Five Myrrh

By: Kristina Posted on: November 15, 2009

(This is a work of fiction. Characters mentioned in this story are imaginary and not meant to resemble and real persons.)

Jhamik shivered as he tried to kneel stoicly at attention on the cold, damp ground of the Red Square. His body felt too light and exposed without the heavy armour he usually wore. He glanced surreptitiously to the side where his fieldplate lay in the mud a few feet away and was promptly kicked in the ribs by Theoren's boot. He gasped from the unexpected kick and also from hitting the ground hard. How would he manage to get back up into position? His arms, pulled painfully behind his back and tied there, made it almost impossible to get his balance back.

Struggling back to his knees took his mind off of the impending punishment for a little while. First he had to roll from his side to his belly. That was the easy part, and pressing his face to the mud and grit, scrunching himself double as it abraded his cheek and chin and finally throwing his body back and up took longer than he had ever imagined simply kneeling again could take. His heart was pounding from the exertion by the time he had finished, and he was breathing in ragged gasps.

Jhamik blinked away unwanted tears and concentrated on staring at the drop of condensation making its slow way down the stone wall. How was he to have known that 5 lousy myrrh would cause all this problem? It was a requirement and he filled it, didn't he? Did it really matter where the myrrh had come from? Not like the shops here had any. He had searched for days - really he had! It was just so much hassle earning the gold and then wandering from city to city to find all the things he needed.

He shuddered as Theoren slunk to the east and vanished behind the door. Almost immediately, a scream came from behind that door, and he wondered what horrible torture had been performed on the unlucky soul beyond. Whoever it was had been in that cell before Jhamik arrived, and would probably not be leaving by the same door. His fears were realized as Theoren returned alone, his boots leaving wet, slick prints in the mud.

It had seemed like such a good idea yesterday. He had met another young man, Margood, of Shallam. Yes, he knew that Shallamese were enemies, but they were both hunting in Lodi, and struck up a conversation. Novices aren't supposed to kill each other anyway, so what would be the harm? Margood had been sympathetic about his search, and he had offered to give some of his myrrh to Jhamik. Jhamik had not had much to trade, but a glowing necklace he had been told wasn't worth anything and that he should throw it away. He had worn it instead, and Margood had seemed interested in it.

A sigh escaped Jhamik at the memory, and he stiffened, to brace himself for the kick, managing to avoid falling this time. Five myrrh in trade for a bit of junk jewelry that would vanish in a short time anyway. Did it really matter? Was what he did really so wrong? He mentally recounted the Seven Truths that he had been learning to try and find the answer.

1) What is called evil is simply the drive for advancement, for greatness. We seek, through discipline and pain, to spur the advancement of nothing less than sentient life.

That couldn't be it. Wasn't he trying to strive for advancement when he got the herbs? And he was certainly learning about pain and discipline now!

2) Cruelty - the application of pain - is the method by which one weeds out the weak and feeble-minded from the population.

3) Weakness must be eliminated in all its forms: Physical, Mental, and Spiritual.

4) The enemies of strength are those who trumpet the effeminate values of forgiveness, tolerance, and laxity of discipline.

5) The body may be made stronger through combat.

6) The mind may be made stronger through the elimination of conscience. One does this by inflicting pain on others.

None of those seemed to apply to this - well maybe the one on weakness. If he had taken his orders seriously, he would have had the strength to push past the boredom and frustration and would actually have found or earned the myrrh on his own instead of slacking off and taking a short cut. Suddenly Theoren had a fist wrapped around Jhamik's hair and was jerking him to his feet, breaking off his line of thought. An involuntary squeak left his lips as he was shoved toward the west room and he almost wet himself in terror. This was it. What was behind that door that would seal his fate?

His dazed eyes took in the charred walls, coils of rusted and bent barbed wire, and the tall stakes - some with the bones of prior disciplinary problems still firmly affixed to them as his head swam with the stench of blood, burned flesh, feces and rot. Jhamik's knees turned to water and his heart hammered in his chest as he realized he was soon to be burned. For a moment, he almost started to plead for his life, but at that point, Sir Feldar strode into the room and Jhamik went cold at the sight of him. Seven foot of Xorani clad in black steel stared down at Jhamik's trembling form, and the Maldaathi Knight growled menacingly and backhanded the young man.

"You have brought shame to me, your House, your city and the Twin Gods by your actions!" he barked in a sharp voice. "Do you realize the full depth of your thoughtless behavior?" Jhamik had to swallow twice to relax his throat enough to whisper, "No, Sir" and was a bit proud of himself that he did not flinch and managed to answer at all.

Theoren shoved the lad against one of the posts, cruelly binding him with the barbed wire as if he were a slab of meat, and ignoring his occasional whimpers of pain when he could not quite pretend it didn't hurt. Jhamik kept his eyes on his mentor and superior, hoping for a last minute reprieve, and knowing it would not come. He heard the Xorani growl, "That bit of junk jewelry you traded away, that I told you to destroy in a piranha pool, was probably burned in the Shallamese pyre by that young priest." His reptillian eyes grew colder and he spat out the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth. "While I care nothing about Chaos or its toys, you probably ensured that your little -friend- was praised or favored for his Good deed. A deed he could not have accomplished without your help."

Theoren piled wood around Jhamik's feet and doused it in heavy oil as Sir Feldar finished his lecture. "For that offense, you will burn, as the trinket burned. A fitting punishment, don't you agree?" His eyes seemed to bore holes into Jhamik's soul, and it was all the lad could do to mumble, "Yes, Sir" and attempt a weak smile. His heart was pounding and he was close to passing out from terror; praying that he would not disgrace himself, when the Knight's throat glowed and he spit a stream of flame into the logs around the stake. "Study the 7 Truths before you die, Grunt!" Sir Feldar commanded before he turned and left the room, followed by Theoren.

Flames crackled loudly in Jhamik's ears as the sweat rolled off his body. He tried to think about the Truths. He was up to number seven now:

7) The spirit may be made stronger by enduring hardships, both self-imposed and externally-imposed.

This was definitely a hardship, and much worse than just looking harder in other cities would have been. That would have been self-imposed and this was definitely externally imposed. He shuffled his feet as well as he could in their tight wire bindings, feeling blood trickling from where the barbs had cut in. The pain was becoming intense and he knew he would scream and beg soon. He thanked any Gods listening that his mentor and Theoren would not be there to witness his shame, and he prayed that it would be over soon and he would be safe in Lady Maya's Halls for a short time.

"Lord Apollyon accept my life!" he screamed out in agony as the smoke finally overcame him and he was pushed into blissful unconsciousness. Maybe when he returned from death he truly would be stronger. He would at least not associate with Shallamese again - except, perhaps at the end of his sword.