Strife: Third Book of the Nameless Chronicle by M. T. Miller

Author:M. T. Miller
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2017-07-12T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Roused by the sound of metal objects striking against one another, the Nameless rocked himself up and almost hit his shaved head on the tent’s inner slope .

Skulls. Spy. Brain mashed, he reminded himself as he looked at his pair of equally groggy tent mates. Greg was there, and another, wirier man. He was probably at the ceremony last night, but the Nameless did not remember it in full. What did that priest do to me?

The Nameless went over what he remembered of his recent past. Nothing seemed different. However, if his memory had been tampered with, how would he know? But he felt no loyalty to the Church or whoever this Holy One was, so that offered some small consolation. The old man takes our memories, then paints them in a different light. This bends lesser minds.

He nodded at his own conclusion. His movement didn’t go unnoticed.

“Dealing with last night, huh?” Greg asked, tapping the side of his head with one finger. “Yeah, been trying to wrap my head around it for most of the morning. Barely got any sleep.”

What did you conclude? the Nameless would have asked, but the third man spoke in his stead.

“Nothing to think about. It’s not about thoughts, but belief.”

“Hey, we’ve all seen what we’ve seen,” Greg said. “No denying that. Just trying to figure out what that was.”

The zealous man turned toward him with a glare like daggers. “That’s the whole problem! Don’t you understand?”

Greg shrugged his shoulders. “What don’t I understand? You’re losing me, brother.”

“That we’ve been given a second chance!” the zealot practically foamed at the mouth. “Like it or not, brother, your life was wasted. As was mine.” Using his thumb, he pointed back to the Nameless. “As was his. Despite the obvious signs, we didn’t believe, so we’ve made this world just a little bit closer to hell. Know what the punishment for that is? Do you? Do you?”

“Eternal torment?” the Nameless asked, upon seeing that Greg wasn’t going to.

“Exactly!” The zealot nodded, alternating between both tent mates. He joined his palms, as if he were holding a small animal. “Like this, the Lord held us from our birth, guiding us to greatness, and just like that, we spat in his face! We’ve pillaged, raped, murdered, and worse. It’s the pit for us; we deserve nothing better.”

Instead of speaking, the Nameless looked at Greg. The zealot’s words were clearly getting to him. This is how it works. Plant the seed, then let it spread to fertile soil.

“Except we were given this.” The zealot took the hood from the side of his bunk, held it up for the rest to see, then put it on his face. “We’ve been told there is still hope for us, despite all the horror we’ve brought to this world. If this isn’t beautiful… if this isn’t grand, then nothing is.” With the hood in place, he pointed a finger at Greg. “This is why it’s about faith. Thinking’s what got us into this mess.

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