The False Prophet

Chapter 1 - The Empire

He stood on a rough wooden platform in the middle of the Great Plaza. Straw felt slippery beneath his feet. His hands were cold and dead from the cords that bound him tightly. A soft kiss of cold air ruffled his dark hair. There was a small, curious crowd standing below him, mouths agape, but he did not look at them. His eyes were on the eastern mountains and the dawn. When the first gleam of sunlight sliced through the square, he would be dead.

Joseph Bountiful was his name. His family was named for a village to the north of where he now stood. He had always expected that he would die for the Prophet, but not like this! He should be afraid, he knew. But numbness had crowded out the fear. Strange.

Success has a thousand fathers, but failure is an orphan. He could remember his village teacher saying that. The old lore-man had thought it important. And it was. He knew that now. He should have suspected something amiss when General Logan had ordered him to go on ahead to give a report to the Prophet. But at the time he had been flattered—honored.

He had been mortified when the attack on the walls of Ariel had failed so miserably. His unit had been more than decimated. Half had been killed by the withering volleys of arrows, gunpowder bombs, stones, and bullets. He had been hit on the helmet rim and knocked unconscious, or he certainly would have died as well. Far better so.

When he had ridden his lathered horse into Prophet City, he had been immediately escorted into the great leader's presence. He had never called him "Martin Abaddon," of course, not even to himself, though he had known the name. He had been so overwhelmed with the charisma of his lord, that he had kept his eyes on the polished boots when he had handed over the message, sealed with red wax.

When his lord had demanded a report, he had stammered out the news. His eyes had remained downcast as he had blurted out the litany of failure: Failure of the guns, failure of the demand for surrender, and his personal failure to take the walls.

Then he had felt the slap across his face. His eyes had involuntarily raised to see two hate-filled eyes and the bloody riding quirt in his master's hand. "You dare come report your failure?" the cutting voice had snarled. "You think me weak, is that it?" The voice had risen to a near-scream. "I am far from weak, you coward!" The quirt had slashed across his other cheek.

"Your head will roll at dawn! Take him away!"

Rough hands had grabbed him, and he soon had found himself in a dark stone chamber beneath the courtyard. His arms and armor were stripped off. Then he had been savagely lashed and left to spend the long night in a cramped cell. He had been unable to sleep. The crusted stripes on his back had burned like hot coals, and the wounds on his spirit had been no less painful. Worst of all, it was true. He had failed.

But now as the dawn grew brighter, he began to see why the general had sent him on ahead. He would bear the brunt of the Prophet's rage, and perhaps the general might escape. Clever!

The first edge of the sun appeared. It looked like a thin streak of molten iron. He knew that there would be no reprieve. He looked at the burly man with the black hood over his head. There was no one to even say a prayer for him. The man motioned toward a block of wood, about knee high, stained black from previous use. He knew what that meant. He knelt before the block and laid his head upon it. I wonder if it will hurt.

Thud!

* * * *

It wasn't always like this. In the days of the Elders, what everyone now called the Empire had gone by a different name—and a different lifestyle. It was known as America, a highly civilized, secular society that stories say had universities and a technology that now was lost and incomprehensible to the children's children of the survivors. That was a long time ago, a time before the plague had hit and killed millions. It was the 'Han Flu'; a serious viral infection that not even the sharpest minds could combat. That was the beginning of all troubles. And then had come the wars.