Chapter One of my Upcoming, Untitled Fantasy Novel
This is a rough draft, so don't be surprised by some errors, obviously
For the past year or so I have toiled away on some background, an outline, and much more on a currently Untitled Fantasy Novel that I want to finish one day. As of today, I was able to complete the first chapter! So, I wanted to share it with all of you and force myself to have some accountability with finishing this thing.
This is a rough draft and things will undoubtedly change as time goes on and I get further and further in this process, but I nonetheless want to get this in front of some eyes. As the author of this, I am most definitely blind to some of its flaws and possibly even some grammatical errors, so, if you see something, please let me know! Be it a comment, an email, or a text/call if you know me personally, do not hesitate to reach out. I
I consider any feedback to be ultimately beneficial, so do not feel bad about whatever you want to say. I simply appreciate you reading and engaging with this! Below is a short introduction/prologue, followed by the first chapter.
I hope you enjoy!
The world never ended… it was recreated.
There were wars and rumors of wars. There were famines and earthquakes and nation rose against nation and kingdom against kingdom, yet the birth pains continued. The kicks and the cramps of a world pregnant with turmoil never ceased. No trumpets sounded, no flags were drawn, and no Savior returned triumphantly atop a white horse with the saints in tow.
Countries splintered, borders were redrawn, and the mechanisms of daily life were adjusted to meet the ebbs and flows. The comforts of a then-modernity became forgotten relics of a distant past and with them also went the half-thought notions of how the universe functioned. To some, it appeared as if magic had begun to re-enter the world, but they were unaware that an exit had never happened. It should instead be said that most people were snapped out of a sleep put upon them by a cold and calculating literality.
The world they awoke to was full of wild and wonder. Dragons from tales of old emerged from the unexplored depths of Earth’s five oceans, Principalities and Powers came out from behind the veil, miracles were increasingly commonplace, and prayers—especially those of young children—seemed to truly matter.
In that time, men and women of all ages and backgrounds answered the call to fight against the Spirits of Darkness for the preservation of the Creator’s Truth and Beauty. They fought for Order amongst the Chaos, and in doing so they found themselves forever memorialized within the narratives of a refreshed creation.
The following is but one of the stories from the world made new.
CHAPTER ONE
The Bulls of Bashan were known by many names. “The Passed Over”, “The Reprobate”, “The Forgotten”, “The Unloved” …the list went on. All were a variation of the same idea: they were not one of the Creator’s Chosen.
Now, Bashan the Younger would argue that he had made his choices, as had all his Bulls, so implications that either himself or his company were nothing other than passive victims of a discriminatory God were ridiculous. Their allegiance was purposeful. They had chosen the side of freedom. They voluntarily served the Morning Star and his Great Dragon, not the unjust Creator God.
But Bashan the Younger knew that fighting against a name was pointless. In fact, he was glad that his company had so many different labels. A single label dehumanized a group; it was something that enabled one to refer to another without any regard for their humanity or the purposes behind an action. Multiple labels, on the other hand, made them out to be an inhuman force of destruction and so-called evil. Legends would spring up repeatedly, attributing to The Bulls feats that they had only dreamed of accomplishing or giving them credit for something that another, lesser-known legion, had done. As a result, at times the mere knowledge that “The Reprobate” were approaching was all that it took for a town to surrender immediately as The Bulls arrived. They were always disappointed when that happened, though. They preferred a fight. There was a certain quality to a properly bloody and brutal conquest that livened the soul.
Personally, they exclusively referred to themselves as The Bulls of Bashan. Yes, they liked the sound of it, but most importantly they liked the name’s legacy. They were carrying on in the tradition that could be traced back to the Ancient Middle East and Coward King Og. Although King Og was eventually defeated in a battle against the Israelites, some of the Creator’s cursed children, he was the man who had first entered into communion with Bashan the Older, a Principality from time eternal and one of the Morning Star’s most loyal Spirits. It was through Bashan the Older’s influence that Og lead the Amorites into war against the Israelites, and it was Og who served as Bashan the Older’s first blessed vessel.
