Holy Opposites 26

	It was quiet.  We walked in silence, carrying our bags and cloaks.  The darkvision we shared allowed us to travel in safety, even when the moon ducked behind clouds.  We followed the well-worn road to the distant City of Splendors, and my feet grew heavier with each step.

	“How do they do it?” I asked softly.

	“Which?” Axio replied at once.  He had been ready for me to ask, clearly.

	“The cultists.  Why do they serve a monster?”

	Axio looked up at the sky again.  He did that a lot when he was looking for how to phrase an answer.  “They want what all people want – power and security.  They just get it from the wrong place.  There’s more to it than that, though,” he added as I started to ask the obvious question.  “Some people want things out of life so urgently that they can convince themselves it’s worth any price.”

	“But why get it from someplace that’s so uncaring?” I pressed.  “Have these people never seen the Banehold?  It’s a cracked, barren, lightning-struck wasteland full of crying people and death!  Who would want to go there when they die?”

	“Somebody who’s convinced themselves that they would be better off if they were ruling a place like that.  You know, clerics and Paladins like ourselves are sometimes given extra power and responsibility in the realms to which we go when we die,” Axio reminded me.  “Some people choose the faith that suits them best regardless of its good or evil.”

	I glared holes in the ground.  “I’ve seen where that gets people,” I said coldly.

	To my surprise, Aio shook his head.  “I’m sorry, Cavria, but no, you haven’t.  Things don’t work in the Hells like they do in the Banehold, the Supreme Throne, the other realms of the evil gods.  The Hells are where the souls of those who have a personal code but still do evil go when they die, and only then if a god doesn’t claim them.  Not all people who do evil are pious in their evil, you know.  Lots of people go to the Hells, the Blood Rift, and the Abyss, even though they nominally worshipped deities.”

	I grunted.  “Fine, that’s fair.  I still don’t get why any deity would choose to be evil.  I mean, Finder Wyvernspur killed the evil god Moander and used his power to become a benevolent god, and Ao Overgod didn’t punish him for it.  Why wouldn’t other interloper gods or ascended gods do the same thing?  Or even Kelemvor!  When he took over from Cyric and Myrkul, he turned death from something to be feared into something to respect and await patiently!” I pointed out, throwing my hands up in exasperation.  “Why would any being with so much power elect to be an asshole?”

	Axio hid a smile behind his helmet at my frustration, I noted irritably.  “Because some people are just plain and simple assholes.  There’s really not much else to it.  Godhood lets mortals who ascend act out their deepest power fantasies.”

	I kicked a rock off the road.  “It’s not fair.”

	Axio hesitated.  “No, I… I think it’s fair to them.  After all, they were the ones who found the power and ambition to become gods.  But no, it certainly makes the lives of the people left behind harder.”

	“Why don’t the good gods do anything to stop them?” I demanded.  “I mean, when I was in the Arbor, I loved every second of it.  Who wouldn’t want to see gods like Ryaire and Ilmater triumph over evil gods?”

	“Most people do, and that’s how we have jobs,” Axio pointed out.  “We do our work so that evil gods can be opposed.  It’s our responsibility.  Or are you asking why the gods don’t war in person?”

	“Yes!”

	He kept his voice level despite my rising ire, and I felt a pang of conscience for my tone.  “Because then worlds die.  History has seen it.  The entire point of the Sundering is to drive mortals and the divine a bit farther apart, you know?”

	“Yeah.  Yeah, I know,” I grumbled.  “I just wish… how can people like that succeed?  How can a world where monsters set the status quo be acceptable to Ao?”

	Axio looked down at the ground.  “I don’t know,” he admitted.  “But he’s not stopping us either.  We still fight back, and we will win.”  He looked back up, resolute.  “We always will, in the end.”

	I looked up at his face through the darkness.  He was utterly, wholly certain.  “I admire your faith, Axio,” I said quietly.  “You’ve got more of it than I do.”

	He stopped.  I looked back and saw him spread his arms.  I let him hug me, and I rested my head on his armored shoulder.  “You’ll see,” Axio said softly.  “And when we finally fall in battle, we’ll get to go enjoy the fruits of our hard labor.  You and I have both seen it.”

	“Yes,” I whispered, remembering my years in the Arbor.  It was less than a month ago, and it already felt so far away.  “Okay.  Yes.  I’m sorry.  Seeing all those kids…”

	Axio released me, and we started walking again.  “I know, Cavria, I know.  They’re in the Watch’s hands, now.”

