Daybreak

         The sun's rays sliced the horizon like celestial daggers casting down on the land below. In the distance, a church bell chimed six times. A boy sat on wooden steps leading up to a towering cathedral, his sleek black hair glistening in the light. He turned his face to the sun with a warm smile, as if he could match its comforting luminosity. Despite his black attire on such a warm day, not a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. Behind him, a church cast its shadow on the back pasture. Inside, the stained glass windows filled the pews with colorful projections. The young man took a deep breath and imagined what hues blessed the church today. 

         “This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad.” He laced his fingers with the rosary he kept around his neck. 

         He longed to see the sun and the world it illuminated around him. Alas, the day appeared the same as the night. His God decided his fate from the day he was born. If he were to never see the kingdom around him, he would not complain. His faith assured his soul that he only needed his heart as a guide. Thus, he never allowed his eyelids to flutter open. 

         That, and one other reason. 

         As he slowly stood, footsteps raced toward the boy. 

         “The devil is coming! He's coming!” a woman wailed. The boy flinched, hurrying down the steps to help her. 

         “No, no. Everything will be okay.” He placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. His fingers flinched as little droplets dotted his skin. He couldn't place whose voice that was.          “There's no need to cry.” 

         The jingle of a bell resounded in the distance. The woman’s shoulder slipped from his grip. With a shriek, she ran. At least, he thought she did, but her footsteps never departed. Her breath vanished. The tears disappeared from his hand as if the woman had never existed in the first place. 

         An illusion in the flesh? Isn't that demonic magic? 

         He refused to believe it.  

         A cheery cackle broke the silence. “I knew a kind and reverent soul, such as yourself, would allow me that pleasure!” another voice chimed.   

         A jester. 

         His eyes flinched, tightening. 

         “How goes it, fine Brother?”

         The priest retracted his still outstretched arm. Lips trembling, he began to reply. “I—”

         “Well, isn’t that swell?” The jester clapped his hands together. 

         The boy’s eyebrows furrowed. 

         “I’m looking for the infamous blind priest. I've heard plenty of tales about him, but haven’t been able to scout him out yet. His strong faith confounds me. I’d be cursing God if he took away my sight.” 

         “Cursing God? Isn’t that quite extreme?” 

         The jester chuckled. “Nah. Wouldn’t you do the same?”  

         “Never would I consider such sin,” the boy stiffly responded. If he overheard others correctly the previous evening, then a deviant jester akin to this one should have died this morning. The king had declared his beheading at daybreak. 

         “Suit yourself. If only the whole wide world could see my lovely face! Don’t you think it's splendid?” 

         “Y–yes. Indeed.” He thought a white lie could cover up his identity, but the jester caught on with a sigh. 

         “Mhm. Silly lies you tell. Brother Nicodemus, is it? The blind priest. One could say my intuition knew all along!” The fool clapped for himself.  “If only you, my friend, could have been a witness at my execution. I, yours truly, like the dawn, have been born anew!” 

         “What does the king think of this matter?” Nicodemus held little respect for the monarch. He could not defend a heartless monster who beheaded his own people while claiming to protect his kingdom from outside forces. 

         “The king? Him. Oh. Well, he was prepared for my grand finale. I was willing to bet that he'd celebrate for days after my demise! And!” The jester never finished his statement. 

         “And?” 

         A small giggle filled the air between the two. Nicodemus knew that a conversation with a jester would only frustrate him. After all, a jester was a master of psychological warfare. This nuisance sent his respective king over the edge. Far enough for the king to send him off to the guillotine. 

         “And,” he continued with a sly smile, “I made a deal with the Dark Prince. So yours truly is here today! The guards ran after me, but I was faster. Thank goodness everyone in the village is so weak. But you, my friend, are as weak as they come.” 

         “One does not need physical strength to follow the path of God,” Nicodemus simply stated in response. 

         “Ugh, whatever. I’m done with you, for now, my friend. Tik. Tok. Toodaloo!” 

         If he were associated with any other organization, the priest would have retorted, claiming that he, in fact, was not the jester’s friend. Instead, he merely bid him a polite farewell with a strained smile. The sun’s warm light now felt like sharp prickers on his cheeks. Turning on his heel, he took his leave to begin his daily duties. 

         Though the difference between day and nice was inconsequential to the blind priest, he still preferred to work while the sun was out. He found the company of bustling villagers more bearable than the silent stillness of night. That, and the danger of nocturnal monsters who plucked off lone sleepwalkers one by one. 

