Thy Will Be Done He shall be washed as white as snow, By all the martyr'd virgins kist, While the True Church remains below, Wrapt in the old miasmal mist. ~ T.S.Eliot, "The Hippopotamus" And when the words of John of Patmos had come to pass, and the reign of the Great Deceiver had ended, the Lord set out destroy the world, in order to build his Kingdom on Earth. And so the leaders of men, guided by the hand of the Lord, wielded their machines of destruction and caused fire to rain from the heavens. In the heavens there was a deathly glow, as if they had been dyed with blood. The dust from the bones of the dead covered the sun in ash. The soil remained barren and there was no game for hunting. The Earth became a desert, the seas turned to sand, and coldness settled the world over. Those who did not perish in the Lord's trial starved or froze to death, but for a select few whom the Lord chose to rebuild his Kingdom. The Lord spoke to his prophet, an upright man whom they called Timothy Austen, and said, "You have lived your life according to My rules and strictures found in the book which contains My law, and awaited My return. I have chosen you to help create My Kingdom on Earth; I have destroyed the wicked so that you may unite the world in My name, under My law. "You will found a people who will keep my laws and strictures as they are written in the Book of My Law, exactly to the letter, as you have done for all your life. You will be the first High Priest of this new world, and must select only the eleven wisest and holiest men to rule the people with you. Follow My words, and you will keep My people pure for when I come again. Listen to My words to know how you must uphold the purity of My people: You have seen the world destroyed by my hands, for the world was wicked and avaricious. Such sin only occurs when man tells himself that he must be independent of Me, that he is an individual instead of an instrument of My will. They cried for freedom, for they did not know that there is no freedom but in complete service of the Lord! Man had contented himself with faith in his own goods and knowledge, and ignored the teachings of the Lord. Man became proud; he looked upon their machinery, their arts, and said, "What wonderful things I have made!" unaware that such things are not achievements, but blessings from the Lord. I say to you, only you and your most wise council may control the knowledge, and then relay My Holy Knowledge to the people. Send them back to a more godly time when they worked with their hands, where they were too concerned with producing their livelihood that they would not sin. I have given only you the gift of My blessings, and only you are fit to interpret My word. You have seen your kinsmen starve; your wives, daughters, and sons shiver from hunger and cold. It was for man's wickedness that I made him destroy himself; he did not follow my Most Holy Word. I say to you, you must make my word into law. The words that have been given to you by the prophets, Moses, Ezekiel, Nathaniel, Isaiah - these are all my words. The words that have been given to you by My disciples and My Son are My commands. Make My law the law of the land. Record the words I say to you today, on parchment scroll, and make it part of the law I gave your ancestors before. Do this and you shall be blessed. You have seen the heavens turn to blood, and the seas to sand, and the downfall of those who did not await the coming of the Lord. Had I not foretold in my Most Holy Law that the Lord's day was near? And yet they did not wait, they looked at the time and mocked it, saying, "We shall not worship the Lord, we have yet much time to repent." And they went about their wicked, lustful ways. I say to you, as you and your council are to control knowledge, you are also to control knowledge of time. For you are the most pure of heart, and you know that the Lord's day is near always. The people, who are weaker than you, must not know of the time. You will keep a record of the ages of all your people, to be shared and looked over only amongst yourselves. A lad who knows his age is confident in his youth; he says, "I have yet many years to live and repent my transgressions," but the one who knows not his age believes he that at any moment, he could be called to his judgment. The man and woman who live in sin know the month and date and say, "Look, we have much time to repent of our wrongs, it is yet day, and we may bask in our lust,"; but they do not know that I await with sword in hand when they lay together at night. Therefore, you will set specific times during the day, which are known only to you, to sound the call for work, for meals, for sleep. Do this and you will keep your people pure of heart and spirit. Those who question My righteousness by questioning yours, and refuse to follow, are disciples of my enemy, who has led the world into destruction. The sinner shows neither mercy nor respect for My word, and you must show him none. You must purge every sinner from your midst; they are an abomination to My Kingdom." ~ The Most Holy Book Of Imperium, Statutes 2-6 The distant but