Religous Fires
Saturday, 26 March 1870
Kongo Delta, Subsaharan Africa
Afternoon
Hunger. So intense that it dominated all his thoughts. And pain. He was careful not to lie on his back; it still stung at times even though it had scabbed over and begun to heal. At least he had been brought back to the room that he had first woken up in, washed and put to bed on cool sheets. Idir had overseen the young girl that had gently washed his wounds the day before, but had not spoken or touched him, his dark face and darker eyes inscrutable.
A sense of eyes looking at him made Ezekiel rise carefully to look at the door and Vars gave him a polite nod.
"I am happy you are awake," he announced flatly.
Ezekiel sat up carefully, so that he would not pass out from the effort. He could feel his own body betraying him, eating him alive from the inside out. When had they last fed him? Or given him water? Days? A week? Longer? Ezekiel had no way of knowing, the hunger blending with the pain of the branding. He looked at the cold, calm face of his captor. Vars had so much anger bubbling below the placid surface. This was a reminder from his Lord God in Heaven, Ezekiel thought. He had fought so many strange and dark forces that it could have been easy to forget that the greatest evil always came from people.
"I imagine you are." Ezekiel forced the words past a throat covered with the sandpaper of thirst. "How else can you continue your quest to analyze the nature of my faith? A quest you pursue with what one might call religious fervor." He hoped the barb struck home. Vars might be in control of his physical self, but Ezekiel would not let him be in control of his mind...or his soul.
The blond man smiled lightly. "I will admit to being somewhat surprised at the lengths He seems to be willing to let me go with you. One would think that a so mighty all powerful God would look after his most favored servant better." His eyes narrowed only a tiny bit before his next words. "Religious fervor may be a word you use to comfort yourself that inside me there is a chance for grace. But there is none. It burned away long ago." He gestured for a servant who bore a tray. "Help him drink and eat a little."
"Forgiveness is available for any man or woman who truly wants it." Ezekiel paused for a second as the servant sat the tray down on the small end table nearby to prepare. The smell of the fruit alone was almost enough to break Ezekiel down, but he kept himself in control long enough to finish his thought. "But that was not the thrust of my statement, if you will. It just seemed to me that you and those you disdain might have more in common that you suspect or can admit."
"My religion is me. Eat and drink slowly. Your body will welcome then reject it if you eat too fast." He stated this information with no emotion or inflection. Vars leaned back against the wall, watching, waiting.
"A lonely religion indeed," Ezekiel said before picking up a piece of fruit, yellowish-orange and unfamiliar to him. He put it in his mouth, willing himself to eat it slowly, even as the sweetness of its juices started to pour down his throat. He chewed slowly, then picked up another piece. The careful battle between the desire of his body and the will of his mind continued as he finished off the tray. Never had eating a simple meal seemed so much work. But then again, he thought, never have I been in quite this situation before. Through the interminable testing from Vars, Ezekiel had kept himself going by picturing the hunger and pain as the anvil, himself as the steel being forged and God's hand as the hammer. Vars, of course, was the fire of the forge, an appropriate metaphor considering what Ezekiel had seen him do. Vars had held the red hot cross in his hands, feeling no pain, suffering no burns. The fire of the forge, indeed.
Vars watched his captive eat, his eyes sharp through his hooded gaze. At length, when Ezekiel's simple meal was over, he waved in Idir. "Wash him, tend to his wounds. None of your amateurish magic to heal him. What God let happen, let no man undo."
He watched as Idir did his work gently, making no comment until the end as Ezekiel was eased into the pillows. "Wouldn't you say that all religions are lonely," he asked, dismissing the servants, bowls of water and trays of rags away with a simple wave of his fingers.
He came to the chair by the bed and sat with easy grace. "Like death?"
"If you think my religion is lonely, then you will never understand, Vars." Ezekiel forced himself to use the first name of his captor. Despite the torture, he had the feeling that Vars considered Ezekiel to be an acquaintance. And that connection might keep him alive longer to find out what God had in mind.
"I talk with God every day. He is always with me. In life now, and when I die, He will be at my side to walk with me to his Kingdom." He looked over at Vars, who stared at Ezekiel with that cool, knowing look of condescension. "I don't always understand what He has in mind for me, but I don't know what you have planned for me either. That doesn't keep me from being sure that you have a plan in mind for me, just like God does."
"It's like a litany, something to keep you going, isn't it?" Vars asked, an eyebrow raising. It was a rare expression for his face and almost surprising. "I talk with God so he must be listening. You are a tool, Ezekiel. Tools like the people who serve me. To be discarded once you aren't useful. I spoke with him too when I was a child. I was a good child, a faithful child. A child whose loving parents gave him away to be consumed in a fire. God watched that. I'm sure he listened to my pleas. I'm sure that He cared." Vars voice curdled with his smile, a pleasant expression full of cold fury. "Cradled in his love, I burned as a gift to a god so old that no one living remembers him. He didn't save me. I saved myself."
"I'm sorry for what happened to you." And he was. Evil had a way of taking root in places it had no right to be in. A child that should have been protected and loved was instead given over to something horrible. And the evil of the parents had been thrust upon the child before he had a chance to develop defenses. "I don't have an explanation for you, but even if I had one, it would do no good to offer it to you. You know what answers you will accept, and any I might have will not be accepted. You are immune to the fire, but that means you cannot be tempered and shaped. And for that, I am more sorry than you will ever know."
Vars nodded, his face losing all expression again. "I'm not. I bargained with an old god to give him the magician who sacrificed me and the parents who gave me rather than sacrifice themselves and my soul. And when that god put flesh on my blackened bones so I could come back to fulfill that bargain, I gave him what I promised. And then begged to come back to him. Gods cannot believe that mere mortals could do anything by fear or love them. I took my soul back and I consumed him. That world became mine. I became god in my own right."
He started for the door and paused. "I will be that for this fragile mortal plane. I will cast them all out and they will beg me for entry. And I will weaken them, break them, take their homes and become even more powerful. I will be god. Man will worship me." His eyes blazed as he looked at Ezekiel, his fingers tight on the doorframe. "Gods will worship me." His lips tightened to another easy smile. "Rest. Your trials aren't over. I will out what it will take to make your faith waver. And when I do, there is a crack."
Ezekiel was sure that Vars had intended for his statements to be intimidating. But instead, they had the effect of relaxing him. Vars thought he was special and unique, but Ezekiel had heard it all before. Just another power-obsessed maniac who thought they could defeat God.
Vars thought that God had abandoned him, but Ezekiel was certain that Vars was being tested even as Vars tested Ezekiel. And he was failing. Revenge was easy, Ezekiel thought. It was forgiveness that was hard.
Ezekiel settled into the comfortable sheets of the bed and as he fell asleep, a single thought crossed his mind. I forgive you, Vars.
The next morning dawned bright and lovely. The sun tickled the surface of the pool through the window but Vars did not care, his attention absorbed in what he was seeing.
At length, Vars looked up from the pool he watched, his face full of grim satisfaction. "Idir," he called rising to his feet. "Ready our guest and the horses. Gather two men. We are going tiger hunting."
If he noticed Idir's puzzled frown, he showed no emotion for it, striding to his room to change and choose his weapon.
Return to The Story Thus Far
Return to Gathering Storms Main Page
Return to Victoriana Campaign Index
Return to Dr. Penguin's Iceberg
