A Fool’s Gold

A tepid breeze blew down the edge of the water, gently moving a few solitary grains of sand as it passed over the shore. A man walked down the coast to the cave he had found earlier during that week. He bent down by the edge of the water and cupped his hand to scoop up some of the water. He brought his hand back up to his mouth and sipped noisily. He let the water sit in his mouth so he could take in the heavily salty flavor. He opened his jaw and let the water gently trickle out of the sides of his mouth. He picked himself back up and began along the coast again.

He walked along until he came upon a small, lone cove. He walked along the coast as far as he could and finally rolled up the edge of his pant legs and began to wade into the water. He entered through the cove’s mouth and almost immediately the air became more humid. The air was thick and had a sour smell about it coming from the strange rocks that made the inner walls of the cave. The man waded towards the side of the cove and picked himself up onto a dry platform raised out of the cove’s walls.

He sat on the small platform and violently shook himself like a wet dog. He picked himself up onto his feet and strolled over to a spot that appeared to be a small quarry. He picked up a small pickaxe that lay at his feet and began swinging down upon a large boulder to break it down into smaller chunks. After he split it into numerous chunks he set the pickaxe back on the ground. He bent over the chunks of silvery-brown rocks and began picking up the chunks that would fit into his many pockets.

As he finished gathering the stones he walked over to the edge of the platform and gently dropped over the edge. He began to wade out of the cove, careful not to get water on the pockets that held the stones. He exited through the mouth of the cove and moved towards shore. As he exited the water he strolled over to an open area along the shore and stood there dripping. As the water’s dripping slowed he began towards the tree line along the edge of the shore and began to navigate himself through the trees.

He started north through the forest to the direction of his home and workplace. He might have found the answer to his hopes and dreams. Maybe even to all of their hopes and dreams. He had walked about a mile into the forest and it started to gradually change. The trees weren’t as close together. There was more grass growing in between the trees. He started seeing less and less animals. Eventually, the trees disappeared completely and gave way to grass and a large wooden building. Not a castle, because of its nearly complete lack of stone, except where it met the ground and had a stretch of stone surrounding the building, but its size would still shadow the building the surfs often lived in. A sign hanging from a curved wooden pole read Lorager’s Alchemy.

Now that he had reached his dwelling he slowed his steady run to a casual stroll. He took a few minutes strolling over to the door and swung the heavy, wooden door open. It released with a low creak. He kept his casual stroll and walked to another smaller, wooden door. He opened it and began up the stairs behind it. At the top was another door, small again but this time a heavy metal. He knocked on the door before opening it. It made a loud vibrating noise.

He entered the room and walked towards a chair at a desk with a large amount of smelting tools. Five meters to the right of the desk was a smelter. In between them were the products of hundreds of alchemical experiments, some useful and some not. He took the rocks out of his pockets and laid them down on a bronze sheet on the desk. He immediately grabbed all of the rocks that had been exposed to the salty waters of the lake and put them into a small box to be thrown out later. Then, he began to study the rocks.

First, he took a small chisel made of a stone he had created from iron and saltpeter and began chiseling away at one of the stones. No sparks shot out when the chisel and the stone clashed, but he burnt his hand from the heat when he grabbed for the stone. He got a small can of water with a spout from a drawer in the desk and held it over the heated stone. He gently tilted the end he held in his hand and let a drop of freshwater fall harmlessly. It made contact with the stone’s surface and sparks shot out as it began to smoke. He smelled the smoke and began to cough heavily. It was if he had drowned his lungs in acid. He had to get out before he suffocated on the toxic fumes.

He dropped back in his chair and hit the ground hard. The wind got knocked out of him, which actually felt better once the smoke was completely out of his lungs. He rolled to his left and grabbed a small fan. He grabbed the collar of his tunic and pulled it up over his mouth and nose. He got to his feet and began fanning the smoke. His eyes started watering heavily, but the smoke began to clear. The smoke began going through his shirt. His lungs began burning, but he kept fanning. Then, he saw it. A glimmer. A shine. He couldn’t tell what it was, but he had a feeling. He knew what it was. It was gold.

He dropped back to the floor and crawled out the door and down the stairs. He got back to his feet and walked out the large, wooden door that led outside. He walked around to the back of the castle and watched smoke pour out of the window. He knew the stone building would be fine. There wasn’t any wood in the room, and it hadn’t sparked since the first drop hit it.

