A Holy Sin

A Holy Sin

November 7th 1818-Thrice Crossed Chapel, Hampton, Gargain

“We walk now into the deep abyss. There will be some of you who will follow me in, but will not follow me out. Those, however, who overcome the darkness, shall be my most beloved of followers, for it is only those who stare into the abyss that can embrace the light.”-Gospel of Joseph

Timothy plunged his hands into the ice cold water in the water basin, goose bumps shooting up his arms. He had let the water sit for too long. He rubbed his hands together, washing the vile deed away. Only twenty-two and already he was a messenger of God with blood on his hands. Worse things had been done in the name of the Lord and worse things would need to be done in the future. It was the price they all had to pay for allowing Shardith to crawl back into the world. The lone candle in the room flickered and casted his dark shadow on the wall, the only witness to his foul deed. It had to be done. Dear God, it had to be done.

Timothy sighed as he pulled his hands from the ice water and grabbed the rough towel off the counter. As he dried his hands, his eyes traveled to the small, cockeyed mirror that hung before him and he gasped at how he had aged. He was only twenty-two and yet he looked like he was thirty. He had a preacher’s open face, but he was alarmed to see deep lines forming around his blue spiderlike eyes and his golden, lionlike mane was starting to fall out. He ran a damp hand through his thinning hair and sighed. He knew it was ridiculous, but it bothered him to lose his hair at such a young age.
“I know I shouldn’t be so superficial, Lord,” he muttered, studying his appearance in the mirror, “But it’s hard. I’m only twenty-two.”
A flash of shame entered his heart. He threw the towel on the counter, rested his hand on the counter, and bowed his head. He was about to commit a horrendous act and he was worried about his lack of hair? How pathetic. I’m trying, Lord. I’m trying.
If he had known that cleansing the world was going to be such a tremendous task... There was so much to do…and so many sacrifices to make…so many sins he would have to atone for.
“Just as the health of the soul depends on the health of the body, the health of the cause depends on the health of the Church.”
The Church was the Lord’s body-and it was dying.

He shook his head as he straightened. Who could have ever predicted that things would be this bad? Who would have known… Timothy did not want to do this, but he had to. He had to, to save Barisianism and to save God, no, to save Terra from her sinful nature. He grabbed the towel and folded it into fours. Things had not been this bad since before Amal’s sacrifice…How could they have allowed this to happen? Was it any wonder that God had condemned the Druids to Shadow tyranny? They did not deserve to be his kingdom on Terra…but Timothy would fix that. He was the savior in human form, and he would cleanse the world for His loving Lord and Father. It was his God given task.

