Dan Willis - The Survivors

“I’ll not tolerate such rock-headed idiocy,” Arbuckle roared, slamming the gavel down for emphasis. “The gullible people of this city have been whipped up into a religious mania by you and others like you. You are an agitator and a public menace, and I’ll not have anyone running around loose in the streets inciting violence.” He pounded the gavel down again.

“It is the order of this council that you be bound in Dark-lock Prison until such time that you come to your senses and deny your contentious religious fantasies. I don’t care if you stay there till the mountains fall.”

“Then I won’t be there long,” Argus spat. “You have only a little time left to you, Arbuckle; then you and all those who deny the gods will suffer their wrath.”

“Don’t tout your adolescent fantasies here,” Bladehook piped up. “We have taken your confederates. Soon there won’t be anyone making trouble in Ironroot so you can blame it on nonexistent gods.”

“I have no confederates,” Argus shot back.

“Don’t deny it,” Bladehook said, his face contorting into a mask of hate. “We know about your minions running around the streets with signs and folks like your friend the cooper, who’s building a crazy boat in the Artisans’ Cavern.”

At this a rumble of laughter ran throughout the chamber. Bradok was watching Argus’s face, and he could have sworn he saw a smile flit across the dwarf’s face.

“Ah, at least someone is listening,” Argus said softly. “The cooper is wiser than I.”

“Don’t praise him too much,” Bladehook said with a sneer. “As soon as we’ve dealt with you, I’m ordering that abomination burned.”

A murmur of agreement ran around the council chamber, and two guardsmen came forward and led the dwarf out.

After Argus had been escorted out, Arbuckle ordered the gallery cleared and the doors shut.

“We have before us a desperate situation,” he proclaimed to the assembled council. “These religious zealots are driving a wedge through our community. They refuse to see that their fathers and grandfathers were fooled, taken in by the so-called priests. They stubbornly cling to the old ways, ways that were put in place to keep us under the thumb of the church.”

Angry mutters rose from the council.

“Brothers,” Arbuckle said, standing up behind the lectern and striking what he clearly thought was a majestic pose. “We are at a crossroads. We must decide, here, now, tonight, what the fate of Ironroot will be.”

“What do you mean, Arbuckle?” a dwarf with a bushy beard asked with a puzzled expression. “I thought you have always said to be patient, to wait for the old beliefs to simply die out.”

“There is not time for that anymore,” Jon Bladehook scoffed, standing up at his table. “These zealots, these street preachers, they’re all in league. Isn’t it interesting how they all have the same message, how they all say the same words? I tell you, they’ve long been conspiring against us, against Ironroot itself!”

Several dwarves cheered.

“Friends,” Bladehook yelled, holding up his hand for quiet. “Councilmen, I have learned the very day when the believers plan to move against us. It is in one week’s time. According to my source, the street preachers say that exactly one week from today, the gods will pour out their wrath on Ironroot. That will be the day of big trouble for us or them. It’s our choice.”

Choice, thought Bradok.

“Preposterous,” someone called.

“Of course, you and I both know that no such thing can happen,” Bladehook said. “There are no gods to anger in the first place.”

“Then why don’t we just wait?” the scruffy-bearded dwarf asked. “When nothing happens in a week, we can show these fakers for what they are. That’ll be the end of the believers.”

“That would just show our weakness,” Arbuckle said. “That’s just what these priests and zealots want, for us to cower and wait.”

Bradok couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew both Argus and Silas, and neither of them seemed to be part of any grand scheme to overthrow Ironroot. Both had impressed him as honest and sincere men. He wondered for the first time how they could believe so fervently in a god when all reason seemed to deny it?

What did they know that he didn’t?

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the polished brass device Erus had given him. He couldn’t read the inscription without holding it close, but he didn’t have to read it. He knew what it said.

A person’s destination depends more on his choices than his direction .

“It’s clear that Argus and his fellow agitators are all in league,” Mayor Arbuckle said, interrupting Bradok’s thoughts. “We don’t know what they’re planning, we don’t know what will happen one week from today, but they won’t be able to carry out their treachery if they are in prison.”

“What if the day comes and goes and nothing happens but the believers still believe?” Bradok asked.

“That’s a good question,” the bushy-bearded dwarf said. “What are you going to do then?”

“Well,” Bladehook said, a look of sheer delight on his face. “If they are that crazy, that they refuse to acknowledge their folly, I suggest we execute a few of them. That should bring the others in line. Enough of this religious mania. Enough of the believers!”

“That’s a monstrous suggestion,” someone called from off to Bradok’s right.

“We can’t kill our own people,” Bushy-beard said.

“What’s the alternative?” Bladehook said. “Let the priests continue to stir up the people and gain power? Allow these lunatic believers to continue to live among us and spread their fearmongering and poison to our children?” He looked around the circle slowly, as if daring anyone to challenge him.

“Isn’t our children’s future, indeed the future of our race, worth shedding blood for? And who will care in the long run that some fools had to die to make our society better? Are their pitiful lives worth sacrificing our future?”

A long silence followed Bladehook’s grim statement, and his last words seemed to hang in the air.

“You see that I am right,” Bladehook said coaxingly at last. “I take no joy in this,” he went on. “But I say we give the believers until the day after the supposed destruction of Ironroot to recant their foolish behavior and rejoin the ranks of civilization.”

Another long silence hung in the air, with many staring at their shoes, others nodding solemnly.

“So be it,” Arbuckle said at last. “Until one week from today. After that, any that refuse to see reason will be put to death.” The mayor looked around the room, the gold caps on his mustache twitching, then rapped on the lectern with the gavel. “All in favor?” he said.

“Stop,” someone yelled, shattering the silence of the room. With amazement, Bradok realized it was, once again, his voice. Nobody else dared oppose the measure. “Stop this!”

All eyes in the chamber turned to look at him.

“Can’t you see Argus is a good, honest man? He is speaking the truth, at least from his own point of view,” he said, walking out from behind his table. “I’ve only been in this chamber one week, and I’ve already seen everything he’s accused us of: greed, graft, and outright theft. Aye, there is truth in what he says.”

At that there were cries of astonishment and calls for Bradok to cease speaking.

“No, I must say this: I’ve seen dwarves care more about making money they don’t need than they do about helping those who are in need. I’ve seen business conducted without honor, where every contracted word was twisted for the maker’s advantage.” Bradok swept his eyes around the chamber, half accusatory and half hopeful. His eyes lit on Much, who quickly glanced away. “And now it’s come to this,” he continued. “Now we’re standing here, blaming an innocent dwarf for the crime of recognizing our sins, and preparing to kill those many others whose only crime is believing him? Have we really sunk so low?