After communing with Og, Bashan the Older gifted the Coward King with the indwelling of his presence. His consciousness remained, but it no longer wholly knew itself as an independent entity, it knew only a symbiotic dependence on Bashan the Older. To the Coward King that dependence was not a negative, it was a positive. Individuality was a worthy sacrifice for immense strength, a cunning mind, and a persuasive tongue.
Within a single body thus resided two beings: Bashan the Older, a mighty principality, and Bashan the Younger, an evolved man formerly known as Og. Together, they were one; The Younger served the Older, but every Amorite served Bashan.
And so that dominion festered and the Amorite people grew. Under Bashan, the Amorites expanded their reach into the northern region of Gilead and experienced a prolonged period of prosperity. A formerly nomadic people were finally given the opportunity to spread their roots and pasture the land. They had wished for a stable way of life for centuries, and Bashan delivered it to them on a silver platter. He had succeeded where Og and every other king before him had failed.
In order to protect and extend his growing kingdom, Bashan formed The Bulls: an elite group of soldiers who led the greater Amorite forces and acted as his closest confidants. Whether it was the rudimentary details regarding daily operations of the kingdom or the finer specifics of a grand plot, The Bulls of Bashan were keyed in on it all. They were also Bashan’s eyes and ears, both within the territory of the Amorites and outside of it into the regions beyond. While possessing the body of Bashan the Younger, Bashan the Older was partially limited to mankind’s five senses. Consequently, he relied on his Bulls to report on the various comings and goings since he could no longer freely travel the Earth as a Prince of the Land.
It was during a routine scouting mission that some of The Bulls caught word that the Israelites were planning to take Canaan for themselves. The land of Canaan had long been of particular interest to Bashan the Older, as had been the plight of the Israelite’s, so when news of this development reached him, he grew enraged. Bashan the Younger admitted to a small amount of confusion. Stories of the Israelites’ escape from Amenhotep II’s rule in Egypt had been common knowledge throughout the Middle East for some time, so the concern caught him off guard.
One of the most confounding aspects of the Israelite’s departure was the complete lack of communication from Amenhotep II or any of his servants in the time following. Typically, a mass exodus, especially one on the purported scale of the Israelite slaves’, would have been met with bounties or inquiries promising compensation for capture or information. Yet, neither came. As such, Og had not previously paid any heed to the multiple reports on or sightings of the Israelites. Besides, even if the Israelites tried to encroach upon Amorite territory, they were slaves, not warriors, and they would be crushed without any meaningful effort.
Bashan the Older corrected the misunderstandings of The Younger and provided his vessel with a clear insight into why that people group deserved their full attention. He told The Younger of the truth of the tyrannical Creator God. The Amorites had previously thought that Bashan was the Spirit responsible for their entrance into the world, and for the dawn of the world itself, but The Older informed The Younger that it was God who was responsible for it all. He had created every aspect of creation and divided it into three distinct divisions. He created the Spirits, which were partitioned between two distinct yet equally powerful categories. There were the Powers, also known as the Princes of the Air; and the Principalities, also known as the Princes of the Land, of which Bashan was one amongst many. God next created mankind with all its shapes, sizes, and colors. Then, last, and certainly least, God created the animals and all the species and varieties therein.
Initially, God had created a hierarchy between the divisions. The Spirits were the pinnacle, humanity beneath them, and then animals at the bottom. Each either a taste or an echo of what was before them. God also gave every aspect of creation autonomy and the potential to grow beyond its designation. If a Spirit sought to dominate the other Spirits or become a man or beast? So be it. Did a human or an animal desire to become like the other or aspire to be either a Principality or Power? It could be achieved. The mysteries and energies of the universe were able to be harnessed to accomplish anything. The Spirits could battle, barter, and persuade amongst themselves, as could mankind and the animals, to pursue their innermost dreams and desires. All of creation thrived in that environment of equal opportunity and they all believed that the richness of that style of life would continue in perpetuity. However, The Creator had other plans.