He walked to the stable about two hundred yards behind his dwelling. He pulled out a ring of keys and selected a small copper key. It stood out because it wasn’t as ornately decorated as the rest of the keys. He slipped it into the metal lock on the stable door and turned it. He opened the door and began walking through the stable to a horse at the end. It was a beautiful black and gray horse. He wasn’t sure exactly what breed it was, but he knew it wasn’t common.

He mounted it and rode it out of the stable. He hopped off and locked the stable. He remounted and started on a dirt path through the woods in the opposite direction of the lake. He rode through the heavily wooded forest, expertly maneuvering around the sharp turns and fallen branches. He came upon a bridge over a fast river. He dismounted the horse and tied the reins to the bridges rails. He turned around and looked at the dispersing cloud of smoke coming from his home.

He turned back toward the bridge and began to cross, holding tightly to the splintering rail. Every other plank he stepped on creaked. He felt the grass of the other side of the river under his feet. He let go of the rail and stood on the ground, testing it to see if it was muddy. Once he was sufficiently satisfied that his foot wouldn’t sink within the next few steps he started to walk to the dirt path a few yards from the river bank. He reached the trail and looked at the horizon to try to spot a sign for the name of the village. To his left was a blue and white sign reading the town’s name. He couldn’t make out the words from that distance, but he knew the town’s name by memory.

He began further up the path until he could see rising stone walls dotted with a few sparse wooden gates. As he approached he could finally see the name of the small village, Johns Villa. As he got closer he could make out small spots where the paint had either overlapped or began to chip. It was a sloppy job but expected of a town of that size.

He approached the gate closest to the bridge and knocked several times. A small slit slid out from about eye-level on the gate and revealed two eyes. They darted back and forth looking him over. The slit closed back and the gate opened. He walked through into the fairly busy man. He glanced to his left and right and spotted a number of small dwellings and a church house, respectively. He ventured to the right in hopes of finding a man of authority.

He ventured along the road of the odd little town, making notice of all its peculiar quirks and oddities. It has been through a lot, he thought, with all the fighting that has happened in its past. I hope the strict religion doesn’t conflict with the town’s best interests. He kept along the same wide path that until he spotted an elderly friend of his. He came closer to the freckled man and gave him a tight hug, “Jerome! So good to see you again my friend.”

He stuttered his reply, “As it is with you, Lo-Lor-Lorager. What is it that brings y-you yet again to our humble village? Hopefully no-nothing you will be persecuted for by the priest as wizardry like the la-last time you came upon us.”

“I’m still not sure what to think of it Jerome. I feel that the village would benefit greatly from it, but the priest seems to take offense to everything I do to try and help.”

“Well, you have to a-admit that the last thing you had tried was a bit extreme. I still can’t believe what happened to Cal-Callahan. We had to keep him in the doctor’s care for over a month, and he still has a l-limp on the bad leg.”

A look came upon Lorager that spoke of waning confidence. “That was never a sure thing. I said that when I asked the people to try it, but this one is perfect. It has no effect to the people at all. I do everything. No one else could be hurt. There is absolutely no effect to anyone if it doesn’t work, and if it does-”

“B-be quiet so I can take you to someone who could do something,” he said, as he was getting more than a bit tired at Lorager’s assurances. “If Leonard approves you can start w-working. If he doesn’t than you better hurry out before they do the same to you as last t-time.”

The comments of Jerome didn’t feel very reassuring, but, fortunately, he brought nothing that could incriminate him. They continued along the road until they got to the church house. They entered through the front door and spotted Leonard. The priest-governor was at the front shaking hands with a young couple who appeared to be newlyweds. They walked through the semi-crowded sanctuary until they were standing right beside the man and the newlyweds.

He said goodbye to the newlyweds and waved them away. He then turned to Lorager and with a rude look on his face said, “What are you doing back here? I thought you were gone after the last incident.

“It wasn’t that bad,” replied Lorager.

Leonard began to fume, “You nearly killed a man, Lorager!”

Jerome stepped between them and said, “Calm down, the both of y-you,” showcasing his stutter, which was getting worse along with his nerves and the situation. “Y-y-you have n-no reason to be angry right now. He h-has something that he says m-may very well benefit us. If you j-just give him a chance he m-might be able to h-help us.”