         Footsteps followed Nicodemus as he walked off, but he chose not to indulge the jester in another petty game. His mind, however, brimmed with questions and concerns.          Was the illusion of the distraught woman the jester’s doing? No one mentioned that he could use magic. No, not spells at that level. He had successfully tricked the priest. Her shoulder and tears felt real. Too real. 

         Continuing down the dirt street, the priest arrived at a familiar fence. His fingers instinctively reached for the gate and unlocked the latch. The hinges let out a squeal. As he shut the door behind him, someone stopped it from fully shutting. 

         “I may be a fool, but shutting the door on another gentleman? How rude. Mind if I join, Nico?” 

         “If I recall correctly, you were done with me.” Nicodemus kept his back to the jester. His cold shoulder made the eccentric fool frown. The bell on his hat let out an annoying jingle.          “You may pray in the chapel if you’d like to do so. Our doors are always open.” 

         The wooden fence continued around the green pasture laid out before them. In the distance, a rooster crowed. The young priest plucked a watering can off of the ground and sprinkled its drops on the flowers. His jaw tensed as he felt the jester’s breath on his ear. 

         “I like the outdoors. Also, lilies are so beautiful, aren’t they? They symbolize death.” He giggled menacingly. “Though, you know that, don’t you?” 

         Nicodemus merely nodded. An old companion once read a handbook about flowers aloud to him. He could still sense the rough pages and hear them crinkle as she would go on to the next floral biography. Nails digging into his palm, he gripped the watering can tighter. Silently, he reminded himself that jesters fed off of emotions. He would not provide this prying imbecile with the reaction he wanted. 

         “Say, court jester, what is your real name? If you have run away, then you are no longer someone’s fool.” He set the watering can back down. 

         “You want to know that, of all things? Not how to juggle? How to quickly enrage your enemy? How to get the king to—” 

         “Yes. We are not defined by our roles in socie—” 

         “Azazel. That’s what they called me.” He groaned with the shake of his head. “I don’t need you to preach. Quite frankly, I’m not in the mood for that. I never am.” 

         “Very well then.” Nicodemus sighed and picked up a sack. Dried corn and seeds spilled out of the top as he lifted it up, cradling the feed in one arm. He ventured further into the fenced pasture, sticking a hand into the bag. Once thrown, his feathery friends flocked to the fallen treats. 

         “Those are rather selfish creatures, don’t you think?” Again, Nicodemus felt Azazel’s breath over his shoulder. He could practically hear the beat of the jester’s racing heart. If he wielded magic, then he had no reason to be scared. He was the one who mentioned that Nicodemus was weak. The priest never cared much about refining his abilities, so the jester needed not to fear. Then why was his heart racing? “They all fight for the same grain.” 

         As if making an objection, the rooster crowed once more. Nicodemus held his tongue. These hens laid eggs for the entire village. The rooster served to protect his flock.         Nicodemus kept the job of maintaining the coop and making sure they were well fed. Even though they had the entire field to graze their days away, the chickens loved the extra treats. Nicodemus, ever since he could walk, took pleasure in feeding the birds. Plenty of others were hesitant to complete the task out of either fear or disgust. The hens chased unsuspecting children from time to time and ate worms like candy. He never let their natural instincts deflect from their value. The Lord created chickens, so they were to be adored. If not by others, then Nicodemus would appreciate the creatures. 

         “Tending the flock won’t ameliorate your situation.” The jester stuck his arm right into the feed sack. Nicodemus would not have been surprised if he shoved that handful into his mouth. Instead, he threw it and scattered the seeds. Almost instantaneously, the hens flocked to the feed. 

         “I don't mind.”

         “Aren't you angry at your God for not making you a stronger man? I'd be quite furious.” 

         The priest’s eye twitched. “He has chosen this path for me. I will not question my Lord.” 

         “Don't you want something more to life? You're stuck in this village. You're like a caged bird. I was the same.” Azazel wrapped an arm around Nicodemus’ shoulders. With his free hand, the jester took the feed sack from the priest. “I happen to know how to set you free.” 

The bag hit the ground with a thud. The hens scurried away with a mess of flapping wings and falling feathers.

         “Does it have anything to do with how you evaded your own demise?” 

The jester let out a jeering giggle. “My, my. How did you know? Indeed it does. He opened my eyes, he can do the same to you. After all, no human has gone to heaven in the past few centuries. What's the point of pleasing a God that will not let you enter his gates?”

         “If humanity does not deserve his grace, then I—” Nicodemus’ own words choked him. What about the other generations of those devoted to the Lord? “What makes you believe such sinful folly?”