Quite cruelly, God changed the rules. He had grown jealous of the Earth, its inhabitants, and how everything was able to function without him. He was a hurt, petulant being, who had secretly wished for creation to seek himself and shape themselves after his will, despite proclaiming and instilling a desire for freedom. Barriers were placed, making access to the mysteries and energies of the universe nigh impossible to access. And God chose a specific region of the Earth and a people for himself—those known in the Amorites’ time as the Israelites—and upended the hierarchies and dynamics of creation without any consent of the created. Above all other peoples, towns, territories, and nations, they alone received his most fruitful blessings and were decreed to succeed and thrive at any cost.
The Israelites were thus designated as the rightful heirs of creation, and creation was commanded to fall in line. A vast number of Powers and Principalities kowtowed to the blatant tyranny. They surrendered their freedoms to exalt God’s chosen and gave up any semblance of dignity in the process. Nonetheless, Bashan the Older had remained resilient. In the face of overwhelming divine corruption, he and a few others dared to hold on to the original ideals of equal opportunity and liberty. They rallied together, electing Lucifer, the Morning Star, the Lord of the Air, the wisest and strongest of the Spirits, as their leader. Courageously, Lucifer and his supporters turned against the Creator God out of a love for freedom and a desire to see what creation could achieve in a world without limitations.
Therefore, destroying the Israelites was simply a matter of necessity. The destruction of the Israelites would serve as an ultimate offense against a mad king and could be the sole way to convince God of his error. The death of the privileged had a chance to bring about the reversal of creation’s downfall and a restoration to the state that it had all prospered in at the beginning of time. At the very least, Lucifer predicted that the death of his people could draw God out from the heavens and allow one of the Powers or Principalities a chance at a killing blow. After all, everything bled, and the removal of a tyrant would allow for the fruition of a genuine freedom. If they were within reach, then the Amorites had no choice but to act.
The Older knew that The Younger was onboard before he finished recounting the entirety of his narrative. The realization that his people’s struggles and failures were the result of divine interference sealed The Younger’s agreement to eradicate the Israelites. His people deserved to flourish and the thought that they would suffer not through any failure of their own but due to a heavenly override infuriated him. Together, The Younger and The Older devised a plan to deal God’s chosen a decisive defeat.
The Amorites were to confront the Israelites head on in battle. A majority of The Bulls would lead the attack while three of them, including Bashan, would flank the enemy and attempt to take out the leader, a man named Moses who was of an older age and, per subsequent reports, tended to stay in or near an encampment during most conflicts. With the bulk of the Israelite forces engaged, ideally there would be little in the way of Moses’ heart and the end of Bashan’s blade.
Preparations were made and the warring began. The Amorites met the Israelites in the southern Judean mountains, a region whose hills gave the Amorites a height advantage. Arrows and slung rocks hailed down upon the Israelites for three whole days, during which Bashan and his select Bulls worked their way towards the rear of their enemy’s camp. On the fourth day, with the supply of arrows and stones close to depleted, The Bulls of Bashan led the Amorites in a downhill charge. Shielded spearmen lined the front two rows, men with broadswords and daggers filled out the rest of the formation.
They expected to shatter the ranks of the Israelites like glass, but the Israelites were more resilient than anticipated. Without Bashan guiding them on the battlefield, the Amorite troops faltered. The Israelites had begun to win. Accordingly, Bashan and his Bull’s mission was unknowingly of a greater importance than they realized. The death of Moses had become the sole way to secure a victory for the Amorites.
As they crept through the camp Bashan the Older gradually lessened the reins he had on Bashan the Younger. The Older had not minded The Younger’s dependence—truthfully, he relished it—but he nonetheless desired to see just how transformative his influence had been. He wanted to report back to Lucifer with news of the Israelite’s obliteration, as well as highlight his own accomplishment with a transformative possession of The Younger. However, as they entered the tent and approached Moses, a blinding light began to emanate from the Israeli’s face and everything changed for the worse.
