky paw. He felt drained as if something had suddenly sucked his life out of him. He had never felt such a dread before in his life, and he didn't understand why it had hit him so suddenly. The last time something like this had happened, though weaker, was when High Pontiff Marlyn had been killed by the traitor Edwin Kelm. The ex-Vicar stabbed his Holiness in the back before running away with his followers to start the break away from the Church that was currently plaguing the land with war.

"My lord?" A scribe who had been following the Vicar, carrying scrolls for him, was terrified. They had been walking down the stairs at the back of the cathedral after an evening prayer. The Vicar had been lively one moment and then suddenly he stopped, clutching his chest and collapsed.

"I'm." Vicar Morrel caught his breath and shifted his weight to the side and leaned against the wall with no regard to staining his white cloak. "I'm all right." He assured his unconvinced scribe who was wide-eyed and keeping some distance.

Something had happened somewhere. Vicar Morrel couldn't tell if it was good or bad, but there was a strong surge of holy energy coursing through him now. It swelled into him, replacing the strength that it had only just stolen from him. He felt the shakiness flee his fingers, enough for him to slowly push himself onto his feet.

"Should I get a priest?" The scribe shifted feet. "You look ill." He said, though the Vicar had recovered most of his color to his skin, where it was visible, and the Vicar's fur had perked up now.

"That won't be necessary." He said and walked past the scribe. "Return the scrolls and go home. I'll be fine." He patted the scribe on the shoulder and began heading back up the stairs.

This was something beyond him, and if he felt such a surge of energy, surely someone else would have, someone more powerful and attuned to the nature of the world and the holy powers that flowed through it. Only a few were more capable that Vicar Morrel and one of them was actually in the building, High Pontiff Barthelm the Tolerant. If anyone could figure out what had occurred, it would be him.

Vicar Morrel ascended the stairs to the top and quickly moved across the antechamber just outside of the main sanctuary where he had just held the prayer with a large group of the faithful. He passed all the shrines of the Known Gods. There was Itia, God of Hope. She was the one who blessed all the beings of the world with her holy magic despite the withholdings of her brother, Kasses, God of Creation, who was credited in the sacred manuscripts with bringing life and intelligence to all. Fulsdir, God of Travel, the great architect who designed and then built the great city of Melur. There were other shrines for the other gods whose names were lost to time. It was prophesied that in time, they would return and reveal themselves to the faithful and reward those who kept the faith while punishing the blasphemers. Generally, Vicar Morrel would stop before each one and give a short prayer, but he felt as if time was short. Therefore, he regretfully hurried past and up another set of stairs that led to the study.

"Holiness." Vicar Morrel knocked on the wooden door that led to the small room which was perched on one of the many towers of the cathedral.

Vicar Morrel entered to the blade of a sword.

"Hold on, my dear." An elderly mongoose said from behind a desk. It was High Pontiff Barthelm, and he looked fatigued and ill. "Don't be skewering every person that you come across; that scares them away."

The holder of the blade, a large tiger in heavy metal armor quickly sheathed her sword. "My apologies, Vicar Morrel. You surprised me." She walked back over to the Pontiff and knelt beside him. The intensity that had almost killed Vicar Morrel instantly faded and was a replaced with a more caring and soothing individual.

That was Paladin Veneer, Pontiff Barthelm's personal bodyguard, assigned to him after the assassination of High Pontiff Marlyn. Not just him, the other Pontiff's had their bodyguards, all from the Paladin ranks of the Legion of Itia. They were the direct military arm of the Church, and their members were among the most gifted fighters that could be found anywhere. There were no others more qualified that them to protect the leaders of the Church.

While Paladins were fierce and unrelenting, they were also among the most caring and devoted to those that they were charged with protecting as could be seen by the way Paladin Veneer carefully poured a glass of water and handed it to the timeworn mongoose that was barely four feet tall.

"Come in, come in." Pontiff Barthelm waved Vicar Morrel in and took the glass of water with a "thank you."

Paladin Veneer then stood up and took her place behind Pontiff Barthelm, hand near her scabbard, ready to draw her blade at a moments notice if anyone tried to put the Pontiff in harm's way.

"I assume you are here to talk about the disturbance that occurred only moments ago." The mongoose thought correctly.

Vicar Morrel nodded. "Yes, Father of Father's."