Timothy sighed as he placed the towel next to the water basin and turned around to face a round table. As he silently counted the pewter goblets on the table (excluding his own), the candle flickering its small flame across the room, catching the heavy and ornate cross that hung from his neck-the original cross of the Father of the Church. It was a miracle that he had managed to find the cross at all, another sign that the Lord wanted Timothy to be His representative on Terra. Thirty. Dear God. Timothy closed his eyes. How could they have that many traitors in the church? Were they really that fallen? ”Please, Lord, have mercy on us.
It was amazing how forgiving their Lord truly was. Not only had He sent His only Son down to Terra to overthrow Shardith and the Man Who Sold the World, but He continued to show pity and compassion-even when the inhabitants of Terra deserved to be destroy for their blasphemies. Timothy would have turned his back on these people centuries ago. He wanted to now. These people did not deserve the Lord’s mercy…and yet God had called upon him to save them-all of them.
“Lord, give me the strength and patience to do Your will. Help me. I cannot do this alone.”
Timothy opened his eyes as the door opened halfway.
“Father?” asked a timid figure, hiding behind the door.
“Yes, come in.”
A young boy-no older than eighteen-tripped into the room and swallowed before stuttering, “They are st-st-st-starting to arrive.”
Timothy’s heart turned cold. ”Thy will be done.”
“Very well. Show them into the dining room and tell them I will be with them shortly.”
The young boy opened his mouth, the words dying in his throat, before bowing his head and pulling back.
“Yes, Father.”
Timothy frowned and raised an eyebrow.
“What’s wrong, Matthew?”
“N-n-nothing.”
Timothy gave his young follower a knowing glanced. The young boy pulled further into himself and shuffled his feet.
“You can tell me, Matthew. It’s all right.”
“It’s just…I d-d-do not…it this necessary? They are our br-br-brothers in B-B-Baris.”
“They are traitors to our loving Lord and Father.”
Matthew flinched.
“These men have made a mockery of everything our Lord holds dear. They have fallen under Shardith’s influence and have been lost in his domain. They must be punished.”
“B-b-but who are we to enact G-G-God’s judg-g-g-judgment? And what if they c-c-can be saved? Many of them are…are…g-g-good men.”
Matthew whispered the last two words and kept his head bowed, desperate to avoid Timothy’s gaze. Timothy sighed and walked towards the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Your heart is in the right place, Matthew, and I admire your hesitation, but they are not good men. They are fallen, craven souls who are using the Church and our God to further their degenerate lifestyle.”
“But, Father, by doing this we are no better.”
Timothy’s face softened and he sighed.
“No, Matthew, you are wrong. We are doing this on God’s behalf.”
“B-B-But.”
Timothy held up his hand to silence him.
“Before Amal’s death, God tasked Menelaus to cleanse the land of Kir because of their sinful nature, He tasked Joshua with the destruction of the Temple of Miera, and Amal tasked Ari and all who followed him to destroy the Demons. We are simply continuing His holy work.”
“It is hard, Father. Everything is so d-d-dark now. I do not th-th-think there is such a thing as a holy a-ac-ac-act anymore.”
“Have, faith, Matthew, and remember that Amal led His followers through the inner passage of Hell in order to overthrow Shardith and the Man Who Sold the World. This small act is nothing compared to that darkness.”
Matthew nodded his head, but continued to avoid Timothy’s gaze. Timothy gently placed a hand under Matthew’s chin and raised it until they were eye to eye.
“Do not despair, Matthew, I refuse to believe that God has given up on us.”
Matthew smiled faintly.
“I will go welcome the others.”
Timothy nodded his head and watched the boy leave with a heavy sigh. Matthew was a good boy and he would be an inspiring priest. At least there were still some people alive who were loyal to God and His Son. Matthew had a point though. This was hardly an act worthy of their Savior, Amal Baris, but it had to be done. God forgive him, it had to be done.

Timothy felt a shiver go down his spine as his eyes lingered on the pewter goblets and the vial hung in his pocket, like a large boulder, pulling him down…down…down. Thirty…strange that it was thirty cardinals and bishops…thirty traitors. Thirty years on Terra. Thirty years Amal lived amongst sinners before His great sacrifice and now….Now thirty sacrifices will usher in a regeneration of the faith. Thirty sinners for a pure and holy world Of course, more than thirty had died. These thirty were all that was left of the corruption and injustice of the Church. How many priests and archdeacons had he killed during the past year? How many priests had betrayed their Lord and broken their vows? It had to be done. He was the Father of the Church and his church would not be built upon the backs of liars and traitors. A house could not stand if its foundation was impure. His church would be small at first, but full of good, honest men, men like Matthew. Still, what good could come from a foundation drenched in blood? Timothy tore his eyes off the goblets and they traveled to the mirror. He was white. He was scared.
“It is the Lord’s will. Did Baris not lead His twelve disciples into the gates of Hell, did He not lead them down the dark and horrific passage, and did He not emerge with only seven disciples left?
But that was Shardith’s doing.
“Who knows better?! Man or God?! Did man make the Heavens?!”
Timothy trembled as he felt his Lord’s wrath fill the room.
”Did man raise the mountains? Did man calm the seas? Did man paint the stars? Did man place the sun and the moon in the sky?”
Timothy fell to his knees and closed his eyes.
“And Amal said unto Ari, ‘You have followed me unto the ending of the world and did not leave my side. May all who proclaim to love me follow the same path. And I say unto all who follow: May he who wishes to defeat darkness, stare into darkness. May he walk through darkness unscathed, protected by his love for Me. Do this and he will have My Love, for I love the Sinner who has faced the Abyss and found Me more than a believer who only looks to the Light’
Timothy opened his eyes as his body shook. He felt his Lord lift him up and he saw Amal Baris standing before the abyss, staring down the dark passage and Timothy understood. Even Amal Baris had to contend with the world’s darkness before He could fulfill his holy task.
“I will follow you into Hell’s void, my Lord,” he whispered, “And I will follow you out, but only by your mercy and grace.”