Leonard began calming down. “Fine. I shall give you a chance, but if I see even the smallest bit of trickery on your part we put you to the punishment we thought we had carried out with the last evil you had committed.”

A smile came across Lorager’s face and then fled, allowing for a more professional appearance to overtake it. “I have discovered the key to riches. I have discovered how to make gold.”

Leonard and Jerome’s jaws dropped. Then, they spoke in unison a startled, “What?”

The smile came back to Lorager’s face. “I know how to make gold. I made it already. With it the town will be full of rich men.”

“What do you care of our men’s wealth?” replied Leonard. “You already have your fortune.”

“I don’t care about the wealth of your men, but I have enough already. This is a great thing. It is something that should be shared with all of man, not just a select few.”

“Blasphemy.”

A confused look came over Lorager’s face, “Blasphemy?”

“Yes, blasphemy!” yelled Leonard. “Man is not meant to create, only our god. By disobeying this law of ours you are committing blasphemy in the eyes of my people. So you are either a blasphemer or a madman.”

“I am neither. You believe that your god made all this, but you do not believe he made it this way. If he did not make it to where things could be transformed into another thing than either you are but misinterpreting or you believe in the wrong thing.”

“How dare you mock me, Lorager! I couldn’t fathom before now any one man having the audacity to enter into another man’s holy place and mock his religion before the incredible display of your lack of respect!”

The smile again fled for the professional look Lorager had taken earlier. “I am as serious about this as I ever have been, Leonard. You’re denying your people riches beyond their current comprehension because you are blinded by your beliefs. If you would expand your views even by the slimmest margins you would recognize the benefits this could have.

“Your people would become rich,” he continued. “This town would finally be recognized as more than just another place to stop on an unpopular trade route. They would recognize this town as an important trade town, finally. It might even gain enough power to where it could be named an independent power.

“And the church. Do you know how well a church would do in the midst of all this? It would grow with all of the people coming in. Think about it. You might even be able to build a… a cathedral.” The smooth tongue he had used to lengthen his stay in the village so many times was again weaving its web in the mind of Leonard, carefully catching all of the ideas he knew were most important to him. “Yes, that’s right. A cathedral, Leonard. You could build a cathedral.”

Leonard, though he did seem as though he had been wondering the possibilities himself for a few small moments, still spoke with a tone that aired his disbelief in Lorager’s “discovery”, “Your excitement over your discovery seems real enough. I will not banish you Lorager, but you will only have one chance to prove to me about this ‘gold’ of yours. Is that understood?”

“I won’t disappoint you, Leonard,” is all Lorager said as he ran out of the room.

*****

It had stopped smoking. There was still the faint smell of the smoke in the lab, but the visible smoke had dissipated. He had gathered extra ore from the cove, and his clothes were still wet with saltwater. Changing them could wait, though. He had bigger plans in mind. He had brought a large satchel that hung almost in his armpit to store the ore in and it hadn’t. He dropped the satchel on the desk that held the ore.

He picked up the gold stone. It looked as though it had melted while on the bronze sheet. It appeared that the bronze had begun melting as well. It was still warm, but not to the point where he couldn’t hold it. The coloring of it was strange. It was paler than most gold he’d seen, but there was a simple explanation. It simply wasn’t pure gold. Nothing strange about that. There was almost no gold he had seen that wasn’t mixed with another stone initially. Most of it was just in the same rock in two separate parts with the other metal, not like a smelted metal, like this one, but it still wasn’t unheard of.

He walked across the room and gathered a few iron bars and a length of rope. He sat down on the floor and attempted to interweave the iron bars and tie them together with the rope. After several failed attempts he dropped the rope and set the iron bars on an anvil. He started a fire in the smelter and waited. It felt like hours to him, but it probably wasn’t more than minutes. He held his hand close to the edge of the smelter, testing the heat.

He was satisfied and pulled seven of the iron bars onto the ground in front of him. He put the iron bars into the smelter one at a time. He waited again, his eyes on the iron inside of the smelter, watching it with anticipation. They were red-hot when he finally removed the first one. He grabbed his hammer and forged it into a u-shape. He did the same with the next five, connecting them all in the center. The seventh he hammered into a circle around the vertical middle of the other rods. He attempted to drag it with the gloves on and struggled with it until it rested exactly in the center of the room.

