The man who sat in the high backed throne made from rich, dark wood inset with many large multifaceted stones of varying colors was a man of the most marvelous appearance. His close cropped hair was silver in color, his features flawless. He had the hands of an artist; slim, tapered, perfect. He wore close fitting trousers of fine cut cloth, with a tunic of the same fabric. The trousers were dyed a brilliant turquoise, the tunic was bright white and belted about the waist with a beautifully tooled leather belt. His boots were the softest kid leather and were a custom fit. On his left hand he wore a heavy signet ring set with what looked to be a single large, square cut blood ruby. On his head, he wore a gold circlet set with more of the red stones. The single guard who stood behind his chair wondered if anyone else realized the stones were merely glass.
A second man stood facing him across a large stone table. This one was dressed much simpler, in loose fitting beige linen trousers, soft shoes and a plain linen tunic of dark green. His hair was a deep auburn color and in need of a trim. His eyes were clear gray, almost silver. His hands were rough, those of a working man, a smith of some sort perhaps. In his hands he held a very small book. The guard knew this man as well, and wondered how he had come to be in this place.
The man on the throne sneered at the one standing.
“So that’s it, is it? If you’re here, then it means they finally found something on you. Just enough to keep you here. What was it? What was your downfall? What finally caused the mighty prince to stumble? A woman?” His voice came out harsh and grating. The guard knew those flawless features were not quite so perfect. On more than one occasion he had seen those black eyes fill with scorn and contempt for whomever he was with and he had heard the bitterness and bile that could spew forth from the cruel set mouth.
“I’m here because my Father sent me.”
“No, you’re here because you’re guilty of something, anything. You finally made that fatal mistake and you’ve been beaten and now your father wants terms of surrender.”
“No. He has no intention of ever surrendering to you, or to anyone.”
“Then he’s just lost that much more, because you are here now and you are mine. Everyone knows once you walk in here you never leave."
“Ah, but I can leave. Anytime I choose.” The man laid the small book on the table in front of the throne. “I have here the key to my exit.”
The silver-haired man stood.
“What is that?” he tried very hard to sound disinterested and unconcerned, but the guard could hear the change in tone and did not wonder that his lord was afraid.
“This,” pointing to the small book, “is the evidence gathered against me and the evidence by which I was sentenced. It was produced by those who wished me out of their way and ruled on by a man who has no love for my Father. You may examine it if you like.”
Suddenly not quite as sure of himself, the silver-haired man picked up the small book and began to leaf through it. He dropped it as if it had suddenly burned his fingers.
“It’s empty,” he whispered harshly.
“Exactly.” The other man still spoke softly and surely. “And now we will deal with this.” He pointed to a large ledger on the table. He reached across it and opened it to the first page. He ran his finger down the list of names and began to speak again. “This one can go, as can this one. These do not belong here, nor do these next few.” He continued down the page. The man with the silver hair became angrier the more names were indicated. He soon realized that every name was being indicated.
“But they are all guilty. They are here by right of judgment. You cannot change that.”
“But I can. I was convicted of crimes I did not commit. You held the evidence in your hand. There is none. I am innocent of any wrongdoing. But I was sentenced all the same. By that token, I now have the right to claim their sentence paid.” He continued to move his hand down the list and on to the following pages. As he did, the names began to disappear from the ledger. The silver haired man howled his rage and tried to grab the ledger.
“They’re mine!” he screamed. “All of them! I was promised all the guilty!”
“And you will have them, in time. But there is a new system for judgment now. Father has chosen to offer mercy to anyone who wishes it.” Silence filled the great hall for one eternal moment. The guard, now fully alert, paid very close attention to every word exchanged between the two men. From behind the throne, two more guards had quietly appeared and they too listened carefully.
“They don’t deserve mercy. If he offers mercy to everyone, how can you say I will get the guilty?” His eyes were frantic, his rage barely held in check. A muscle in his cheek ticked.
The simply dressed man pointed to another book on the table. It had not been there a moment before. The black eyes widened and his guards could feel his fear. They felt their own fear as well. They knew the atrocities their lord was capable of when angered. The gray eyed man continued.