shrill rooster's crow shattered the silence of the cramped, dingy cell. The first rays of morning sneaked through the narrow bars of the cell, directly into Stephen's eyes, blinding him as he attempted to open them. Wearily, he set one foot on the stone floor. A jolt of pain shot through his leg; half from the sudden chill of the icy floor, half from the lingering pain inflicted upon him by the Mikaelites when they had arrested him. The rooster crowed again. How long had he been in that cell? He had seen the rising and setting of two suns, he remembered, but he couldn't be sure. He blinked again, his eyes still in agony. For two mornings, one after the other, he was almost positive, he had been blinded the moment that daylight had hit his eyes. This was no accident. He would have taken steps to avoid this occurrence, if he could, but the prison bed was a mix between a man-sized mold and a lidless stone coffin, contoured exactly to fit every curve of his body, so that he could not shift his sleeping position. The bed was clamped to the floor, so that even if he could perhaps lift it, he could not move it, and it was situated in such an angle to ensure that every morning, the first beams of sunrise would always meet his eyes. He could barely remember why he was there, or specifically what crime he had committed, or what he did during his stay in the cell, where he was sure that he'd seen two suns rise and fall, but as the sun inched higher in the dawn's sky, after the rooster's third cacophonous crow, he could remember only one thing: that today, he would die. The recollection of this fact did not faze him. He had long ago resigned himself to the idea of dying in ignominy at the hands of the Benai Haroni. A part of himself looked forward to it. He had grown tired of the world, far too tired for a man who had only reached middle life. He pondered his impending death with a bitter smile. As he struggled to try to remember why he was to die, only a few faint memories came to him. Tenuous as those were, they were all loaded with hate. He knew only this: the Benai Haroni had murdered his beloved. It was because of them that he had been arrested, he had been condemned, that he now awaited death in this prison of stone and metal, but most importantly, it was because of them that he had committed his crime. He could not quite remember what that crime was, but they had driven him to it. They killed his wife. That was all he knew. He tried to count the number of full moons that had passed since he had seen his wife's corpse smolder on the pyre. Though the knowledge of time was only a privilege of the Benai Haroni, Stephen, who longed to be learned, and as a merchant's son, knew at least how to count, invented his own secret way of measuring time: by counting how often the full moon would appear. He continued this, even as he sat in solitude in his cell. Perhaps she had been dead twelve full moons; he could not trust his memory. And yes, he told himself, it was they who killed his wife, though it was she took the blade to herself. He finally arose fully from his bed, rubbing his eyes to alleviate any last trace of pain from them. He began to pace the floor, from one end of the cell to the other. Ordinarily, he would have walked about in circles, but the cell was much too small to do so. He did not pace out of impatience; he knew that some Mikaelites would come to fetch him soon. It was simply what he did whenever he was made to wait. Stephen continued pacing about his cell as the day continued and the sun burned brighter and hotter. The heat grew stronger inside his metal cell, but still he continued to pace, although more lethargically, more weakly. Under his rough prison uniform, he perspired and itched, desperate to remove even a portion of it. But the law was the law, and the Benai Haroni ruled that it would be sacrilege if a condemned prisoner were to die unclothed, as the Savior had upon the cross. And so the doomed were stitched into bodysuits of sackcloth. The sun had reached its highest point in the sky when a young Mikaelite opened the narrow door to the cell. He was dressed as men of the peacekeeper class traditionally were in a crisply pressed white collared shirt made of cotton, and matching trousers. His hat, shoes, and belt were likewise the purest color of white, right down to his belt buckle. On his left hip was a scabbard that held a sabre, and on his right was the small leather pouch that carried his theophoton, which only Mikaelites were allowed to carry. Not even Benai Haroni were permitted to carry one. The risk that they might inadvertently commit sin was too great. The theophoton was a powerful and unpredictable weapon, and a Benai Haroni, untrained in the peacekeeping ways of Mikaelites, might accidentally destroy a man's property with it, or even kill him. And the laws required them to be as free from sin as possible at all times. Still, though they considered such an instrument unclean, it did not prevent them from requiring that the people give thanks for it during the Jubilate. Light comes from the Lord, they said, and a weapon that could release