"Don't call me that." Pontiff Barthelm visibly cringed a bit. "I didn't devote my entire life to the Church to be called a bunch of magnanimous titles. Please, just call me what I've told you to call me."

Vicar Morrel bowed his head. "I'm sorry, your... err... I'm sorry Sindri."Morrel then cringed at calling this man, one of the three leaders of the Church by his first name. It felt wrong, almost blasphemous.

"Don't apologize either. Now come and sit so that we may speak properly." He gestured to a chair next to him. "It was quite the burst of energy. I'm sure that you felt it, just as I have."

"Yes." Vicar Morrel pulled the chair out and sat down, making sure to pull his tail to the side. "I nearly blacked out from it. I can only imagine what it did to you."

"Yes." Pontiff Barthelm nodded. "Had Paladin Veneer up in arms and giving me quite the fuss." He grinned and looked back at his stone-faced bodyguard.

"You don't seem worried." Vicar Morrel said, noting just how calm the old mongoose was with all things considered. "Are you not concerned about what this means? Where it came from?"

"Of course." Pontiff Barthelm laced his fingers together and leaned back into his chair that had extra cushions for his old joints. He both hated and loved the feeling of age. He enjoyed giving counsel to those that saw him as one filled with knowledge. Teaching the next generation was one of his favorite activities, to have the children sit around at his feet as he told tales from the scripture. It warmed his heart. However, he would he happier if he could have a stronger bladder and bones that didn't ache with each movement. "There is always some concern edging at the back of my head, but I cannot let it get in the way of my duties. Plus, it seems that you and Paladin Veneer can do all of the worrying for me. There appears to be plenty between the both of you."

"You are too carefree, High Pontiff Barthelm." Paladin Veneer stated, never averting her eyes from the door and windows. All possible points of entry were under constant surveillance at all times for possible breaches. "You insist on making my job as difficult as possible."

"Keeps you on your toes." Pontiff Barthelm chuckled and leaned forward and whispered, knowing that the tiger could hear everything he said. "She gets a bit rustled whenever I take my morning walk across the square. Thinks that some archer will pick me off or some mugger will stab me."

"The enemies of the Church are everywhere. Danger is everywhere, and the Church cannot afford to lose one of it's most devoted and prominent members due to an opportunistic naysayer."

"If that is the will of the gods." Pontiff Barthelm shrugged.

"Their will is unknown to us, but I doubt it includes you being killed due to your recklessness."

"Don't you love this." The mongoose ruffled his sleeves and gave Vicar Morrel a grin. "One of the pleasures of old age. I get to be as annoying and senile as I want, and no one can do anything about it. Though, she does try."

"It is my duty."

"It is." The Pontiff agreed wholeheartedly. "Now." He clasped his hands back together. "Let's actually discuss this disturbance." He paused to take another sip of his water. "I cannot, with certainty, discern the source."

"Could it be from the storm." A flash of lightning flashed outside, reminding them that it was still going strong. "Many scholars and priests are in agreement that one of this size could only be caused by magic and the heretics have been delving into darker practices as of late."

"That is a possibility." Rumors of new developments, deep in the lands of the heretics. Their war against the church was poor, they lacked the discipline and the morale necessary to try and dethrone the Church from its seat of power in the lands and in turn, they turned to magic to supplement their strength. Magic, unlike the miracles of the god's came at a high price, one which could not always be determined. Sometimes, it affected the weather, an annoyance, but not lasting. Other times, it could twist and deform those affected by it, turning them into monsters. Demons as they were labeled by all. These demons, imbued by magic, had no remnant of their past lives and were an enemy to all mortal beings. Despite this, the heretics, led by Edwin Kelm the Unforgiven, continued to use their wretched arcane tricks.

"If it is, then they must have done something truly terrible. We have allowed them to live on for too long like this." Vicar Morrel clenched his fist. " We should have wiped them out before they had the ability to resist us. Now they are destroying this world."

"Careful there." A wrinkled and clawed paw rested on top of Vicar Morrel's. "While there is a time for violence and retribution for the sins that have been made, we must not let it be a mask for anger either."

Vicar Morrel quickly calmed himself down. "Apologies, High Ponti- Sindri." He quickly caught himself. "I can get a bit overzealous at times."