“This is Father’s Book of Lives. It contains the names of every single individual that ever has or will ever draw breath upon Father’s creation. He has written them all down, just for you. Now, you cannot keep me here, for I am completely innocent and you have no cause for keeping me in your prison. But each of these names is guilty. They are all guilty of the same crime, the same sin. They are not perfect. It is that simple. They have failed to be perfect. Or will fail to be perfect. In your position, you have every right to demand that Father condemn each and every one of them to be imprisoned here with you. But Father has a different idea.” The man paused a moment and smiled quietly. A light emanated from his features in such a way that the silver-haired man had to turn away. The guards also turned away. “From this moment on, every individual in this book will have a chance to proclaim a choice; to follow Father and His ways, and accept that I have served their sentence for them or they can continue to follow their own ways and follow you. They have their entire lives to make that choice and not until their soul separates from their physical body will that choice be denied them. It will not matter if they choose early or late, young or old. Those who choose Father will remain listed in this book. Those who choose against Father will have their names forever erased from this Book and you can add them to your ledger. But not until their death. As long as they draw breath, they have the right to choose.” He paused again and let the man across from him take in his words.
“When Father decides that time for humanity must end and calls them all to His final court, there will be an accounting. All those who chose me and remain in the book will be free of your prison. You will have no claim on their soul and Father will restore their perfection. Those whose names have been erased will be yours. Here. Forever.”
“That’s all? They just have to choose you or me?” the silver-haired man began to laugh and returned to drop into his throne, all tension and fear evaporating from his being. “That’s it? Then I win! The humanity your Father so adores is so self-seeking and weak that I will be able to keep all of them from choosing you. You offer nothing but self sacrifice, dependence, and subservience. I can show them that by following me they will have riches and power and all their basest desires fulfilled. And I can make that easy for them. Which of those simpletons wouldn’t choose me?” He laughed some more. “Go. You’re right, I can’t keep you. I don’t want you. I’ve already won. Go back to your Father and tell him to start getting ready to hand over his crown. It will be mine.”
The auburn-haired man picked up the large book. He walked around the table and approached the man on the wooden throne. On the armrest lay a large iron key. He quietly reached out and picked it up.
“I’ll take this with me now as well.”
“No!” The man on the throne reached to grab the key, but the other man was already on the other side of the great stone hall. “That’s the key to . . . to everything. It’s mine!” His rage boiled forth and his near perfect features melted into a mask of anger and hatred. The other man simply turned and walked to the door.
“No, Bela. I return it to my Father. It has always been His.”
“But Sa’Adoni . . .” Bela stopped in the middle of the floor. Sa’Adoni turned back to look at him. ”I can’t leave here without that key.” The rage was quickly turning to fear.
“I know.” There was deep sadness in those two simple words and a single tear traced a silver path along his cheek. “I know.” Sa’Adoni left the great hall and left Bela standing in the center of the room, his emotions ranging from hatred to rage to fear and back to hatred. He stalked back to the table and took up the small book Sa’Adoni had left and looked at again. In rage he tore it in several pieces and flung them into the hearth. He raised his hand and immediately the pages, the empty pages, burst into flame. The stone table was overturned with another gesture of his hand. He flung himself in to his throne.
“I will win.” He snarled. “I will corrupt every single weak, empty minded human that dares to call themselves a man. They are nothing compared to me. I will fill this place with the souls of his creation and leave him an empty paradise. Then we will see who is worshipped.” He was so wrapped in his rage he did not notice that his guards were no longer present behind his throne. All three had disappeared.
Outside the walls of the keep, Sa’Adoni stopped at the massive gates. Several warriors stood waiting for him. One, the leader, looked behind him and started to say something, but Sa’Adoni raised a hand for silence.
“You see nothing, Mikhos. All is well. Place your guards. We are through here. You and I will return to my Father and give Him the key and the book.” Mikhos bowed in acknowledgement.
In the hazy gray distance, three dark figures ran quickly and furtively in the opposite direction.