He looked up at the low ceiling and touched the four old hooks he had nailed there for some odd purpose. He was thankful for it now, for they suited his needs perfectly. He cut the rope in half and tied one end to one of the center hooks closer to the door. He looped the rope through the metal basket and then tied it to the hook farthest from the door. He gave the basket a gentle push to see if it was stable. It wiggled, but it was still on the ground. He figured it wouldn’t even wobble when all of the ore was in it.

He fetched the can of water from his desk and cut the remaining rope into two pieces. One was easily four times longer than the other. He tied the shorter piece to the hook above the iron basket and tied a loop into the other end of it. He walked to the door and opened it. The longer piece of rope he tied around the brass handle of the door. He looped the rope around the remaining hook and brought the end of the rope near the loop of the other rope. They barely touched.

Lorager let go of the rope and picked up the can of water. He took the lid of the can off of it to check the water level. It was nearly overflowing with water. He tied the loose rope to handle on the back of the can and put the spout in the loop. The precariously placed can didn’t look stable, but it would have to do.

Lastly, he grabbed the satchel off of the desk and dumped the ore in it into the metal basket. It filled it up to the edges of the u-shaped bars.

He wondered if that was a good thing or not. The ore which he first tested was barely bigger than a pebble, but the gold, though light as it was, turned into the size of his fist. He disregarded the fears in his head as paranoia and continued with his work.

He turned and looked at his contraption with awe. The finished picture was nowhere near what he thought it would turn out being. An awkward metal bin filled with rocks and balanced by a rope tied through the bars underneath a metal can full of water ready to be poured when he closed his door. It was most amazing due to the fact that the entire thing was held together with shoddy knots and old rope.

He smiled at his creation, picked up his gold stone off of the desk, and headed out the door, not leaving until he heard the trickling of water out of the can and the sparking of the ore.

*****
He was back at the village. It was just after dawn. He had walked there instead of taking a horse because he knew it needed the rest. He on the other-hand, driven by adrenaline and unrefined excitement, didn’t feel tired in the least. Of course, the horse was just an animal in his mind, unable to feel the sort of excitement and emotion flowing through his body at that moment.

Lorager was stumbling around the village looking for any familiar face. He finally settled on a farmer whose face just looked common. He stumbled toward him and planted his arms on the farmer’s shoulders. “Have you seen Leonard? You know, the priest,” said Lorager lazily, stumbling over nearly every word of his. To an onlooker he appeared to be more drunk than sleepy.

The farmer shook Lorager off of his shoulders and pointed to the small church, the obvious place to look.

Lorager began stumbling to the church. As his strange run brought him closer to the church, it also brought him more strange looks. Every villager with the ability to be fully alert at that time in the morning either shot him a smirk or an angry face. He didn’t notice, though. His eyes were set completely upon the church.

He crashed into the church doors, expecting them to swing open in a grand fashion. He slumped down and away from the door. They swung outwards toward him, and the unhappy face of Leonard greeted him. “The doors are never bolted, Lorager,” said Leonard through unsmiling lips.

“I didn’t know they opened to the outside, Leonard.”

Leonard waved in Lorager and said, “Just get inside. I don’t have time for whatever blasphemy you’re trying to pass off as a miracle.”

“Just because it’s a miracle doesn’t mean it’s blasphemy,” said Lorager, his head tiredly bobbing in circles.

“Just get inside. Go,” said Leonard sternly. “And quit talking like a drunken fool.”

“What did you just say I was? A drunken f… foo… fool?”

Leonard sat Lorager down in a chair just inside the doors. “You are drunk aren’t you? You fool! Your one chance that I might have taken one of your ‘discoveries’ for granted and you get drunk before you try to show it to me!”

“I’m not drunk,” said Lorager, “and I have my proof with me, too.” He held out his red hand to show Leonard the pale-golden stone. “Does that look like gold to you? It looks like gold to me. Does it look like gold to you?”

“No it doesn’t look like gold to me. It’s almost grey!” shouted Leonard. He touched the stone in Lorager’s hand and pulled it back. “It feels like that rock’s burning. You must be drunk, you insolent little whelp! Get out of my church! Get out right now!” Leonard grabbed the back of Lorager’s collar and threw him out of the church through the open doors.