         “You’re probably hoping for me to tell you that I was just joking. The opposite holds true. The Dark Prince assured me himself. Everyone is burning below our very feet. Your parents. Your companion who loved flowers. They all are. I could be there, but, alas, yours truly is right here! In the flesh! How magical is that?” 

         Azazel ran his fingers along the priest’s back, tracing from his right shoulder to his left. 

         “As long as we walk in the path of light, our souls carry on. Our bodies all return to dirt in the end.” 

         “If that is so, then what should stop us from striving to live a gilded life? One with a throne, golden chalice, royal galas.” The jester took the priest by one hand, curling his arm around his waist. He swayed from side to side in an attempt to waltz with the unwilling young man. Nicodemus frowned and pulled away. “Please consider for a moment. Imagine your legacy. Oh, wait, you don’t have one. As a man of the church, you will not have a wife, nor children. You were orphaned, no?” 

         “You’re right,” Nicodemus admitted. If he were to appease the jester, then maybe he would take his leave.  

         “But do you really want to be remembered as the sightless priest who devoted his life to an unforgiving God, carrying out the dirty tasks that no one else in his petty village wanted to do?” 

         “My Lord is anything but unforgiving.” 

         “Fine, then self-righteous, self-serving, and selfish! How’s that for you?” 

         A scowl spread across the priest’s face as he regretted his word choice. Nicodemus provided no reply. Instead, he exited the pasture. The jester had left the gate open. Luckily, no one from the flock did not escape. Though, the priest thought he could do just that in order to rid himself of Azazel. He latched the gate shut behind him. The jester did not follow Nicodemus this time. 

         “Is my repentance not enough? My devotion?” he muttered under his breath before turning away. Maybe a walk through the village would allow the young man to let off some steam. 

         “The devil is coming! He's coming!”

         The woman’s cries echoed in his mind. There was no way to escape from her lament. More often than not, the sounds of his mind blocked out the noise of the real world. As Nicodemus walked along, he covered his ears with his hands, his palms pressing against his cheeks, his nails digging into his scalp. There was no escape from what went on inside one’s mind. 

         “What’s the matter?” a voice questioned him, slipping through the veil of his thoughts. 

         “Nothing, nothing. I’m fine.” He shook his head, letting his arms down. Guided by his keen sense of hearing, he quickly walked through the bustling streets of his village. Beneath his feet, the road turned from dirt to cobblestone. His once muffled footsteps grew louder. Chatter filled his ears, threatening to take the place of his rampant thoughts. 

         It couldn’t be right. No. All of the people before Nicodemus who devoted their lives to God. There had to be a light at the end of the tunnel for them. He refused to believe that his parents were sent to spend the rest of eternity with Satan. But how was the jester so sure of that? 

         Nicodemus thought back to the jester’s knowledge on intimate details about his life. 

         His illusive magic. 

         His close call with certain death. 

         The pieces lined up perfectly. Without a doubt, Azazel had sold his soul to the devil. The jester had divine insight on the afterlife. The priest once thought he wielded the same knowledge. Though, fools were the masters of mind games, so who was to say that his revelation held true? But what if the jester was right? The priest devoted his life to his Lord, but what had he received in return? Peasant chores? A void in which to live? 

         This must be a trial, Nicodemus assured himself. I will stand side by side with my faith. 

However, the jester had other plans. 

         “You’re frail. Just look at you. Chicken arms.” Nicodemus felt a sharp jab in the back that sent him stumbling forward. “And that outfit? If only you could see it, it’s an eyesore. You ought to be ashamed.”  

         “I will never be ashamed.” 

         “Says the man who carries scripture that he cannot read.”

         “I can still recite.” 

         “You can defend yourself with words all you’d like, but you cannot hold your own in a fight. Come to think of it, I could've ended you before our affair even began.” 

         Nicodemus had no reason to fight. Not once had he ever thrown a punch, nor kick, nor stab. 

         His duties were not that of knights or guards, so he had no such need for combat skills. Thus, the simple tasks he could complete were enough. 

         “Look, you didn’t even know I was following you. You’re basically powerless.” jeered the jester.  

         Nicodemus went to debate, but only let out a sigh. Yet again, the priest managed to maintain his composure, telling himself that this was all a part of God’s plan. In the darkest place of his heart, a small voice whispered for him to give into the temptations and appeals of strength. It was then when Nicodemus realized that the voice was not his at all, for it belonged to the jester. 

         “You want to change that don’t you, my feeble friend? I know how you can live a life worth appreciating. You’re just waiting for yours to end already, no?” 