Timothy brushed the creases out of his dark and heavy robes and adjusted his large cross so it rested evenly on his chest. He wanted it to be the first thing they saw when he entered the room. He grabbed his goblet off the table before opening the door and walking down the oppressively dark passageway. There were no candles to light his way, only a faint, red glow at the end of the hallway-the study. They did not have the money to buy more candles, besides it was not safe to light up a Church. If it did not attract the Demons then it attracted the various factions who killed indiscriminately, claiming their victims were on the wrong side. As Timothy took a step into the darkness, he could not help but think of Amal’s first descent into Hell, the damning gloom and haunting moans and he thought of Shardith’s dark beasts and the gallant sacrifice of Amal’s disciples. He heard their cries and he felt a heaviness and an understanding.   And I say unto all who follow: May he who wishes to defeat darkness, stare into darkness. May he walk through darkness unscathed, protected by his love for Me. The darkness enveloped him and he walked forward, not seeing where he was going, but walking by faith. By knowing that each step he took his foot would land on solid ground just as he walked down this dark and violent path because he knew that the Lord would guide him and protect his soul. Those who believed in God had no reason to fear the dark. It was but a strange animal that had to be wrestled with and defeated before they could enter Paradise. The light at the end of the passageway grew brighter and brighter and he could hear the others talking, the loud brass voice of Cardinal Frederick Gideon and the nervous whine of the accursed Bishop Byron Wingate and he heard the venomous slur of Bishop Lawrence Cage. Timothy reached out his hand and pushed the large, oak door open and stepped into the warm, shadowy study. The small fire was enjoying its last gasp before turning into nothing but glowing embers and the few chairs had been claimed by the oldest of the cardinals. The others crowded together and tried to avoid stepping on each other’s toes. Timothy walked across the study, each step like a minor earthquake, shaking the very foundation of the evil these men had created. He walked towards the fireplace, aware all eyes were on him, and stood in front of the sputtering fire, the sparks drenching everyone in dark shadows, washing them away into the darkness so only their outlines could be seen.
“How kind of you to finally join us, Timothy,” said Lawrence.
“Please forgive my tardiness,” said Timothy, slowly turning around to face the traitors, “But I have a number of items that needed my attention.”
“We are all busy, Timothy,” pressed Lawrence, “Busier than you, believe it or not.”
Timothy smiled and nodded his head.
“I find that hard to believe, but if that is what you must tell yourself so you can sleep at night, be my guest.”
Lawrence sneered as Cardinal Mosley squinted his eyes and his mouth was halfway open.
“Murphy, what is that…that around your neck?”
Timothy hid a smile as the others crowded even closer to get a better look at the cross that hung on his chest.
“It is Saint Ari’s cross.”
The very air stopped as the others gasped, drew back, and stared.
“That was lost long ago,” panted Cardinal Gideon, “The Shadows took it.”
“It was lost, but the Shadows did not take it. Father Frobisher knew that the Shadows were going to betray him and so he gave the cross to the late Patrick Gergen’s family.”
Wingate flinched.
“They have taken care of these items for decades, waiting for the proper time.”
“And how did you come across it, Timothy?” asked Lawrence, “You are not a Gergen.”
“I was adopted by Patrick,” said Timothy, his eyes flashing.
“But the Father of the Church gave that to the Gergen family and I do not know how he would feel knowing it was in the hands of an unwanted orphan.”