The startling incandescence was of no surprise to The Older who had seen it before, albeit unfiltered and intensified in eternity’s past, but to Bashan the Younger it was crippling. From out of the depths of The Younger’s subconscious, Og came forth, whelping and crying. At the sight of their leader’s horror, the two Bulls who had accompanied Bashan fled. With no reinforcements to support him, The Older sought to suppress Og and regain Bashan the Younger’s composure. Unfortunately, the self-wetting, deplorable surrender of Og was too heavy to overcome. A human’s soul was notoriously difficult to master in ideal circumstances—possession usually required a man or woman to continually surrender themselves totally out of their own free will and in a state of grateful servitude—so Og’s fit of fear made a commandeering impossible.
When faced with a mere glimpse of his enemy’s true nature, he folded. The legacy of his people, the peace and stability of an entire nation, goals that Og had sought and came begging before Bashan the Older to provide, everything was cast aside at the slightest experience of the enemy’s presence.
With his vessel alone and paralyzed in a trembling state of fright, The Older departed from Og, leaving him powerless and vulnerable. A swift swing of the sword by one of Moses’ guardsmen was enough to cleave the Coward King’s crying head from his shoulders. By the time it hit the ground Bashan the Older had already retreated deep into Gilead, far away from the battlefield and the luminous malice of his enemy. He did not desire to watch a people group whom he had poured so much time and energy into fail miserably. Ironically, when the historians detail how Og was defeated that day, they are more accurate than they intend. For that encounter was genuinely the moment when Og, not Bashan, lost at the hands of the Israelites.
Fortunately, the loss that day ended up serving Bashan the Older well. It showed him that humans needed a vast quantity of training, particularly in the area of divine resistance, if God was going to be overthrown. God’s presence could override any level of obstinance amongst creation. It could make the fiercest, bravest, most determined being doubt that the way of freedom was right and instead find God’s tyrannical order to be correct. It could cause God’s oppressive might to be perceived as a glory rather than a terror.
That type of trickery was something that Bashan the Older found to be incredibly common throughout the hundreds of years following the Amorite’s defeat. As a result, he made sure that every one of his other vessels knew or experienced God’s so-called “glory” in some way, shape, or form before his communion with them. The strongest hosts were the ones who had tasted of God’s false providence and declared it rightfully lacking.
For a long while, Bashan the Older found the best vessels within the Israelite people. As they advanced through the region of Gilead and the surrounding areas, Bashan the Older changed tactics and decided to destroy God’s people from within. He communed with his Youngers and selected his Bulls from the ranks of the priesthood and the nation’s royalty. When one Younger grew too old or too weak, Bashan would leave him and join with his strongest Bull. That method of succession saw Bashan experience a magnitude of success that surpassed his boldest dreams.
The Israelite people were so excellent of hosts, in fact, that Lucifer himself took notice of Bashan’s efforts and coordinated a full-on invasion. Legions swarmed into Israel, possessing whoever opened their hearts to them. As Lucifer had predicted long beforehand, pressure on the Israelites did indeed draw God out of hiding. Granted, it was his son—the one who was called the Christ—that came down to Earth, not himself, but Bashan and his Bulls treated the son all the same.
The death of the God-child at Golgotha came easier than expected, but, lamentably, the victory was short lived. It was not until the Christ’s resurrection that Bashan the Older realized that the crucifixion was one of God’s insidious tricks. As part of another cosmic rule change, God abandoned the Israelites. In their stead, the followers of Christ became God’s Chosen: the new heirs of creation. While Bashan was able to use that abandonment to his and Lucifer’s advantage— from the crucifixion onwards, there were few people groups who became more steadfast in their resistance towards the Christ than the Israelites—they quickly found themselves waging a new type of war across six continents. God’s followers grew in number at a rate previously unseen. Within a handful of years, their reach expanded beyond the borders of Israel and God’s Chosen could be found in the realms of Africa, Asia, and Europe.