         “You can still repent.”

         “You can still—” 

         “Let me alone. If you have no intention of atoning for your sins, then I have no interest in your presence,” Nicodemus calmly declared. He moved to walk away, but hands latched onto his limbs, pulling him back. They weren’t just the jester’s own two hands, but dozens. They yanked on the cloth of his cassock. They smothered his face, covering his mouth. He couldn't cry out, even if he wanted to. Every nerve in his body prickled in disquiet. Subtle laments echoed. The sobs and screams pleaded for help. Nicodemus could not tell if they were in the distant streets or a far away part of his mind. As quickly as they began, the voices silenced. 

         “Just listen to all of those souls, those that could never be saved by prayer,” Azazel whispered. The priest could almost hear a smile curl across his cruel lips. “May your body turn to dust and your soul be eternally damned. Before the sun rises on the morrow, you will have determined where your faith lies.” 

         The jester’s bells chimed one last time, seemingly signaling his departure, or so the priest thought. Both his mind and heart racing, the young man tried carrying on with business as usual. 

 

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         Walking through the bustling market, Nicodemus turned his focus to the conversations around him. The familiar chatter calmed his nervous energy. Children giggled as they ran through the streets. The priest had to stop in his tracks more than once to let them pass by. For a split second, he realized that he could have been one of those boys. If he could see, that was. 

         His generation loved playing tag. Even as a child, the priest never played such games. Not because he didn’t want to, but rather his parents kept him away from other kids. As a young boy, he failed to understand why they went to such lengths to ‘protect him.’ That was until the house burned down. 

         Nicodemus remembered very little. Close to nothing, even. 

         All he knew was that they sacrificed their lives for him. From time to time, a campfire’s fumes would waft past and send the priest back to that fateful day. The place where his parents should have been in his life felt empty. He still loved them, but their love for him was gone. However, Nicodemus did not miss the restrictions they imposed upon him.  Instead, he relished his freedom without them. 

         The Lord would not like this cognitive indulgence. 

         Honor thy father and thy mother.

         No. Not one bit. 

         The church had taken him in after that day. Out of the young man’s free will, he devoted his life to serving God and other orphaned children. Surely, the Lord would appreciate that and hold a place for him by His side up above. Following him like a ghost, the jester’s remarks about the afterlife haunted Nicodemus. Were humans too selfish to be saved? Wasn’t there a feasible path to salvation? A lifestyle free from sin and human desires? 

         Where there was Original Sin, there was suffering, and from suffering, sin arose. 

         Couldn’t this damned cycle end? 

 

 

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         A disturbing conversation caught the young man off guard as he walked and listened. 

         “Didn’t you hear? The court jester escaped!” a woman exclaimed. 

         “Really? But he was sent to the guillotine! No one escapes the guillotine with their head,” a man responded, his voice jittering. 

         The priest laced his fingers around his beloved rosary. Their remarks only confirmed his suspicions. Church bells rang, alerting the boy that far more than an hour had passed. He counted each resounding chime. 

         One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

         “Before the sun rises on the morrow, you will have determined where your faith lies.” 

         If only Nicodemus could have avoided his fateful encounter with the jester. Each ticking second reminded him of the fool’s warning. He was running out of time. The young man couldn’t help but fear that he was losing grip on the sands of an hourglass, as if each passing moment was slipping through his fingers. 

         Nicodemus gathered his thoughts once more. Perhaps the deceased were all still in purgatory, being cleansed of their sins. Everyone made a good handful of mistakes here or there within their lifetime. Sometimes the line between good and bad was too fine to see, even with perfect vision. Even the mind’s eye could have been deceived. God knew that, didn’t He? And He forgave His devoted followers for that. 

         His mercy was something the priest was sure of. He bit his lip and tilted his chin up to face the sky. The midday sun’s warm rays coated his cheeks. In some ways, he felt the grace of his Lord. From bubbling creeks to crackling embers, there was a beauty woven into everything. If humanity was hopeless, the world would have been a void of sin’s suffering and sorrow. God loved all of his creations, both conscious and inanimate. 

         He saw the good in them that the devil aimed to corrupt. 

         As someone brushed past Nicodemus, he felt a nudge against his shoulder, and a familiar voice whispered, “Soon, you’ll see.” 

         And just as quickly as the fool appeared, he vanished amongst the crowd of villagers. He knew the time was drawing near for him to make his decision.  

         Hour by hour. Minute by minute. Second by second. 