light must surely be a gift from Him. Even in his weakened state, Stephen could not help but recite the prayer to himself in his head: Give thanks to the Lord, who has bestowed upon us the theophoton, instrument of his light, that with its rays, we, his people, may defend ourselves against the forces of iniquity... The Mikaelite entered the room, the sound of his footsteps cutting into Stephen's thoughts. The blinding white of his uniform was enough to hurt Stephen's eyes. Stephen's gaze focused on the insignia embroidered on the breast of the young peacekeeper's uniform, the only part of his attire that had any trace of color. It was a dove, sewn with gold-colored cotton thread, holding a dagger in its mouth, which was sewn with silver thread. This was the insignia of the Mikaelites, who lived their lives by the one of the maxims written in the Imperium, the last section of the Holy Book of the Law: Raise your swords, 0 Mikaelites, and do not tremble when you slit the throat of the sinner, for war is required to bring the Savior's peace to the world. Stephen said nothing to the Mikaelite, nor did the latter to him. Solemnly, the Mikaelite walked behind Stephen, clasped his wrists firmly, and bound them tightly behind his back. He was not brutal, as Stephen showed no signs of even an attempt at resistance. The Mikaelites, besides, were not trained to be brutal. They were the peacekeepers of society. Wanton brutality was a phenomenon of the long reign of The Great Deceiver, before man had learned to focus his anger on eliminating the existence of sin. Taking his theophoton out of its pouch, the Mikaelite ushered Stephen out of his cell. Though Stephen was not an unruly prisoner, the Mikaelite ascertained that just for precautionary measures, he should still stun him. The Mikaelite pressed the theophoton to Stephen's back and pulled its small trigger. The theophoton released small bursts of concentrated light, tightening Stephen's muscles and rendering him unable to move without the aid of his captor. If the peacekeeper had wanted, he could have killed his prisoner - indeed, a theophoton at the right setting could melt through metal - but no, the Holy Book of the Law prohibited a prisoner of Stephen's type being executed in this fashion. The Mikaelite shoved Stephen into the hallway. Stephen trudged through the narrow hallway in a groggy haze, with the Mikaelite at his side supporting his weight. He felt as if the walls were narrowing, like a predator set on mauling its prey, and the sound of his every breath hit the smooth, polished sterile metal walls. His sweaty bare feet stuck to the metal floor, adding to his already considerable difficulty walking. His legs, still in pain from his most recent theophoton blast, trembled precariously, until he fell to the floor, despite the support of his Mikaelite guard. The Mikaelite bit his lip, desperate to control himself from kicking this prisoner. There was a part of him that yearned to. He thought of the stories he had heard about the reign of the Great Deceiver from his childhood. His mother and father told him that the era of the Great Deceiver was a far more brutal time, where peacekeepers did not hesitate to inflict pain on prisoners, even if the prisoner had not struck them first. How he longed for that now, as Stephen lay on the cold, bare floor, weakened. The Mikaelite steadied his trembling hand, telling himself that to strike an unresisting prisoner would be an act of barbarism present only during the time of the Great Deceiver. He said a silent blessing for the Benai Haroni, who had built the Kingdom of God from the ruins of a shattered, sinful world. He ended his prayer as one always did, with a blessing for Timothy Austen (may he rest forever in the bosom of the Lord), the first High Priest and the greatest Benai Haroni who ever lived. The Mikaelite lifted Stephen to his feet and led him toward the exit. He stood in front of the large, imposing iron door, above which was a small, nearly invisible aperture. A thin ray of light appeared from the aperture, shining itself into his pupils. After a brief moment of silence, a small chirp came from the hole above the door, and within seconds, it began to open, slowly, laboriously. The rays of sunlight, more powerful than ever, sent Stephen cringing to his knees in agony once again. The Mikaelite pulled him up by the shoulder forcefully, but not enough to cause damage. The young peacekeeper then led the prisoner outside into the light of day. Stephen took small, slow steps toward the light. He could barely see the direction in which he was going, but felt the crunch of rocks and sand under his feet, and heard the slight pattering sounds of human chatter. Slowly, he tread, until the hand of his Mikaelite guide left his shoulder. Stephen then felt himself stumble, then roll down a slight incline, falling on his back into a shallow pit of sand. He regained his footing and stood where he had fallen, into the center of the pit. His eyes had grown more accustomed to the light, but still he squinted. He surveyed his surroundings. All around the circumference of the