Timothy’s face drew into a tight sneer and he felt his Lord’s rage behind him.
“What does it matter, Cage?” said Wingate, avoiding Timothy’s gaze, “Timothy has the cross. We can have a Father again.”
“Only the previous Father can decide who his successor will be and Father Frobisher died decades ago.”
“But by passing the cross onto the Gergens, he passed it onto Patrick, and Patrick passed it onto me,” said Timothy, hiding a smile.
His words shattered their reality like a rock through a window pane.
“You are not suggesting that you are the next Father of the Church,” said Lawrence, his fingers tightly wrapped around the arm of his chair.
“I’m not suggesting it, Lawrence,” said Timothy, a dark glint in his eyes.
Lawrence looked like he had swallowed a lemon.
“Whether Timothy is calling himself the Father of the Church or not, it matters very little with the state Gargain is in,” said Cardinal Moseley.
“The civil war has certainly made things difficult,” said Cardinal Gideon.
“I’ve heard that the war might be drawing to a close,” said Wingate.
“Who’s going to be the victor?” asked Lawrence.
“I heard it might be Ethan Hertz,” said Gideon, as Timothy furrowed his eyebrows.
Lawrence laughed.
“Ethan is a child.”
“He’s managed to survive this long,” said Wingate, “And he has the military advantage over Christian and Lewis.”
Timothy withdraw into himself and thought about this new development. Was this the next part of the passage? It seemed strange as soon as Timothy finished cleansing the Church, he should hear of the predicted victor of the civil war that raged throughout Gargain. ”Tell me your will, Lord.”
They jumped as the door opened and Matthew, carrying two goblets, walked in-followed by Timothy’s other followers.
“Please forgive me, but I thought you would appreciate a drink.”
“Oh, yes, please forgive me for my rudeness,” said Timothy, gesturing, “Thank you, Matthew.”
“Of course.”
Timothy watched as each goblet was passed out and his breath seemed caught in his chest. There was no turning back now. Matthew and the others bowed their heads before walking out of the room.
“I propose a toast,” said Timothy, raising a glass, “To our Loving Lord and Father. May He bring an end to this terrible war.”
The others nodded their heads and muttered amens before taking a sip from their drinks. Timothy drank long and deep from his goblet, the wine calming his nerves as the others twitched and choked. There was a clatter as they dropped their goblets and fell over. Lawrence was halfway out of his chair as he reached out towards Timothy. He tumbled to the ground, his face turning red and his lips foaming. Timothy watched impassively as Cardinal Moseley jerked back in his chair, his head hanging over the headrest and his body twitched and jumped. Only Wingate seemed to have any fight in him as he stumbled towards Timothy and grabbed his shoulders, before falling onto his knees. He looked up at Timothy and, with foam gushing out of his mouth, he gurgled, “Why?”
Timothy sneered as he shoved Wingate’s hands off his shoulder and watched the weak and pathetic bishop fall to the floor.
“You have been judged by the Lord and you have been found wanting.”
Timothy finished his wine, before placing it on the mantel. The fire was dead, nothing more than red embers, draping the bodies in an impenetrable darkness. He stepped over the ghostly specters and opened the door. Matthew was waiting for him.
“Is it done?”
“Yes, dear Matthew, it is done,” he sighed, placing a hand on Matthew’s shoulder, “I want you to take care of the bodies. Bury them, but do not read them the Lord’s Prayer. They do not deserve it.”
“But shouldn’t we just leave the bodies for the Demons? It’s what they deserve.”
“True, but we shouldn’t feed Shardith’s spawn,” said Timothy, walking down the dark passageway.
“Where are you going?”
Timothy paused and turned to face his young follower.
“I am going to enlist the future king of Gargain in our cause.”