Bashan the Older met the challenge without hesitation. Maintaining the same method of succession that he instituted during his time amongst the Israelites, The Older hopped from vessel to vessel, establishing new Bulls and finding new hosts every couple of decades, all to fight against the Chosen. Of course, Lucifer’s other Kings, Dukes, and Princes contributed as well, but Bashan the Older was the Morning Star’s chief enforcer and guide. He rallied man, woman, and child against the brutal totalitarianism of the Creator God and led them towards the wonderful ways of freedom. He oversaw the coliseum in Rome, he spread plagues and pestilence. He spearheaded revolutions, stoked the fires of countless civil wars, and played a key part in three world wars. He filled mass graves and—
* * * * *
The sizzling crack and thunderous boom of a lightning bolt striking a nearby tree snapped Bashan the Younger out of his nostalgic reflection. A few shards of splintered wood flew his direction, spooking his horse, a spotted, black and white mare of about fourteen hands.
“Pax tibi,” he whispered; Peace to you.
Bashan the Older had long ago taught him the power of language over man and animal alike, and he employed the tactic regularly. While words never fully overrode a creature’s will or rewrote their feelings in totality—usually only a full possession could do that—they were nonetheless effective at redirecting and guiding the heart and mind. Spoken Latin was particularly potent.
The horse responsively regained its composure and Bashan steadied himself in the saddle and reoriented himself to his surroundings.
He was overlooking a portion of the southeastern side Lake Wappapello. The rain was thick, but he could still make out some of Rockwood Point’s shoreline across the water to the left and Ferry Point’s shoreline to the right. Beneath him, roughly fifty feet down a steep decline, the lake lapped uncaringly against the corpse of a young boy no older than sixteen or seventeen. His body was limply strewn about the scattered rocks and small bushes on the bank. The broken shaft of single arrow could be seen protruding from just beneath his left armpit. Blood faintly pulsed out from around the arrow’s shaft, staining his white t-shirt, and intermixing with the water as each wave reached him.
Bashan had chased the kid to the overlook’s edge while the rest of his Bulls scoured Eagle’s Point, the young man’s settlement. He was not planning on killing the kid, for he would have made a useful hostage, but when the boy reached the plateau, he turned suddenly with his left arm outstretched and a single action revolver in hand.
He only had time to click back the hammer before Bashan had loosed a three blade, broadhead arrow from his bow. It sailed through cloth and skin, between ribs and past muscle, deeply embedding itself within the kid’s heart. The power of the shot pushed him backwards, forcing him off the plateau in a crumpled stumble. He was dead from internal bleeding before his body reached the bank.
The boy’s single action revolver laid on the grass at the feet of Bashan’s horse. There was rust on the cylinder and the stocks worn from use; the word “Reprobate” was carved into the barrel and two tally marks were crudely etched beside it. Neither the Younger nor the Older were able to recall who those victims may have been. The Bulls had not been in this region of Missouri for over ten years. But it did not matter, they were now avenged; a bonus to what should prove to be a fruitful day.
May the Creator share the fate of his children, The Older whispered in The Younger’s mind.
“Amen,” The Younger replied aloud.
The approaching soft clops of another horse caused Bashan to turn himself and his steed back towards Eagle’s Point. His second in command, Issachar, was drawing close.
From the neck down, they were nearly identical in their adequately-kept-but-battle-worn armor and apparel. They both wore an under layer of black tactical clothing: cargo pants and long-sleeved crew necks. They additionally had on Kevlar vests with gold plating across its top and mid-sections. The plating was sculpted in a Spartan-like fashion with well-defined pectoral and abdominal muscles. A top layer of gold was also prominent on their black leather pauldrons and bracers which were fastened to their shoulders and forearms, respectively. Across their backs hung medium sized quivers stocked full of handmade arrows with differing plumage. And strapped at their hips were thick, leather belts fashioned with four compact pouches for miscellaneous items. Sheathed long knives were strapped to their left thighs, and on their knees were scuffed knee pads. Their cargo pants were tucked into black combat boots which began a few inches above their ankles.
The core difference in appearance between Bashan and Issachar—and by extension the rest of the Bulls—were their helmets. Issachar and the Bulls’ resembled those of tight-lipped golden calves. They encompassed the entirety of the wearer’s face and head. Dual horns extended out and faced forward from the top, and below them were two, small, almond-like ears. The calf’s eyes were carved out of the face, leaving black voids from where each wearer could see while keeping his own eyes obscured. Altogether, Issachar looked like a bull, perpetually raging before a crimson flag.