	We walked in silence for hours, not stopping when the sun came up to our left, over the eastern forests.  The two of us didn’t tire, not with Heaven and the Hells fueling our muscles.

	Eventually, we paused to rest by a small creek north of the farms that fed the city.  It wasn’t the cleanest body of water, so we didn’t drink or bathe at first, but we took the time to rest.  I prepared my spells for the day, as did he, and we purified the water beneath us enough to take a drink.

	I watched Ryaire’s power sweep the waters clean in the bowl, and I drank deeply.  Axio was munching on the dried bread and jerky he had brought with him.  When I was done, I sat back against a tree and looked up at the brilliant sky overhead.  I did feel better.  I had had much time to think.  “Axio?”

	“Yes?”

	“Thanks for talking to me last night,” I said.  “I think I’ll be okay.”

	He grinned.  “Good.”  He rose to his feet and dusted off his hands.  “Alright.  Let’s get going.”


Chapter Nineteen:


	Axio sat back behind his desk and looked over the papers he had just been handed.  “How troubling,” he said under his breath.  “And we think there may be as many as five of these circles?”

	The older of the two men sitting across the table from him nodded.  He was a Watch officer in his late forties, and had brought the news with his Guard counterpart.  “Indeed, Paladin.”

	The young Aasimar set the papers down.  “Gentlemen, what you’re telling me here is that the cult of Bane with which we’re struggling has at least three more places in operation nearby which we haven’t even located,” he pointed out.  He had been reading the report by the wizards brought to the scene of the rituals.  They had concluded that the sending circles were able to contact at least four other sites in one-way communication with ease, with matching circles serving as physical anchors.

	“And have the interrogations of the captured cultists revealed anything?” Axio asked.

	“Much.  It seems all is not well in the Cult of Hate, which is kind of ironic, really,” the Watch officer said drily.  “Their overall goal seems to be to shatter that part of the Prime Material Plane’s natural barriers which keep it from the Astral Sea, and allow specific beings – gods and greater exarchs – to simply manifest on Toril, with all their powers.”

	“As if the Avatar Crisis wasn’t bad enough,” Axio said disgustedly.  “So what is the internal problem?”

	The Watch officer’s lip twisted.  “The cult is in schism.  The older members are trying to proceed with their plan manually, using the men we scared off during the attempted kidnapping a few days ago, while the more radical, younger branch is trying to use magical beasts to do the same.  Interestingly, the leader of this young branch is actually one of the Waterdeep cult’s oldest members,” the officer informed him.  “A man named Father Toller, a high-powered cleric.”

	Axio sighed.  “And the children?”

	“On their way to the city, and the local farms the Baneites had been raiding,” the Guard said.

	“Good.”  Axio tapped the papers on his desk and looked back and forth between the two men.  “Gentlemen, I had faced some resistance earlier from the Watch, regarding participation in this affair.  From what did that displeasure stem, and why does the Guard not seem to share it?” he asked bluntly.  He was aware that it wasn’t the most polite means of broaching the subject, but at that moment, he elected not to care.

	The Watch officer looked offended.  “Paladin, that was un-called for,” he said tightly.  “Specific officers are unhappy with clergy being involved.”

	The Guard officer simply shrugged.  “I don’t know.  It’s not my business.”

	Axio rubbed his eyes.  “Very well.  Then let us handle one of these cult cells.  Do you have any idea where they may be?”

	“One’s in Undermountain, the other two are in some buildings here in town, we don’t know specifically,” the Watch officer said, his voice still a bit taut.

	Axio’s face fell.  “Undermountain, huh,” he said darkly.  “How fitting.  And how many cultists should we expect?”

	“Who knows?  Ten, a million, four?  The ones we have wouldn’t say.”

	The Paladin rose to his feet.  “Thank you, then, gentlemen, and please keep me in the loop.  If you mean to attack Undermountain, you’ll need adventurers and healers, and I can provide you with both.”

	“Of course.”  Both officers rose and shook his hand, then walked out.

	Axio waited until they were gone and rose from his chair.  He stuck his hands in his pockets and walked slowly out to the garden.

	Cavria wasn’t there at the moment.  He had the place to himself.  He sat down on the bench behind the little vegetable plot and kicked back, staring blankly up at the spring clouds.

	Undermountain.  Fantastic.  The largest, most incomprehensible dungeon in history.  Larger than a city, more destructive than an army, more dangerous than a thousand ghosts on a rampage.  Not coincidentally, it contained at least that many ghosts on a rampage at any given time.