"We all do." That was why Pontiff Barthelm was one of the most beloved members of the Church. While being at the top, he was the most understanding and less stringent of rules. He understood that everyone wasn't perfect or able to maintain a perfect life. It was why he was sometimes called The Tolerant. It was also a point of concern for the other pontiffs who were more embedded in their beliefs, but that was why there were three of them, they regulated each other and between the three, they gave the most accurate translation of the holy texts that were left behind by the gods.

"Yes, but we are taught restraint." Vicar Morrel rubbed between his ears, recalling where the nun had repeatedly had been hit with a stick when he had broken some obscure rule. "No matter." He stopped touching where he was sure there was still a scar from one of the more memorable and longer sessions with one of the nuns. "I'm sure someone will know or even witness what caused this. I want to send out riders to all the outlying villages to ask around for any information. It's no guarantee that we will learn anything, but it's something."

"Hmm. Yes." Pontiff Barthelm nodded. "The source must be somewhere nearby for us to feel its effects so strongly." Some rumbling thunder shook a candle on the desk. "But, until we can actually send out a crow, would you care to join me for supper? This has left me quite famished, and I could go for some stew."

"I guess that with the storm, I don't have any more duties for the day."

"Excellent." Pontiff Barthelm slowly got out of his chair with the assistance of the paladin. He really was old, the oldest of the pontiffs at the very ripe age of one-hundred and thirteen. It was almost unheard of for someone to even reach the age of seventy, but Sindri was well versed in the art of miracles and along with a healthy lifestyle, he was the oldest known being in the world. He was living proof to many that the miracles of the gods are real which also made him more of a target beyond his high position in the Church.

Up and stretched out, Pontiff Barthelm grabbed his finely carved walking stick that had depictions that matched the stain glass windows downstairs. "Shall we?"

It was well past midnight and after a long evening of talking and dealing with Paladin Veneer's insistence that he return home and get rest, Pontiff Barthelm finally did retire for the night.

The mongoose lived in a small rectory just off the side of the cathedral. Paladin Veneer had tried to convince him to move his few possessions and himself to a house closer to the Legion's barracks where over one hundred paladins lived and were ready to go at a moments notice.

There was only so much that someone could ask of a pontiff and asking him to move was not one of them. In response, the cathedral was turned into a fortress. Paladins and city guard patrolled the corridors at night and stood silent watch during the day when the public was given access to the lower commons. No one really noticed the increased security, the Church was about being open to the public and did their best to keep from looking oppressive in any way.

Pontiff Barthelm walked into his small room and slid out of his robe. Paladin Veneer, as dedicated as she was, also needed some time so rest. She had been relieved by two other paladins, both of which she had trained personally and trusted. One would stay outside his door the entire night. The other would be making rounds and checking on the other guards. All angles were covered, and though Pontiff Barthelm never actually believed he was in any danger, it did still add some calm to his mind.

He sat on the edge of his bed. There was only the bed, a small table with a candle and a chest that held several changes of clothes and a copy of the manuscripts which had been a gift to him by the late Pontiff Marlyn on his one-hundredth birthday.

"Not many get to celebrate a day like this. You are truly blessed and fated for great things." Those were the words the chameleon said to him when he handed the book, handwritten, all twelve four hundred pages, perfectly copied from the official texts. It was the one pleasure he allowed himself.

Usually, he would read it before going to bed by candlelight. The night had been long. He had been out much longer than he was used to and promised to read double what he normally did the next night before going to sleep.

Vicar Morrel on the other hand, had a much longer walk back home. He offered a quick prayer when the rain settled enough for him not to have to worry about it taking half a week for his heavy robes to dry. He wondered why they still had these robes; they were burdening, hot and the ridiculously large arms got in the way all the time. The sect in the more tropical eastern city of Glienick had robes made of a silky material that breathed. Morrel would have loved to get his paws on some of those instead. Alas, these were the robes he had, and Glienick was many days travel away. If he could even find the time to make the journey in the first place. His duties to the flock here took up all his time, and he hadn't had a day for himself in some weeks. That made Morrel relish the small moments he had at the end of the day.

Morrel's house was more furnished that most higher ranking members of the church. He liked to collect things from across the world. While he couldn't go out and get things, people often came to him.

Melur was the trade hub of the Church. Melur sat in the center of the Church's territories. All roads ran through Melur, which meant all kinds of people brought their culture with them along the roads, to the city.