In comparison, Bashan sported a golden face mask which mirrored that of Michelangelo’s David. It completely covered his face and forehead, and its edges crept under his chin and towards the start of his ears. The only break in the mask’s coverage was at the eyes, where the gold had been punched out to let two piercing, pale blue eyes peer out. The mask remained fastened in place by two darkened leather straps which wrapped around his head and pressed against his swept back, shoulder length blond hair. At the top of the mask, encircling the entirety of his head, lay a thorned, golden crown. Bashan the Older had adopted the crown following the death of the God-child, and he ensured that each iteration of The Younger adhered to the tradition. Now, nearly three thousand years on from Calvary, it was almost as associated with Bashan as it was with Christ.
“Our intelligence was correct,” Issachar said as he stopped his horse a few feet away from Bashan. “We found the former Shepherd’s Crook. But he isn’t talking. We may need to proceed with your original plan, my lord.”
“So it would seem,” Bashan replied, disappointed in his Bulls’ failure. Granted, Shepherd’s Crooks were notoriously difficult to crack. They were a class of warriors solely devoted to the Creator God, and as a result of their training they were exceptional at resisting interrogation and torture. But there was almost always a way through, and Issachar seemed confident that he would be successful without Bashan’s help today. Luckily, Bashan had already briefed Issachar on what they would do should the Crook prove resilient and the Bulls prove weak.
Perhaps we were wrong to entrust Issachar with such a task. Might it be time to replace him? The Older whispered in The Younger’s mind.
That time may come but it is not now, The Younger mentally replied. For today, at least, he has his part to play.
Very well. Yet if we fail now then it is on us. And the Morning Star will not look kindly upon that.
Lucifer will get what he wants in due time.
“Lead the way,” Bashan commanded Issachar, and so they went.
They left behind the plateau, the corpse, and the revolver, and rode their horses to Eagle’s Point. The rain was still coming down heavy as the cedar gates at the rear of the encampment were opened to the both of them. Two of Bashan’s Bulls were on the other side of the entrance standing guard with their blades drawn. They brought their sword hands to the opposite shoulder and bowed their heads in salute as Bashan passed them. He responded with a brief nod and rode onwards towards the innermost portion of the settlement.
Eagle’s Point was a small community. Built in the shape of an octagon about half a mile in diameter, it housed somewhere between three to four hundred people. As he rode to the community’s center Bashan passed by a mixture of thatched and tile roofed homes separated by thin alleys. Some of his Bulls could be spotted going into and out of the homes and through the alleys, not leaving a dwelling unchecked or villager left in hiding. All in all, there were three rows of homes, each a part of a concentric circle, that Bashan rode by as he and Issachar headed inwards.
The town’s square was encircled by a fourth row of buildings comprised mostly of tradesman shops and a small church. The church chiefly served as a place for regular prayer unless weather forced them indoors. In all other circumstances, religious ceremonies and weekly services were held in the dead center of the colony, where a stone cross about seven feet in height stood.
Today the cross was bloody and occupied. A man—the Shepherd’s Crook—was strung upon it. His exposed body was marked with countless lacerations and bruises. Only the tattered remains of what looked to have once been white cloth pants provided him any sort of dignity, and very little at that. Each of his arms were bound at the wrist with rope to a branch of the cross and his feet were barely touching the ground. He groaned in strain as he shifted from one ball of a foot to another, desperately trying to alleviate the strain placed on his back and shoulders. Two Bulls were with him at the cross, tightening the cords around his wrists.
A crowd of villagers, nearly everyone in Eagle’s Point, had been herded in front of the church to behold the spectacle. A few of the settlement’s able-bodied citizens were, under the watchful eye of some Bulls, loading guns, swords, spears, and other weapons and items up into a cart that traveled with Bashan. It was an armory on wheels that traveled with them wherever they went. One Bull stood to the side of the cart with a seven-foot halberd in hand. His eyes were on nothing except Bashan and the man on the cross.
