T Lain: The Bloody Eye

“Or powerless?” suggested Jozan.

“Or hopeless,” responded the woman. “The trouble is that the ointment is worse than the wound. This return to Gruumsh must be stopped before the people jump out of a cookfire and into the fires of Baator itself.”

“How can it be stopped?” asked Jozan, some of his evaporated confidence returning to his voice. For the first time, he noticed a spot of color on the woman’s cheek as she responded.

“I intend to recruit a citizen army to chase down the slavers. Heironeous is sure to help me trace the source through any slavers I capture.”

“Is that why you were praying, just now?” asked Jozan.

“I asked Heironeous for an ally. You appeared and spoke about the same source of evil that I want to destroy. It seems we have a common cause, Jozan. You can seek justice against this Calmet and I will seek justice on behalf of the enslaved. Together, we may save many from a hell of their own making.”

As Jozan listened with a combination of comprehension and bewilderment, the old priest slid into a prophetic rhythm and spoke louder, with even more assurance than before. “Take heart, soldier of the sun. Heironeous joins Pelor in seeking this justice, though justice may well be Grace.” The monk’s eyes rolled back and a voice as cold as steel recited, “The radiance shines upon cold metal. Judgment shall burn like molten metal and illuminate like the sun at midday. Revere the day, revere justice, and beware the Black Carnival!”

As Jozan pondered those words, the old priest stepped toward him. The cleric pounded his fist against his chest in a martial salute to the young cleric and began to sing, “Bound in faith, bound in blood, bound in power!”

In the midst of the hymn, Jozan found both healing and the assurance that Pelor could speak, even in the Temple of Heironeous.

Yddith felt safe with the four priests of Pelor beside her. The first time they were attacked by the skeletons, she’d gasped in panic, but Pere’ Doubert changed all that. He faced the five skeletal soldiers and fiercely castigated them in Pelor’s name. Three of them immediately shattered into dust, eerily dispersing in the wind. As though providing violent counterpoint, she watched the maces and warhammers of the other clerics accomplish the same result at a slower pace, pulverizing the remaining skeletons into a similar, moldy grist.

She was surprised when Pere’ Doubert believed her story without question, immediately recognizing the description of the undead caravan and calling it the “Black Carnival.” Doubert fed Yddith and gathered three brothers to make the journey back to Pergue with them. Only a few miles from Pergue, they were ambushed, but they fought their way through. Then, attacks came more frequently as the five neared the town. With the forest so crowded with undead, Pere’ Doubert ordered his colleagues to quit calling on the power of Pelor to turn or destroy the skeletons. He reasoned that the abominations were so thick that if the quartet of warrior clerics attempted to turn them all, they risked trying Pelor’s patience and using up his benevolence before reaching their goal. And Pere’ Doubert well knew that they would need all of Pelor’s benevolence when they reached the town and confronted the Black Carnival.

By sunset, the small group was on the outskirts of Pergue. They moved as silently as possible to a copse of trees with a relatively clear view of the town square. Quietly, they watched with a morbid curiosity as zombies and skeletons pushed wagons together to form a stage. They observed with horror as the foul, moldy fiends dragged unwilling victims to the town square, building a captive audience in every sense. Gradually the stage was illumined with the same sanguine glow as that surrounding the wagons on the previous night.

As darkness fell, the performance began. A hideous, pockmarked female zombie played the title role in the most famous forbidden play ever, The Maiden’s Blush .

Doubert whispered an explanation to Yddith, “Our priests banned this play over a century ago because it celebrates the worst of the old ways: human sacrifice and sadism.”

Yddith found herself becoming increasingly uncomfortable as the play progressed, especially during a scene in which a priest of Gruumsh disguises himself as a druid in order to seduce the maiden.

“The priest,” intoned Doubert in hushed tones, “believed that if the maiden conceived during the exact moment of the solstice, she would bear the avatar of Gruumsh.”

The faux druid spouted blasphemous aphorisms and capered lewdly, clumsily, across the stage. As the play progressed, the maiden was caught up in a succession of lusty dances and ritual tortures. Yddith winced as the lash tore bits of fetid flesh from the maiden’s back and flung them dripping across the stage or into the audience.

“The torture was necessary,” Pere’ Doubert gently explained, “to get Gruumsh aroused enough to pay attention to the ritual.” The priest paused solemnly. “I’d hate to believe that suffering was the only way to get my god’s attention.”

Suddenly, Pere’ Doubert could restrain himself no more. As a chorus of skeletal dancers gyrated with lurid, suggestive motions, the priests made their move. Casting Pelor’s daylight upon his sun symbol, Doubert rushed into the midst of the crowd with a glow like a miniature sun shining from his chest.

“In the name of Pelor,” he shouted, “stop this foul production!”

Yddith smiled with grim satisfaction as she watched half a dozen skeletons in the chorus and the guard shatter into calcium mist as the light from Doubert’s holy symbol played across them. The three other priests of Pelor emulated Doubert’s action and Yddith’s confidence soared as she watched more than a dozen skeleton sentries and zombie guards rush away from the square, routed as surely as the orcs at the Battle of Couredon.

Yddith knew better than to wade into the fray with the four clerics, but she couldn’t stand idle, either. With all of the furtiveness of a thief or assassin, she managed to slink closer behind the statue of St. Cuthbert. There, she watched and waited for her opportunity.

“They’re like lice!” shouted Doubert. “Kill one and the rest keep biting!”

He proclaimed aloud the goodness of Pelor once again, but it seemed that no matter how many skeletons collapsed or stumbled away, more closed in from the gloom beyond Doubert’s light. His long-handled hammer smashed them as they came on, until suddenly the brazen cleric found himself facing three onrushing skeletons at once. Yddith watched Doubert shatter I he weapon arm of the first to come within reach, but the second stepped up behind the cleric and sliced a rusty short sword through the armor guarding the cleric’s shoulder.

The barmaid racked her memory for a useful trick to turn against the undead. Maces and hammers could hardly miss as shambling, fleshless things closed in four rings around the four clerics.

A fierce backhand brought Yddith into the battle. A swipe from one of the younger clerics knocked a skeletal arm from its shoulder and sent it spinning toward the statue of St. Cuthbert. The rusted, notched weapon that clattered into the dust with the rattling bones seemed like a gift from Pelor to Yddith. She scrambled forward on her knees and grabbed the hilt. Mouthing a quiet prayer, she retreated again into the shadows and waited till a zombie shambled by. As swiftly and smoothly as a trained assassin, Yddith plunged the sword into the zombie’s back. All her weight pushed it downward, slicing through rotted ribs. The zombie crumbled into a heap at her feet.

“Not bad for an amateur,” she mumbled to herself.

She looked up just in time to see one of the priests trying to dislodge his weapon from the shattered cranium of a brainless foe. As the priest struggled, an axe-wielding zombie stepped behind him. Even as Yddith plunged her sword into another zombie, its axe sliced sideways between the priest’s ribs as neatly as an executioner’s stroke with a freshly sharpened blade. The human tried to turn defensively, but stumbled and barely managed to stay on his knees. As he tottered, Yddith sliced off the zombie’s axe arm, but she could plainly see that it was too late for the young priest of Pelor. Moments later he was torn apart by grasping, bony claws.