pit, there were people. People he knew - neighbors, relations, even some who he had once called friends, though since his wife was killed, he hadn't had many. People from all classes, from every standing in the community. He saw day laborers, in their standard brown bodycloth. Artisans, wearing the crimson attire of their station. Merchants, like Stephen once had been, wearing the mark of a merchant: suits dyed with a rich purple. Mikaelites, all crisply dressed as his guard was, in the traditional white shirt and pant uniform. And brief glimpses of the pure white, flowing robes of all twelve Benai Haroni. Stephen looked up intermittently. Every married man brought his wives, who held children who could not yet walk in their arms. Those children who could stood around their mothers. And, Stephen could see, every single one of them, man, woman, and child, laborer and Benai Haroni, held jagged white stones in their hands. In the very front of the crowd, next to a group of Benai Haroni, he saw a tall, robust man with a friendly, careworn face who, like himself, was in middle life. He was dressed in well-tailored purple garments. In his right hand, he held the largest, most jagged stone. The man pursed his lips to keep from crying inconsolably. Stephen felt compelled to walk to him and comfort him, but prisoners were forbidden to do so. Azariah, my friend. Stephen nearly wept at the sight of his friend, but was determined to keep his pride before the crowd. He broke eye contact with Azariah, and tried to fix his gaze upon the people of his community, but the sun was still too strong, and he continued to shield his eyes. "See how he averts his eyes from the light," he heard a woman remark. "Only disciples of the Deceiver cannot stand the light of the Lord." Heads nodded in agreement. A hush suddenly fell over the crowd. From the midst of the circle, an elderly man stepped forward onto a small platform. His beard was long, thin, frosty, and fell nearly to his waist. He had clear, hard, and arresting gray eyes. Despite his age he had an imposing presence, and one could see, even through his rippling white robes, that he was strong of body. He stood very erect and carried himself with a regal bearing. The crowd fell prostrate. Stephen knelt as well, but more from weakness than reverence. He would stand up and spit in this man's face if he could; for he hated him, Saul Austen, Most High Priest of the Benai Haroni. He killed my wife... and yet I am the one to die? The High Priest held in his hand an instrument in his hand, called a deudictum. This instrument, too, they said, was a gift from the Lord; when a Benai Haroni spoke into it, every person during a congregation could hear his voice; therefore, the Word of the Lord was spared from no one. "Stephen Peterson, merchant, and son of David Peterson, you have been found guilty by the Lord Most High of blasphemy against His Most Holy Name, which as per Our Most Holy Book Of The Law, Chapter Leviticus, Section twenty-four, Statutes fourteen through sixteen, say you are to pay for your transgressions by being stoned to your death by the entire congregation. The Lord Most High has called Azariah Maldonado to occupy the Most Venerable post of Executioner for this event." Upon the mention of his name, Azariah meekly stepped forward. The crowd turned pale, could not speak, could not even breathe, but knelt again at the man chosen by God to occupy such an honored position as Executioner. Azariah, too, knew it was his duty to the Savior; knew almost by heart, as every person did, the old adage from the Most Holy Book Of Imperium: that when dealing with the sinner, who has committed transgressions punishable by death, the Lord chooses one Executioner to carry out His Divine Justice. Though the Benai Haroni made every member of the community present at a stoning, as was the law in Chapter Leviticus, they would converse with the Lord to determine who would gain the honor of striking the condemned with the final stone. In this manner the commandment remained intact: the whole community witnessed and partook in the stoning, but only one dealt the fatal blow. Azariah knew he was fortunate, knew that he should have made sacrifices to show thanks to the Lord for the opportunity to carry out His will. Indeed, the whole city knew Azariah was fortunate, and treated him with a quiet veneration ever since he received the notice from the Benai Haroni that it was the Lord's will that he should execute a blasphemer. But for all the strength he prayed for, he simply could not bring himself to feel fortunate. As he stared at the helpless face of his friend, he felt a gnawing inside himself. The High Priest descended into the pit, put his hand on Stephen's head, and uttered the old maxim from Imperium: "The sinner shows neither mercy nor respect for the Lord's word, and we must show him none." It was then, as Stephen faced the calm, stoic justice of crowd armed with stones, that he remembered how it all began --- **************** "Whoever says 'you fool' deserves hell-fire. These are the words from the lips of the Lord himself." The High Priest's tone