*****

Lorager sat with his face to the table. His fourth empty ale cup was still gripped tightly in his hand. He knew that wouldn’t fix his problem, but his father had done it when hard times had gripped them, as had his father’s father, and his grandfather’s father, and his grandfather’s grandfather.

It was what he knew, and he did it. The time of day ensured that none of the more cheerful drinkers were in the tavern. His fifth ale was put beside his hand. He instinctively reached for it.

He knew what he was doing when he started drinking over Leonard‘s rejection, or at least he thought he did.

*****

Leonard sat on his bed with a candle burning beside him. He wanted to go to sleep but he couldn’t. Something unsettled him in his bedroom in the back of the church. He couldn’t place his finger on what he thought was wrong, but something unsettled him, all the same.

He didn’t have much longer to think about it, though. He heard the front doors shut. They were completely silent opening, but made a loud clank when they closed. Then, there was the noise of footsteps on the small tiled rows that divided the floor.

Leonard, in his nightclothes, exited his room and entered the sanctuary of the church. As he got closer to a dark figure in the center of the building, a soft sob became audible. “Hello,” Leonard said, “Who’s there? Don’t be afraid. It’s just Leonard.”

“Why didn’t they listen to me,” asked the figure. As Leonard got closer he was able to make the outline of one of the farmers’ tools in one of the figure’s hands. “Why didn’t they listen to me? Why?”

“Who didn’t listen to you, son?”

“No one ever listened to me. Do you know why they never listened to me?”

“Why, son?”

The figure stopped sobbing for a few moments. “Because of you, Leonard.” The figure began sobbing even harder than when he began. “You’re the reason they didn’t listen. You caused all of this.”

“What do you mean I caused all of-”

“Shut up! You know how you caused it. You told them not to listen and they didn’t. You told them to shun me and they did. It was your fault that man almost died! If you and your ‘religion’ hadn’t forced me to change the design, it would have worked perfectly.” The figure fell backwards onto the floor. He landed and sat there, the scythe in his hand clanging as he hit the floor.

Leonard, shocked as he was, felt like comforting the man who he was now sure was Lorager. He bent down and hugged him, patting his back as he talked, “I’m sorry if you think I’m the cause for your misfortunes. I am genuinely sorry.”

The figure leaned onto Leonard and hugged him back. For a moment he felt like he was genuinely comforting him. That feeling quickly faded when he heard the next words come from the figure’s sobbing voice, “That doesn’t help me, Leonard. That doesn’t help anything.”

The figure squeezed him in an even tighter embrace. Leonard heard the sound of the short metal tool scraping across the floor as the figure raised his hand off of Leonard’s back. With a silent slice the scythe went into the back of Leonard.

“I truly am sorry, my son,” said Leonard, as if his feeble words of apology could save him. He felt the scythe go in farther. The wooden handle finally stopped the blade from digging deeper, though he had already felt it go completely through him.

Lorager repeatedly pulled back slightly on the scythe and tried to shove it through farther, as though trying to take himself with Leonard. After several futile attempts to shove it completely through Lorager pulled it out and struck it through another part of Leonard’s body.

“I’m sorry,” repeated Leonard weakly.

“It’s too late for your petty apology.”

Lorager kept repeating his attacks in different spots, every time trying to stab himself in the process, every time Leonard repeating his meek apology until he lost the strength he needed to speak. Eventually Leonard began sobbing with Lorager.

He removed the scythe from Leonard’s back for the final time and let go of the blubbering priest. He crawled back slightly and lay down on his side. His front was covered in both men‘s blood. He curled into the fetal position and continued his heavy sobbing.

*****
Jerome whistled a happy tune as he walked to the church. It wasn’t quite sunrise, and he was the only one awake in town except for the guards around the wall. He watched the guards pace back and forth across the ledge built into the wall, except for the two at every entrance who watched over the closed gates, their crossbows in their hands, ready to fire.

He climbed up the stairs and opened front doors. There were no candles lit, which wasn’t that strange. He walked between the rows of seats along the tile path. A gentle sob filled the room. A soft voice began in the front of the sanctuary, “Why didn’t he listen to me? Why didn’t he?”

“Who’s t-there?” asked Jerome.

