The Natural Order
The world is governed by the insane! Absolute madness reigns! Why, we must study, experiment, and create! We must also abolish that law which makes being a scientist the equivalent of the death penalty. I know this makes me a heathen, an enemy of the Natural Order, and, dear mercy, an unbeliever in the Divine, but I am through following their orders. I no longer wish to believe in gods who would want us to be primitive. I want to discover the intricacies of the world and dabble in that field which society has deemed blasphemy: technology!
The Disciples are searching for me as we speak for suspected treachery and heathen beliefs. I have little time left before they find me in my laboratory located within the sewers. The artificial heater is nearly developed to combat the cold these zealots claim is the work of the Divine. Not being a holy man any longer, I hold no regret in combating this vile weather, though it seems it shall all be for naught when they find me.
To the traveler who may stumble upon this note, please continue my work. We may overthrow this theological government yet!
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“This man is a villain of the Divine Themselves!”
“Burn him!”
“Give him what he wanted; Heat!”
“Nay, we should not dabble in the Wicked’s ways to send him to his judgment. Freeze him with the work of the Divine!”
“Down with the heathen!”
These were the words Edward DiMalo heard uttered as he was led by his hand through the angry crowd of villagers who were but a few blood-lusting individuals away from creating a full-scale riot. The purpose of the two men leading Edward by his tied hands (their white robes betrayed them as Disciples) was to protect him from the villagers’ pitchforks and stones. But he could tell by the frenzied look in their pale blue eyes that they, too, if given the chance, would be among the crazed group now yearning for Edward’s death.
“Stand aside!” one of the Disciples ordered to the crowd. “Join the jury and attend the trial if you have any ideas for the heathen’s demise.”
Even as Edward’s death was discussed all around him, his mind did not linger on thoughts of what lay beyond his frail mortal shell; He believed no longer in the Divine, and, thus, lost any semblance of hope in an afterlife, as well. His mind was set, instead, on his invention: the artificial heater. The sewers now provided sanctuary for the unfinished creation, and there it would languish until another found it and, as Edward hoped, would finish what he had started.
The sky, grey and dull as usual, watched as Edward was continually led through the gathering of unhappy villagers, dressed in their furry coats and stuffed hats, their faces pale and devoid of color. Their shacks and cottages fashioned of wood stood as a testament to the sad state of the Nation of Frost. The cold air embraced his body, a few flakes of “sacred” snow drifting around him. The permanent ice layer upon the ground froze Edward’s bare feet.
In but a few moments, the Disciples brought Edward out of the town of Vorst and up to the waiting horse-drawn carriage. The two robed and bearded men grabbed Edward by the collar and shoved him in the back of the wooden carriage. The men climbed in the front and took their respective whips. Then they proceeded to whip the two fluffy horses, which had white wool covering their entire bodies.
It would not be enough, however. The two horses would succumb to the Holy Frost about halfway to the Icicle. Then they would need to abandon the carriage and the horses on the side of the road and trek the remaining mileage.
But for now, Edward was within the wooden confines of the carriage, the Holy Frost still managing to enter. Nevertheless, he relaxed, knowing that soon he would need to leave the carriage with the Disciples and hike to the Icicle. He would need his strength then, for his own personal walk to Hell.
As the carriage moved, Edward looked out of the carriage windows at the numerous gutted structures, concrete and splintered wood surrounding the dilapidated buildings. Now nothing more than useless husks, the structures were the skeletal and near mystic remains of the Age of Warmth, better known by its non-profane name, the Frostless Age. The buildings were mysterious and ever-present. They littered the landscape with their presence, unavoidable in every sense of the word, claiming territory all around the globe. Living with these relics of the past was a necessity, though entering any of these structures was forbidden; it was feared that the structures, built during the Frostless Age, would tamper with and corrupt minds devout towards the Divine.
The grey landscape moved by, cold whips of snow sometimes visible. After a few hours, Edward’s prediction came to fruition: the horses slowed, began to trip over each other, and soon fell to the ground, frozen by the Holy Frost. The Disciples merely gave an annoyed grunt and exited the carriage. They moved to the back and grabbed Edward, who was still staring at the numerous structures, and attached a rope to his bound hands.
The two Disciples half-dragged Edward along the road. Every so often, he would find the strength to stumble to his bare feet, but they would soon become raw and numb from the unsmooth ice covering the road. He would then fall to his knees while the two robed men, with their boot-protected feet, would pull him along.
The dull landscape moved by.
After a few hours in the biting cold, the trio arrived at the Olden City of Helada, where the Icicle, the capitol of the Western Continent, was located. Located in the middle of a large grouping of ruins, the Icicle rose to the sky, a glossy grey chunk of ice grasping for the sky it was reflecting. At the top it tapered to a point, thin and pointy. Even Edward had to admit that it had a majestic aura about it.
The Disciples marched proudly as Edward shambled forward, weak and scorned by the surrounding villagers. They spat at him, called him “warm,” and threw pebbles. The distractions pulled Edward from their movement towards the Icicle so that when he faced forward once more, its sudden appearance, close enough to touch, took him by surprise.
The three men entered the tower and witnessed the Great Church of Ice in session. Father Kandout, with his white robes, spoke with great enthusiasm of the Divine.
“The Divine watched our world, saw it devolve into bickering nations, saw crime and saw heretic beliefs! They then purified the world! For 20 years, the Divine attacked the Wicked with fire!”
Here the congregation gave a collective gasp at the word “fire.”
“My children, I apologize for the rash wording, but this is what they did. They sprouted pure unadulterated fire from the air. These fire balls crashed onto the earth, obliterating any Wicked nearby. The few true believers of the Divine, who were pure of sin, they were the ones who were spared! The Divine spared the Worthy, thus allowing us to exist! Praise the Divine!”
“Praise the Divine!” the congregation yelled jubilantly.
“Then, in an act of pure mercy, the Divine relinquished us of war—let me re-word that—of the frostless climate, and gave us the Holy Frost!”
Cheers of devotion erupted.
“One of the Divine’s only commandments is that technology and science be avoided at all costs. Science and technology leads to weaponry, weaponry leads to war, and war leads to pain and suffering. This is why we condemn technology: it is decreed by the Divine. The evil mark of the Wicked—forgive me—heat must also be abstained from. All that exists is all that the Divine allow to exist. This is the core of our beliefs, and the very foundation of the Natural Order!” he finally concluded gesturing to himself, the congregation and, more importantly, the church.
The man suddenly gasped, cold air suddenly sucked into his lungs. His pale blue eyes locked onto Edward and his captors, who were now kneeling in the back. The congregation, likewise, turned in their hard makeshift wooden pews.
“The unbeliever! The unbeliever! How dare he step onto holy ground!? His step, if it were wise and good, would lead him into the deepest of chasms!”
The two Disciples arose and led Edward down the left passage, towards the Great Court. As they left the chapel, Edward could hear the Father yelling at him “You damned traitor! May the Divine freeze your blasphemous soul!”
Father Kandout was correct. Edward was a traitor. Perhaps this is why the people of both Vorst and Helada, and secretly the two Disciples, treated him with such scorn.
He eyed both of his captives, took in their white beards, their white robes, their pale blue eyes, their pale skin, and their ornamental staffs, both adorned with a round ruby at the rounded top. He vaguely realized that, at a different time and place, he may have once been able to peg names to these faces.
For he, too, was once a Disciple.