was placid and calm as he encircled Marah, holding his recently sharpened jewel-encrusted dagger in his right hand. Two Mikaelites stood behind her, calmly awaiting their orders. The woman's eyes filled with teachers as she turned her gaze toward her husband in desperation. It was the first time she had ever seen Stephen weep. He lowered his face in his hands and gave a soft wail of defeat. Don't cry, my beloved Stephen, I love you, she said to herself. It was not his fault that she stood here, before the Benai Haroni, awaiting her punishment. He had tried in vain to plead on her behalf. All he received in return was a blast from the theophoton. "Marah, daughter of Tobias Jacobs, wife of Stephen Peterson, you have sinned against the Lord; you have broken this commandment He has given us in The Holy Book Of The Law, Chapter Matthew, Section Five, Statute twenty-two." He caressed the blade with his left hand. He continued in the same flat monotone. "In the interest of your eternal soul, we follow the commandment of the Lord when he says, in the same chapter and section, statute twenty-nine, that any part of your body that causes you to sin must be cast from your person." Stephen trembled. His eyes wandered shiftily around the congregation hall. Every person in the community was present, as they were required to be during public castigations. He felt his son's hand grip his arm in fear. Daniel was always a daring child, never letting any expression of fear linger on his face. Today was the exception. Stephen knew, though, that his son was not only was he trembling for his mother's sake, but also for his sister's. Daniel adored little Shoshanna, and feared - no, knew - that because of her emotional and timid nature, she was, at the moment, sitting by herself in the women's section of the hall, weeping uncontrollably without anyone to comfort her. Stephen examined the expressions of the fellow men of his community. What he saw made his stomach churn: the men of his community in rapt attention, eyes fixed on the stage, eagerly awaiting what would happen to the woman whose sharp tongue they had fallen victim to many a time. Stephen knew what these men were thinking: that they were seeing the delivery of justice. The worst of it all was that he was beset with grief, but not with shock. Since childhood, their elders had warned Marah that this would come to pass. Her scolding tongue, they knew, would be her misfortune. It very nearly was when she finally reached her marriageable period. The persistent rumor around the city was that she was an insidious instrument of the Great Deceiver. The city regarded her, with her luxurious, long black hair and blazing amber eyes, as one of the greatest beauties who had ever existed within its walls. But the laws given to them in the Holy Books Of The Law clearly warned of the dangers of feminine charms. Eve had led to Adam's downfall, Delilah to Samson's. The Great Deceiver often took the form of comely women in order to lead men into his service. Her tongue did not do much to dissuade that rumor. Marah was a notorious scold, with a tongue like a sabre that sent suitors away in a furor. She had wit, it was true, but every man knew that only the Great Deceiver could bestow such intelligence on a woman. Though they were enraged with such a woman, there was no where in the Holy Books of the Law that said that the Benai Haroni could send her to her death. Despite her temper, she treated her father, the widower Tobias, with as much respect as she could muster, so as the Benai Haroni ruled, she broke no rule in Chapter Exodus. And because she had no husband to whom she could defer, she broke no rule in Chapter Ephesians. Such gossip ensured that no man would have her. But Stephen wanted her. He wanted her, not to tame her, but to live with, to love. And for that he would take being scolded if necessary. Marah had never met such a man as Stephen. She had heard that men like him existed during the reign of the Great Deceiver; men who deferred to their wives and gave them an equal voice in the decisions of their world. Such couples, the Benai Haroni said during worship, were the couples who brought about the destruction of the world. Weak men who let women take free reign to bring about their downfall, this is the dynamic upon which the Great Deceiver relies to do his work. A part other felt guilt that she was sinning by marrying him, that the two of them would bring about the Second Destruction of the World. She said a prayer for God to forgive her and accepted his proposal. Her father was simply overjoyed at the prospect that any man would take his shrew of a daughter. And so the two of them lived a merchant couple's existence. More well-to-do than most, despite the law that required them to relinquish the majority of their earnings to the Benai Haroni. Stephen rejoiced upon the birth of his first child, Daniel; Shoshanna followed soon afterwards. Though the city faulted Marah for her acidic wit, no one could accuse her of being a bad mother or wife. But her tongue and temper soon caught up with her. She had gone to the fish market for the dusk