“I am, and he didn’t listen to me,” said the voice. Jerome quickly walked to where the voice emanated from and held his small torch close to the ground. The face of Lorager, his cheeks red and closed eyes circled by dark loops, was illuminated by the torchlight. “He didn’t listen, and now he’s gone.”

“W-who? Who’s g-gone Lorager?”

Lorager cleared his voice and swallowed. “Leonard’s gone. He’s gone. He didn’t know what he was doing Jerome. He didn’t at all.”

“What d-did you d-do to Leonard? Where d-did h-he go?”

Lorager sniffled a little bit before talking, “He’s gone. He’s gone forever. Forever, Jerome. Forever!”

Jerome dropped the torch to the floor and picked Lorager off of his side. Lorager’s tunic was cut around his chest and stomach, with small, bloody wounds underneath the cuts. “What’s h-happened t-to Leonard, Lorager? W-where is h-he? What d-did h-he do to y-you?”

Lorager pointed to where the torch had rolled and broke into an unceasing cry. In the floor was the dead body of Leonard. “W-we m-must get you away f-from h-hear. Hurry!”

They got off of the floor and ran out of the still open doors of the church. They began walking towards the gate which led to the path to Lorager’s home. They reached the gate and Jerome told the guards to open it.

The guards did, and Jerome and Lorager exited and started upon the path. They crossed the bridge and Jerome let go of Lorager. “Y-you know this is wrong, boy,” began Jerome, “b-but it’s t-too l-late to fix what you’ve done. R-run to your h-home, gather whatever s-supplies you need and l-leave. G-go as far as you c-can from h-here. They’ll b-be looking f-for you for w-weeks. Don’t d-do anything rash, either.”

With those words Jerome left a depressed and confused Lorager on the path to his home. They began walking opposite directions.

*****

He exited the trees with tears still on his face. What Lorager saw only made him want to cry more. His workshop, his home, had collapsed in on itself. If it hadn’t it would have been worse. The top of the building was almost completely missing, and the edges around it were deeply charred. He didn’t think that the stones got that hot, but that was the risk he had taken.

He collapsed to his knees as he realized what it meant. He no longer had a stable shelter. Many of the beams on the outside of the building were cracked and splintered. If he tried to go in the entire structure might collapse on him. From the smell of the air he could tell there had been large amounts of smoke.

He wanted to enter and see how much was completely destroyed, but warned himself against it. He tried to get close to the building and look inside of a window, but the heat of the stones made the air almost unbearably hot close to the house.

He turned around and ran to the stable. He mounted his fastest horse, a solid brown steed, and sped back into the forest.

*****
Some crazy man was on his horse galloping back and forth in front of the gate. They had said someone killed Leonard earlier and fled. The guard doubted this was the man, but there was something strange about him. His horse ran back and forth, and he was either screaming to talk to Jerome or sobbing over something. He was a strange man indeed, but not the murderous type.

The horseman held up his hand, and in it was a pale yellow stone. He quit sobbing and wiped away his tears with his other hand. “Do you see this,” he asked, “Why would I think this was gold? If it was gold, then everything would be fine, but it isn’t. It… it kills!”

The horseman spat out a curse over the stone and threw it against the wall. “That stone’s killed people. If you knew what it was it would kill you, too. It would kill all of you.” The horseman cursed the stone again and began sobbing. “I have nothing now. Bring me in! Bring me to Jerome and let him have his way with me!” He dismounted the horse and began banging on the gate with his fists.

The Captain, during his rounds around the wall, told the guard, “If you see anyone who may have done it, bring them to me.” The man broke away from the wall and stood several steps away, breathing heavily. The guard could still feel the Captain’s heavy hand on his crossbow as he said that. He raised the crossbow. He fired.

*****

“What is this trash?” asked the Captain. “You bring me some fool you say was rambling outside the walls with a bolt in his leg. This man looks about ready to die, and yet to you it seems fit to drag this man to me.”

“But sir, you told me to bring in anyone who seemed suspicious,” replied the guard. “This man was outside screaming about some death-stone and killing while he was crying. This man must have done something.”

“How do you know? He may have just been possessed by a spirit or demon. He could just be the victim of some illness.” The Captain bent over the man. His eyes were rimmed with thick dark circles. The man, even while unconscious, held a pained position gained from arduous labors. The captain slapped the unconscious man with his hand, leaving a red mark across his cheek, and said, “Wake up! What were you screaming about? Wake up!”