The sight pleased Bashan. He could see from the faces of the onlookers that this was not to be a day that any of them would soon forget. The reputation of he and his troupe would increase and their conquest would spread through stories told around fires and in hushed tones for years to come. That is, if any of the citizens lived to tell the tale. Bashan’s success with the Shepherd’s Crook decided whether or not there would be a single living soul left at Eagle’s Point. And if he failed? Well, most people would be hard pressed to find a single tale recounting a failure of Bashan and his Bulls because they ensured that no witnesses remained to spread them.
Both of the Bulls at the cross stopped adjusting the binds as Bashan came up. He dismounted his horse a few feet away and handed the reigns to one of them, asking for it to be taken and given some food and water, and instructing the other to go keep an eye on the onlookers. Issachar went with the second, but instead of stopping at the crowd he went past them and into one of the alleys.
Bashan knelt in front of the man on the cross. One of his eyes were swollen shut and the other stared forward into nothing. He would not meet Bashan’s gaze.
“You rejoice in this suffering, yes?” began Bashan after a prolonged pause, “Refined like silver in the furnace of affliction?”
The man continued to stare into the air. He shifted from one foot to the other and grunted involuntarily yet uttered no word in response.
“But what about them?” Bashan nodded his head towards the crowd. “Does all of this refine them?”
More silence.
“Let’s see.” Bashan got up, turned, and faced the crowd and his Bulls. “One!” he proclaimed, and a Bull grabbed a woman from the mass and threw her to her knees. Between tears she started to shout “Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ—” before she was cut short by the Bull plunging his dagger vertically down in between her neck and her collar bone. The crowd screamed as the lady gurgled and fell to the ground dead.
“Do you wish to share the whereabouts of the Queen Mother now?” Bashan asked yet was only met with more silence. “Very well. Two!”
This time two Bulls each grabbed a woman from the crowd and did the same to them. One attempted to make the sign of the cross as the knife entered her neck, while the other only stared back at the man on the cross until she hit the ground lifeless.
He let out a noise that started as a dull grunt and ended as a guttural roar.
“Oh, come now. Don’t act like you care. You know what I need to make this all end,” Bashan snickered in return. “Tell me where the Queen Mother is or where she is heading. That is all I need to know and there can be an end to all of this wretched misery.”
More silence.
“She would not do this for you, you know? Nor would your King. You are nothing but a pawn in the grand scheme of things and only the box awaits.” Bashan motioned again and the Bull with the halberd began to walk forward. The axe blade on one side was nearly a foot in length and on the opposite side was a three-inch by five-inch rectangular meat hammer. At the weapon’s tip was a six-inch leafed spearhead. The halberd was quite obviously heavy, and the Bull’s grip trembled as he struggled to keep it upright while he walked the radius of the town’s circle. He was doing all that he could to prevent the bottom of the weapon from dragging on the ground.
The Bull reached Bashan and outstretched his arms to handoff the halberd. Bashan grabbed it with his right hand and spun it like a baton, keeping the middle of the shaft perfectly in his palm. It was as if it had become a light, balsa wood pole. Bashan completed one full circle with it and then caught the upper portion of the halberd in his left hand halfway through its second rotation. He glanced up and down the weapon, glad to have it back on his person.
“Do it,” the Shepherd’s Crook finally spoke with exertion and taunt.
“This isn’t for you,” Bashan replied. “You aren’t going in the box just yet. This is for him.”
A look of confusion struck the Shepherd Crook’s face, and it was then that the sound of nearing, all too familiar screams registered in his head. His one unswollen eye peered past Bashan, hurriedly attempting to find the source of the noise.
Issachar had emerged from an alley, dragging a young boy who was bound by his hands and his feet. It was the Crook’s son.
“NO!” the Crook yelled. He struggled against the cords binding him on the cross and angrily shifted from foot to foot.
“Not only were you sold out, so was your family,” Bashan sneered. “What’s left of it, that is. And so I offer you a choice. Share the whereabouts of the Queen Mother or lose your only remaining son.”