meal. The fishmonger, who bore a grudge against her, had not prepared the fish as she asked. He attended to his other customers and ignored her request. Angrily, she approached him. Three times already, I have asked you to clean this, you fool! The crowd around her gasped. Their eyes went wide, their mouths remained open in utter shock. Slowly, hesitantly, they started to back away from her. Within moments, the High Priest was there, with all eleven other Benai Haroni, and a legion of Mikaelites binding her hands. And here she was, on this day, before the community, to be humiliated. The men sat in their seats, nodding their heads in favor, waiting for their justice. The High Priest gave a signal. A Mikaelite pulled Marah by the hair, the other held her mouth open. The High Priest approached her with his dagger. He took Marah's tongue and pulled on it, as hard as the Mikaelite who was pulling on Marah's hair. He raised his arm in the air somberly. The only sound in the room was the swoop of the blade upon flesh. Holding the red piece of flesh, the High Priest turned to the crowd and said, "Praise be to the Lord, for His laws have delivered the sinner to us, that we may purge the presence of the Great Deceiver from our midst." The audience replied, "Amen." And Stephen wept. **************** It was the first night that Stephen had not heard Marah tell him that she loved him. She couldn't anymore. He lay in bed, falling asleep, but waking up very suddenly through the night. Suddenly, a sharp, pungent odor reached his nose. He rolled over, reaching for his wife as she slept, and felt something wet. He knew that odor, and he knew there was only one liquid of that consistency. "Marah?" he whispered. "Marah, my love?" He leapt out of bed. Marah lay on her side. He took her by the arm and lay her on her back. Her eyes were still opened. In her right hand was his dagger. On either of her wrists, there were two opened wounds. Stephen made no sound. There was nothing he could do now. Outside his house, he built a pyre of wood. Gently, he placed Marah's body on it. He made a small fire and let the flames consume her body. Forgive her Lord, for she knows not what she has done. In the distance, he saw the High Priest run toward him. "What has happened here?" "My wife is dead," Stephen responded. "She took the blade to her own wrists and cannot be buried in the burial grounds of the House Of Worship." The High Priest sat there stunned. He was not calm, as he always had been. His eyes were wide in shock, as the community's had been when Marah had uttered her scolding at the fishmonger. "The Lord has given, and the Lord has taken away," the High Priest said to Stephen. "The Lord is dead," Stephen replied flatly. "You have killed him, as you killed my wife." **************** The High Priest gave a gesture, and the stones began to fly at Stephen. Very slowly at first; many of them missed him, mainly the ones thrown by the children. The adults, who held the bigger rocks, were careful not to aim for his head; it would be sacrilege if they were to play the part of Executioner. The stones started flying faster, hitting Stephen in the arms, the legs, the stomach. He staggered to the ground, laying in the pit of sand. The High Priest pointed at Azariah. This was his signal to go forward and perform his duty. He trembled, hesitating, only tiptoeing, as if he were unsure of what he must do. "Go on, Azariah," a man's voice said. "It's such an honor to do what you must do. The Lord be with you." "Yes, go on, Azariah," more voices said. Azariah swallowed his fear and walked to the center of the pit. The hand in which he held the stone trembled uncontrollably. Stephen glanced up at his friend and gave him a serene smile, as if to tell him that he was absolved. Azariah lifted his hand, and with a grunt, struck his friend in the head. It was finished. **************** Everyone had returned to their homes. With a heavy heart, Azariah turned from the sand pit where Stephen's broken body lay dead. In his right hand, he still held the large, jagged stone he had used to carry out the Lord's work. It was no longer the pure white it had once been; now it was stained with his friend's blood. The will of the Lord was sometimes harsh, he knew that. But there was no guilt here, no blood on his hands, for there was no law superior to the Lord's Supreme Law. Still, how could he have done what he just did, even if it were the will of the Lord? Forgive me, Stephen, he prayed. He simply could not cast off the profound remorse that plagued his soul. Be strong, Azariah, he told himself. To feel shame for doing the Lord's will is to do the work of the Great Deceiver. Clutching the stone, with head downcast and eyes brimming with tears, he lumbered down the dusty road toward the city. He needed to dispose of this regret. He murmured the ancient prayer passed on down after the destruction of the world to his ancestors by Timothy Austen (may he rest forever in the bosom of the Lord): Blessed are You, Lord, God of all Creation, who, in Your infinite wisdom, chose the twelve wisest men to guide Your people out of