Anima et Forma

Episode 14: Birds of a Feather

The Holy Order was founded during Alexander's Great Reformation. He learned of the 'divine right to rule' during his campaign on the Southern Continent and liked its political and social implications. When Alexander returned to the north and transformed the City of Ilbean into a splendid new capital, he toppled its ancient temples and built a new one to house his personal priesthood. The Temple of Holy Order was built in the Romani fashion, with large columns and slabs of pure white marble. Priests of the Holy Order teach their followers that the King is the eyes and ears of the High God, sent to lead all humanity in His sted. No denomination can deny the blood of Alexander.

It was ironic, and inevitable, that the Holy Order itself would fracture into various denominations when the Deloriar dynasty was deposed.

—Imperial Exemplar Louis III, of the Imperial Holy Order, "On Alexander and his Legacy." 1657 A.D.

"Stop!" Gregory shouted. "Let him go!" He was taller than Ardwin, but skinnier. He cowered in a corner.

Bulge, the boy who viced Ardwin's head in the crook of his arm, laughed. His fat belly rubbed Ardwin's scalp, mussing his hair. He stunk. "The little baby shouldn't be so weak," Bulge said. "And if you keep running your mouth, you'll be next, Bird Brains!"

Ardwin let loose a flurry of fists. If they hurt Bulge, he didn't show it.

"Gregory!" Ardwin shouted. "Go get Father Calum!"

Gregory stood frozen in fear. His wide eyes found Bulge's glare. "I will kill you!" the big bully threatened. Gregory glanced from one boy to the other.

Bulge tightened his grip, cutting off Ardwin's breath. His face grew hot. "Gregory!" he managed.

The scrawny boy spirited away.

Thank God! Ardwin confined. I must survive!

Ardwin punched at Bulge's ribs, stomped his toes, and thrashed about wildly. Bulge released Ardwin's neck and shoved him to the floor. Ardwin crawled across the floor, but a fat hand grabbed the collar of his robe, tugging him backward. "Your bird keeper might peck me a time or two, but, until he gets here, you're mine!"

"One!" Father Calum counted. The rod whooshed through the air. It smacked against Ardwin's flesh. His back erupted in pain. "Two!" The second hit crossed the path of the first. Calum was accurate with his rod of discipline.

"Ow!" Ardwin shouted. He danced on his toes, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth.

"Hold still!" Father Calum hissed.

Ardwin did his best to steady himself. He closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. The last strike was always the worst. Father Calum liked to make you wait for it. Anticipating the pain was almost as bad as the pain itself–almost. "Three!" Calum shouted. The rod whizzed and smacked. The flash of pain across his back forced him to his knees. Gregory stood in a corner, his hands folded in front of him, his eyes cast to the floor. Father Calum coughed. "Bring me some wine," he demanded. Gregory moved across the room, never lifting his eyes, finding the bottle and wineglass where they always were. "My little birds..." He shook his head.

The stinging pain in Ardwin's back eased into a pulsating throb. He wiped away the tears streaking his cheeks, then carefully pulled his shirt back over his head. He stood, spinning to face the Father.

"You think you got the worst of it?" Calum asked. Gregory filled the wineglass for the old man, who grabbed it up with a gnarled hand. His fingers clutched the glass like talons around a scroll. "Bulge got twenty-five lashes from Father Talleyrand. And the stablemaster uses a horsewhip to straighten out his disciples." He took a sip of his wine and sat the glass down. "Gregory, you were right to find me. You will get a day of rest to pray, meditate, and relax."