seymoure

The Poor of Kouphan

As they approached the magnificent Cathedral, they passed through the most indecent of slums.

Each pitiful structure or undernourished child proclaimed the lie of the word “holy” given to the Churchmen who lavished such glories upon themselves and yet allowed any human to languish in such barrenness and beggary within simple earshot.

A rage bubbled in their souls. They were not, nor had they ever seen themselves as heroes. But they knew these arrogant brigand who hide behind the Books of Shabrinka, a God of Love and brother of Degana, the Holy of All Mothers, must be made to answer on this world. If their teachings were right we would all sail upon the Sea of Volmeer to the land of the Gods where we would be judged by our good works, these planned to take cargo with them.

The Brotherhood was avowed to sink that barge here in Kouphan and let the Priests swim for it.

They had all been swept by the flood of not having, and they would not let the rushing waters of these foul holy men ride the storm dry.

It was decided that Grath and Antac would approach as beggars and see if there was charity to be had. They knew the visual impact of Antac’s blindness and Graths disfigurement would be easily given to the false ministrations of the brothers within. They would be able to mentally map the temple from within its walls.

They stumbled to the gate of the compound mumbling like men with nothing in the way of hope. The brother Priests rushed out to speak words of praise to their Gods for these poor cursed men.

While they would not touch the “sad souls” they hurried them to the little shack they had, outside of the Temple.

“Can we not go inside and be blessed by the words of the Lords of light you serve?” Grath cooed like a true believer.

“Here you shall be comforted,” the Priest said dismissively. It was obvious that these dirty men would bring far too much of the real world into the interior world of holy men. Didn’t they know that that world was only for those who knew the secrets?

They were send to someone named Benia, with the Priest saying, “He takes care of people like you.”

Benia was one of those rare things in this land. He was a Priest who also cared. He had the haggard look of a man attemp0ting, day after day, to hold back a flood with nothing but a single bucket and his hands. He gave Grath and Antac a bowl of rice and a tattered blanket saying, “Brothers I sorrow for the meager fare I can put before you, but you are welcome to share this shack, shaky and ill repaired though it may be. In the coming rain it will be some shelter.” He bowed his head and made a quick prayer to Iiad, the Lord of Winds and Weather.

“Iiad, protector of the skies, we plead with thee that thy oncoming storm be one that helps only those who need it and does not harm these children of yours, for they have done naught to earn such disfavor.”

At that moment he was called away to deliver a child in the nearby village.

Meri-am and Bizjon joined their compatriots in the ramshackle building. Antac went among the few other mendicants.

Bizjon retrieved rice for Meri-am and himself and said, “They wouldn’t let you into the Temple itself?”

“They hold the interior too dear, it seems, to let the filth of the streets rub off on their troves of gold within. I heard one even invoke the name Shistal, whose name is used in many lands for the Guard of the God’s Fortunehouse.”

“But, protecting what they already have was not their concern,” Antac noted, returning with a gnarled old man under his arm, “This is Bwangi, who can speak on that.”

“You are friends of Antac?” came the hiss of the old man through his toothless mouth.

Meri-am nodded and lightly placed a hand on the blind man’s head.

“I thought I smelled a girl,” the old man chortled low, “The few females I encounter are only nominally women. Your presence alone would insure that I had a better day.”

Bizjon took offense that his friend did not, “Back to the business, old vagrant, what can you tell us about why the Holy Men do not allow entrance?”

“Holy?” he spat, “Perhaps once, but Shistal has long since taken their souls into her reptile grip. Did you know she is also the Goddess of Snakes?”

No one but the Sorceress knew. She signed and Grrath translated, “In several lands she is only the daemon of the cold blooded.”
"She said that?" the elder asked, "For those were not the big man's words."
"Aye," Antac answered.

“A Wench of Knowledge,” the old beggar mused, “The most dangerous of creatures.”

She smiled.

“But, to answer your catechism, the Priest are preparing for the arrival of their Superior. His name is Diphenol, and he brings the direct blessing of Shistal herself.”

“He has been in physical contact with a God?” Grath gasped.

“That’s what they think,” the blind man said, “But they are Priests and given to being fooled. They do it to others, and those above them do it to them.”

Antac thanked his blind brother and gave him the bowl of rice he had been given. The old man wondered away looking for the best place in the shelter to withstand the coming thunderstorm.

At this point they were alone. The wind whistled unanswered by Men of the Gods.

“What can we plan?” Bizjon asked all his comrades.

“There is nothing to give us any idea of where they would keep the vast stores of wealth they have,” Meri-am stated.

Grath was quick to add, “We must wait to see if the visiting Priest brings any loot with him, as proof of his nearness to the Heavenly Host that these value most.”

Antac showed a worry, “He will bring more armed men at arms to guard him. If we wait till late, well past midnight, they may have gone to sleep, leaving only hallway men to moniter. Then we shouldn’t have anything more to worry about than any ordinary night.”

“Unless we are found out,” Bizjon said.

“Then there will be just that many more to run us down and cut off our heads,” the swordsman.

“I should like to know the layout of the inside anyway,” Grath grumbled.

“We’ll have to go in blind,” Bizjon grunmbled.

“Yes?” said Antac.

Grath laughed first, then, after he signed the whole thing to Meri-am he was joined by her smile. Antac laughed loudly and, finally Bizjon was relieved of his guilt enough to smile and take a drink from the wine skin.