the shambles of a ruined earth. Blessed are You for guiding the minds and spirits of the twelve Benai Haroni, and for allowing them to rule and unite the peoples of Your world. You made us see man's folly in his belief in his own liberty. Blessed are You for taking that liberty away. Blessed are You for allowing me, in my weakness, to be guided by your representatives on Earth, without whose knowledge I would surely fail in performing your will... In a trance, he stood at the city gates. The aperture above the gate emitted a thin red ray of light that shone into his pupils. A slight pause; then a small, high, chirp. The iron gate began to rise. Azariah stepped into the gates. The city was eerily empty, and there were no other sounds but his footsteps crunching against the rocks on the ground, and the slow shutting of the great iron door behind him. He looked around warily. The sun was beginning to descend from the sky. It was during that time that the women usually prepared for the dusk meal, that the day laborers came into the gates from the fields, that the artisans tidied their workbenches and put away their wares for the next day. And yet no one was stirring, for there was no one around. He walked toward the center of the town, where his home was located. He started to hear the sound of voices... as he came closer, the voices grew louder... louder... The path on which his house stood was teeming with people. The entire community had assembled in front of his house. As he passed down the road, they stepped away from him. He looked into each one of their eyes. As soon as he caught someone's gaze, that person would avert theirs immediately. They prostrated themselves before him, in awe and reverence, as they had at the sand pit; but this time, as if he were the Great Deceiver himself. He reached the doorstep of his house, where the ornate metal door should have been. Instead, he found, there was nothing but a void. But who could have gotten in, he thought to himself. Unless... In the midst of his thoughts, his leg struck something cold, hard. He looked at the floor of his house. The metal door, with its ornate carvings, lay ruined at his feet; half-melted, half-shattered. He knelt down to examine the damage, dropping the rock he still held in his hand. He knew who was in the house. There was only one instrument powerful enough to cause this. He was still on his knees when he heard footsteps approach him. Dozens of footsteps. The first pair of feet he saw were two, large sandaled ones, treading regally on his floor. He gazed slightly higher and saw the familiar rustle of a blindingly white robe. And then more sandals, more robes, until there were exactly twelve of them. "Your Holiness," he whispered, shuddering in terror. He knew what would happen next. The High Priest gestured coolly. Two Mikaelites, breaking ranks from the legion that accompanied all twelve Benai Haroni, unceremoniously stood on either side of Azariah and pulled him to his feet. One held his wrists together while the other bound them. Azariah tried to cry out in protest, but the only sound he could produce was a guttural rasp of a dying man. "Azariah Maldonado, merchant, son of Ezekiel Maldonado," the High Priest announced. He was composed, with a sublime look about him, as if he were pleased at doing the work of the Lord. "We, the council of the Most Venerable Benai Haroni, hereby find you guilty of the murder of Stephen Peterson. We find you in violation of the Fifth Sacred Commandment, given to our ancestors by the Lord our Savior, as stated in the Holy Book of The Law, Chapter Exodus, Section twenty. Statute thirteen. For this, you must forfeit your life." "But - but - Your Holiness," Azariah stammered. "Your Holiness and his eleven most venerable disciples told me that it was the Lord's will that..." The High Priest continued as if Azariah had not spoken. "For your transgression, you must pay. You showed neither mercy nor respect for the Lord, and we, the Benai Haroni, show you none. We must purge the evil from our midst." Azariah continued to protest, until one of the Mikaelites drew his theophoton and held it to his back to stun him. His attempts at resistance, verbaLand physical, nearly moved the Mikaelites to pity. Every prisoner arrested for murder reacted this way - saying that it was the will of the Lord. The two peacekeepers drew themselves up, trying to shun any last vestiges of pity they had within their hearts. This man had murdered someone, and the Most Holy Book of the Law said that he must pay the price - and the required price for this crime was his life. The High Priest Saul Austen stepped out into the crowd, his council of eleven solemnly following close behind him. The legion of Mikaelites emerged from the house soon thereafter, in perfect rank and file, but for the two in the last row, who held the prisoner so he could stand and walk. The High Priest addressed his people: "Praise be to the Lord, for His laws have delivered the sinner to us, that we may purge the presence of the Great Deceiver from our midst!" and the people whispered, "Amen." back to school projects home