The man flinched and let out a quick sob. “I did it,” he murmured, “I did it.”

“Did what,” the captain screamed, “What?”

The man with the bolt in his leg began sobbing again, “I killed him. I killed him because of what he did to me, so you ought to kill me, too.”

“Who’d you kill boy?”

“Leonard’s dead now, because of that meaningless rock. That meaningless, nugatory stone. It’s too late for him to know he was right, too. Burn me. Take me to Jerome and have him sentence me. I don’t care now, as long as I die.”

The Captain was startled by the words of the man, mostly because of their suicidal nature, but also because of what he was implying. He was indirectly admitting to the killing of Leonard! He had found a killer and a hero in the same day, because of a man’s potent guilty conscience.

The captain bent down and grabbed his cheek. “You’ll get your wish, son. You’ll get your wish.”

*****

Men were running across the tiny village announcing the news. “The Great Death has been caught! He’s going to the stake! The Great Death has been caught!” When it arrived at Jerome’s door he immediately became interested.

He had been studying one of the religious texts he had borrowed from Leonard, looking for different ways the killing of another human could be considered, and which could be forgiven, when they began screaming celebrations about the capture of “The Great Death.”

He didn’t understand why they were celebrating, though. Usually, when they burned a murderer, it was a solemn occasion, because, if they were caught in time, they would have the burning and the funeral coincide, so that they could have the ashes of the burnt killer sprinkled over the body of the killed by the religious authority in an attempt to settle the restless spirit.

This was different, though. There was talking and smiles and laughter and cheer. Most people were eating or drinking. A large crowd was dancing by a small group of instrumentalists. An even bigger crowd gathered around a large wooden stake.

As Jerome walked closer to the stake he saw an open casket with Leonard’s treated corpse inside. At the base of the stake was a metal basin with a hole in the center which the stake was driven through. Tied to the stake was the bloody Lorager, a broken bolt sticking slightly out of a fresh wound in his leg.

The crowd split as Jerome approached, and he walked closer to the stake and casket. As he reached the front of the crowd, the Captain of the Town Guard joyously greeted him, “Here is Jerome! Now we may begin!”

“What are you t-talking about, Captain?” Jerome said gently.

“You, Jerome, are to perform the ritual,” said the Captain, “the last sign of Leonard before you allow for us reform.”

“W-what? Why?”

“You’re the new priest. Only you knew as much as Leonard, and you’ll surely be able to make a beneficial change to the thinking of our church.”

“B-but must we continue with this r-ritual of the old church if you w-wish me to make a change to it?”

“It is but a sign,” said the Captain, “the final tribute to Leonard’s church.”

“S-shouldn’t we n-not do it as a sign of t-the end of the o-old church… or because of t-the man’s in-innocence.”

“The man isn’t innocent. He admitted to it and asked to be burned. He wants it this way.”

Jerome fell silent. There was no way for him to save Lorager now. He wanted the punishment. He wanted to die. He was already dead to himself.

The Captain walked off, and Jerome waited for him to come back with the torch before began speaking. While the captain was away some of the Guards began piling dry weeds and leaves into the basin to begin the fire faster.

The Captain returned with an unlit torch, which he handed to Jerome. Jerome spent a few more seconds forming his speech in his mind. It would be a short one, but to the townsfolk, the importance of his words were monumental.

“My friends and people,” he began formally, “we are here to honor the death of a great man,” Lorager. “This man was great, and brought great things here,” his unwanted inventions. “Many looked upon him with honor and respect,” before Leonard, “and he tried to teach us of the important things. He helped us here,” or tried to, “and he was possibly the greatest one among us, but he thought differently, and was persecuted for it,” by Leonard. “He was undone, though, by the devil before us,” dead Leonard, “and now he is here dead” to himself. “Now we celebrate the death of one of our greatest killed by one of our demons,” poor Lorager killed by the ancient demon Leonard.

“Now we light the murderer to fire,” said Jerome. The Captain lighted the torch in Jerome’s hand and stepped back.

Jerome stepped toward the stake Lorager was tied to and the wooden casket. “Now we set the killer to fire,” Jerome announced, and he set the casket ablaze, “And now we allow the deceased to remain dead!” He set the kindling in the metal basin of fire.