“Take my life, not his.”
“Without getting the information I need? Shame, you must think me stupid. This is all on you. Either you can keep your beloved Queen safe or you can save your son.”
The Shepherd’s Crook gutturally roared again. Issachar stopped with the boy a few yards away.
“Father!” the boy screamed.
“Stake him to the ground,” Bashan ordered, and Issachar obeyed. Whilst still keeping one hand on the boy’s binding, Issachar took two stakes and slammed each into the dirt about five feet apart. He unsheathed his sword and used the bottom of the hilt to hammer each stake even deeper. Issachar then took the boy’s bound hands and stretched them over his head, looping the roped wrists around one stake, and then Issachar took the roped ankles and looped them around the other. The boy laid tightly stretched between both. The tension from hand to foot was too great and the stakes too tall for him to wriggle his way free.
“Father, please!” the kid pleaded as Bashan approached him.
“Last chance, Father,” Bashan mocked, the last word dripping with venom.
“Be brave, my son! You will see the heavens opened!” proclaimed the Shepherd’s Crook through tears. “You will see the Son of Man standing at the—”
“I don’t see anything!” the boy yelled, cutting him off. The Shepherd’s Crook was dumbstruck. All sound in Eagle’s Point ceased for a brief moment. One could almost hear Bashan’s mouth crack into a smile beneath his mask.
“Nothing?” the Crook asked to the open air, barely above a whisper. Bashan raised his halberd and visually took measure as he aimed for the boy’s abdomen, just below his ribcage. The muscles in his arms twitched to begin the downward stroke as the Shepherd’s Crook distraughtly cried out: “St. Joseph!”
Bashan paused, keeping his halberd aloft, poised to strike.
“Louisiana. St. Joseph, Louisiana,” the Crook whimpered. “I do not know whether they are coming from the sea or heading towards it, but the Queen Mother is supposed to arrive at St. Joseph by Friday evening.” He fell against his bindings and his feet dangled floppily once he finished speaking. The confession appeared to have sapped all of his remaining energy.
Bashan was pleased. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He lowered his halberd to his side. “Untie the boy and take the Crook off the cross, select four Bulls to remain here to ensure no messages go out and give the Queen a chance to change course…” Bashan continued to give instructions to Issachar while the boy was cut free and the Shepherd’s Crook was removed. The Crook fell to his knees as his bindings were taken away, and his son ran into his arms. He barely had the strength to hold him.
“Nothing, father,” the child wept. “I saw nothing but Bashan.”
“We believe, Lord; help our unbelief,” the Crook said between ragged breaths and many tears.
Bashan the Younger felt the Older grow hot with rage. Not now, we have already broken them, let the fractures spread.
“God, be merciful to me a sinner,” Those words from the Crook sealed it; the Older had heard enough. Bashan lifted his halberd, turned, and—taking a few quickened steps—swung at father and son. The blade met both at their midsections, gliding through with no resistance. Not even the cross could stop the axe-head, and so the halberd scattered blood, body, and stone into the air.
Bashan faced the crowd. With one hand he pointed his halberd at them and then back at the mess of halved bodies and rubble that laid around him. “This is what awaits all of you!” his voice was a deeper, borderline growl as he began to speak. “Your God leads you to nothing but an early grave. He forces your loyalty and for what?” His speech gradually started to return to normal. “He could have stopped me… and he didn’t. He could have prevented all of today, all of the past millennia, from even occurring, and yet he did not. Say what you will about his purposes, his long-suffering patience, but do you all truly wish to serve a being who allows this? What purposes could be worth all of this?”
There was no answer in return. Issachar approached Bashan in the silence.
“What next, my lord?” Issachar asked.
“We depart immediately,” Bashan replied. “Let us allow the people to dwell on the cost of their God.” He tossed his halberd to a nearby Bull who caught it in both hands but was pushed back a few inches by the force of the throw and the weight of the weapon. Bashan wiped some specks of blood from his golden visage. “The Queen awaits.”