T Lain - The Bloody Eye

Again, the archprelate surprised his minion. Laud gestured broadly toward a pitcher and two goblets at the corner of his desk.

“Some wine, perhaps?” asked the authority

Laud didn’t wait for an answer. He poured a healthy amount into both goblets and handed one to Calmet. He lifted the other into the air and pronounced an unholy blessing on the libation.

“The strength of Gruumsh!” he proclaimed and sipped the fragrant ambrosia that tasted of blackberry, rhubarb, and just a hint of mint.

Calmet mirrored his mentor’s statement and actions, waiting for the hierarch to reveal his purpose in summoning his ally to the chamber.

“I owe you praise,” explained Laud.

The archprelate’s small black eye watched Calmet intently for the inevitable sigh of relief, the loss of tension that was bound to show when he released his inner fear. He smiled as he caught the signs of Calmet’s covert relaxation. Laud enjoyed manipulating people. Indeed, he enjoyed manipulating all of nature. That was, Calmet assumed, why he had turned to the worship of Gruumsh.

“I owe you praise,” the archprelate reiterated, “for your initiative and creativity in solving our problem.”

“It was nothing, Your Potency,” responded Calmet.

“No, it was something,” contradicted his mentor. Laud motioned for Calmet to be seated and he dropped into an overstuffed chair, as well. “Gruumsh abhors weakness and failure. That is why I worship him. I was tired of Pelor and his petty forgiveness. Sins washed away in the radiance of his sun! Bah! All I ever saw was the unworthy multitude of weak, sniveling rejects making their pilgrimages to his sanctuaries and whining for forgiveness. The poor, the weak, the infirm were all welcome in his temple, were they not?”

“You know, Your Potency,” deferred Calmet.

“Of course they were!” the hierarch answered his own question. “They were welcome to come and pray for the day of his appearing. They cried out for justice. They pleaded with their gracious Pelor to intervene on their behalf and overthrow their oppressors—the petty oppressors of one—forge mountain towns and the regal oppressors who conquered entire territories.” The archprelate’s voice ascended in volume and his waving hands matched the fevered pitch of his excitement as he preached his unholy sermon to a congregation of one. “And did he answer their pleas?”

“You know, Your Potency,” Calmet wisely deferred once more.

“Of course he didn’t!” shouted Archprelate Laud as if desperate to convince his own follower. “Pelor works in his own time. His work is as sure as the rising and setting of the sun. Those who wait for the dawn shall trade their strength to glide like eagles on high currents, to run indefatigably and continue their journeys beyond human capacity. You were taught this, as was I.”

“Yes, of course, Your Potency,” responded Calmet.

“And you tired of waiting, as did I?” asked Laud, his voice slowing and softening to a velvet gloved whisper.

“Yes. Yes, I did, Your Potency,” mumbled Calmet.

“Then,” continued the archprelate, “you understand why I turned to Gruumsh. He is not afraid of action. Unlike Pelor, Gruumsh isn’t afraid to use his power. He doesn’t tolerate failure and out of weakness comes his strength.”

“I know this, Your Potency,” ventured Calmet, tiring of the catechism and wondering where the hierarch’s sermon was headed.

“Gruumsh allowed the southerners to conquer us to show us our weakness,” asserted Laud.

Calmet found that he wasn’t brave enough to dispute the logical fallacy with his superior. If Gruumsh allowed his followers to be conquered, wasn’t Gruumsh as guilty of inaction as the archprelate had accused Pelor of being? If Gruumsh could allow trouble to strengthen his followers, might that not be part of the formula when Pelor allowed trouble to invade the lives of his own? The apostate’s empty eye socket itched. His own reasoning made him feel uncomfortable about following Laud. Everything had seemed so clear after Laud and his men overwhelmed him. Now, he was listening to his teacher’s lessons and finding that they didn’t match his own experience.

“So now,” the archprelate triumphantly reached his conclusion, “I am rebuilding the old religion, the faith of Power. Now we shall restore the sanctuary of Gruumsh and we shall show the southerners what true strength can be. When we restore the Eye of Gruumsh and herald the coming of the new kingdom, we shall know power beyond our most incredible desires.”

Laud paused for his proclamation to have appropriate effect and spoke quietly to Calmet. “For this also, you are to be commended,” suggested the archprelate.

“This?” asked Calmet with utter confusion.

Laud smiled a merciless, cold, patronizing smile. “Like Gruumsh, I must observe my servants.” Laud pointed to a shiny piece of metal that mirrored the room’s appearance on its surface and Calmet immediately knew that the archprelate had regularly scryed upon him while he was too busy with his research to notice. He mentally kicked himself while Laud continued. “I am aware that you have made progress on the oracle.”

Calmet gulped. The archprelate was far more perceptive than Calmet suspected.

“It’s really insignificant, Your Potency,” protested Calmet.

“So insignificant that you hide yourself for days at a time in that little cavern with your homunculus, reading the oracle aloud and delving into those ancient palimpsests like a miner seeking gold?” asked the archprelate.

“It’s not…I mean, it isn’t much, but I’m sure…that is, I think, it may mean that there are two different eyes,” responded the cleric with grave insecurity. Calmet was shocked and terrified that Laud knew about the homunculus and all of his research on the oracle.

“Ah, yes. I heard you repeat that stanza on numerous occasions. How does it go?

“I suppose you think that the ‘Eye that cannot be moved’ cannot be the same as the one that ‘shall fill with light’?” Laud tested his student.

“I truly believe there may be up to four different eyes in the oracle, Your Potency. I didn’t want to air my suspicions until I had convincing evidence,” dissembled Calmet, fearful that his lord and master could see through his simple deception as easily as he could apparently see through rocky caverns and earthen passages. “What if one of the eyes of which the oracle speaks refers to one of our eyes, sacrificed in Gruumsh’s service so that we can see more clearly?”

Laud smiled patronizingly as though Calmet were a precocious child who had jumped to an erroneous conclusion. “I suppose that is an interpretation. It isn’t what I expect to find, however.”

“Expect to find, Your Potency?” asked Calmet a little too eagerly. Fortunately, he could tell from a brief, unguarded look on Laud’s face that the question had not displeased his superior.

“Yes, my curious Calmet,” lectured the hierarch. “I expect to find something in the former shrine at Scaun. I expect to find a disfigured, partially destroyed statue of Gruumsh sitting in the midst of a large, unholy symbol carved in the flooring of the chamber. The floor tiles will also be damaged. At least three different chronicles from the time of the original invasion tell of the dismantling of the statue and the destruction of the shrine. At least four ballads speak of the southerners bringing great magic to a cave in the mountain and closing off access to the shrine.”