The wage of being a vicar to the church wasn't much. His job wasn't that hard after all. When he did have some coin in his pockets, he occasioned the market and bought whatever caught his eye. His small home, given to him by the church, was now decorated with all kinds of little trinkets. He had small statues of the god, carved from volcanic stone that came from the Devil's Atoll where volcanoes were still active, lining the hallway to his room. Inside his room, the scent of valley flowers filled the air from the bundles of dried valley poppies from the Given Valley that was just beyond the Talon Hills to the west. Other things were scattered across the house, from all corners of the land.

Vicar Morrel settled down and pulled off his sandals. Footwear wasn't necessary due to the thick calluses that formed on the bottom of his foot pads, but the added inch of protection made his feet feel so much better at the end of each day after standing and preaching for so long. He then pulled off his robes and then his undergarments, stopping only when there was nothing left to take off. He piled the clothing off to the side where he would wash them later.

Vicar Morrel thought about taking a bath. He dismissed it when he remembered that he would have to hand pump the water from the well out back and then set a fire to heat it up. Too much effort for the hour. Vicar Morrel laid onto his corn husk mattress and feather pillow. He left his blankets off. His fur was enough.

The storm was calmer in the morning. However, the looming clouds in the distance foretold of more inclement weather later in the day.

Vicar Morrel ate a meal of wheat mash and sausage before walking back to the Cathedral where he was met by the Pontiff.

"Morning, Vicar Morrel." Pontiff sat in the sanctuary. It was still early. The public was not yet permitted to enter until it was closer to midday for the first prayer of the day which gave them some privacy.

"Good morning to you." Vicar Morrel sat down next to the mongoose. He looked around the sanctuary and spotted the familiar form of Paladin Veneer in her armor off to the side. "What brings you down from your study this early in the day. Not much can tear you away from your manuscripts."

"Not much indeed." The pontiff reached into his sleeve, sliding his finger into one of the many hidden pockets that lined it and retrieved a small piece of paper. "But a rider came in last night from one of the camps outside the city. Are you acquainted with Cleric Hansen."

Vicar Morrel shook his head. "I don't believe I am. "

"Well, he was an exceptional student of mine. Very gifted and could have risen to become a prominent member of the church." Pontiff Barthelm said and unrolled the paper. "He chose to lead a life away from the city to help those who need help beyond our stone walls. Very honorable."

"Honourable indeed." Morrel nodded, his eyes dashing between the paper and the pontiff.

"Yes." The pontiff's eye's washed over the paper one more time before he handed it to the vicar. "I trust him as much as I trust Paladin Veneer and you which is why I find this most important."

Vicar Morrel took the paper and read it over.

"Demon." Morrel scrunched his brow into a frown. "Here? There have been no demons here."

"Normally I would only think of such a claim as one of a madman, someone who could spend a few nights in our septs to calm him could, but Cleric Hansen is no fool. His mind is clear enough to see into the hearts of others and determine their purity. He would not make such a claim unless he were certain."

Vicar Morrel handed the paper back and looked around the room once more to make sure that no one other than the three already there would be listening. If word of a demon so close to Melur got out, panic would take hold and then questions about how such a thing could happen. The heretics would rally behind it and use it for their propaganda. Years of progress against them would be lost.

"If that is so, then we must deal with it at once."

"I agree." The pontiff placed the note back into his sleeves which also housed pens, papers, letters and even small baked confectionaries for the children when they would come. "The rider made it known that Cleric Hansen already planned on scouring the nearby woods for the demon with the soldiers he had with him. I think we should join him."

"I cannot allow this." Paladin Veneer said, suddenly behind the pontiff.

Morrel nearly jumped out of his seat. The cat had moved so fast and so quietly in that heavy metal armor.

"If there is a demon, you must stay here where it is safe. Let Cleric Hansen handle it. I will even send out a paladin to help, but you will stay here."

Pontiff Barthelm and Paladin Veneer stared at each other long and hard until Barthelm sighed. "I don't think I will be able to get out those doors before he has to be tied to my bed." He said to Vicar Morrel. "I would like you to go in my stead then. Be my ears and eyes for me, report to me about this demon. I get the feeling that there is more to this story than anyone currently knows."

Vicar Morrel couldn't refuse the pontiff on this. The old Mongoose seemed deeply disturbed by this, more so than the pulse of energy from the day before. There was no light-hearted humor. It had all evaporated away.

Two paladins were sent with Vicar Morrel. They rode out as soon as they could to meet up with Cleric Hansen to find the demon from the letter. Vicar Morrel knew not what to expect.