 

 

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         Nicodemus returned to sit with his feathered flock. Their company was enough to distract him from the tribulations of this trial. He took a seat on the ground among them. The peckish hens grew closer. His still presence welcomed them, unlike skittish children from the town. He knew not to desperately chase the hens, so, instead, he let them flock to him, like sheep to their shepherd. The same applied for many things in the priest’s life. The role of a go-getter did not apply to him, even as an errand boy. He simply followed the path laid out by his Lord. 

         “But isn’t that boring?” the jester’s voice mocked the serene priest’s thoughts. “I’d sure get tired of waiting for life to come to me, never having a say in what happens. Ugh, and I cannot stand that wretched smell!” 

         “You may take your leave if you please.” 

         “Oh, dearest me. You don’t want me here, do you?” 

         “Do as you will.” 

         “I want justice.” 

         The priest felt the fool’s gaze prick his skin like a thorn. His pause urged Nicodemus to continue the conversation. 

         Begrudgingly, he asked, “Is that so?” 

         “Yes! Very much so, my fellow friend! I served alongside the king for many years, witnessing the darkest secrets of your beloved leader. There’s a reason people burn at the stake. But, alas! This is judgment, is it not? Let the heathen wither in flames. Let the sinner perish in ashes!” A lament followed his snarls. “But don’t you know that we all burn in the end? All of us! No matter what we do? No matter how we live?” 

         The young man bit his lip. 

         “So what difference does it make? Me? I wanted a gilded life! I wanted my body to be plated with the finest gold, adorned with only the most refined jewels. But no. Born to poverty and forced to play the role of a court jester. What a joke I was to this kingdom. I only wished that my curtain call would have come sooner. That was until I realized that I didn’t have to live like that! As of today’s dawn, I am a new man. The embodiment of sin, I have it all. Magic. Speed. Intuition. I know what you’re thinking! I see it all and have it all while you see nothing and have nothing. That, my friend, is the difference between your sacrifice and mine!” 

         The priest took a shaky breath in. “The sacrifice being your soul?” 

         “What could be better than living to serve oneself?” The jester’s fingers traced his jawline, pulling his chin up to face him. It’s not like that made a difference, anyway. The priest would never see the fool’s face, and it was best kept that way. 

         “Living to serve others,” Nicodemus uttered between bared teeth. 

         “Oh, Nico. Nico. Nico. Nico,” he jeered his name, over and over again. “Aren’t you listening? I have found the key to a truly fulfilling existence!” 

         “That’s enough! You will not beckon me with such nonsense!” Nicodemus stood up, clenching his fists. 

         “Is it nonsense if I’m here in the flesh? My eyes have been opened to this life, but what about you? Just think of everyone, everything you love...” 

         As a young man with a bleeding heart, the priest couldn’t help but do so. He loved his parents who laid down their lives for him. He loved the pastor that took him in. The nuns who raised him as if he were their son. And the townsfolk, who loved one another as the good Lord intended. 

         “...And then set them all ablaze,” he continued. “Imagine their legacies scorched and their souls damned!” He hushed his voice, drawing closer once more. “We all sin and we’ll all burn. Sinners play with fire, and you can’t stop that.”

         “Through Baptism, we have already been cleansed of Original Sin—”

         The jester cut the priest off before he could finish, “Whatever. That doesn’t stop people from giving into it later in their lives. They can’t resist hellfire and chaos. We’re imperfect beings.”

         “We were created in the Lord’s likeness, therefore we once were pure. It is now our duty to resist sin’s temptation.” 

         “You speak as if you’re not riddled with sin yourself. I know what runs through your mind. You question everything. If seeing is truly believing, then you believe in nothing.” 

         Nicodemus’ heart sank. He couldn’t deny, nor could he accept that fact.  

         Suddenly, a child called out, “Father Nicodemus! Friar O’Dale wishes to see you!” 

         Nicodemus’ head jerked toward the voice. “Oh? I’ll visit him right away.” He quickly brushed past the fool. “If you’ll excuse me, court jester.” 

         A giggle slipped through his curled lips. “Just remember, you, too, will be born anew.” 

 

 

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         A wave of relief rushed over Nicodemus the moment he opened the cathedral’s door. He had walked from the entrance to the altar hundreds, if not thousands of times. His fingertips skimmed the edge of each pew as he walked along. After all those years of loyalty, wasn’t there a reward for the priest’s devotion? 

         “Am I the fool?” he found himself asking. 

         Am I too blind to see the misery I’ve been living in? 

         “Oh, Nicodemus,” Friar O’Dale greeted the young man. His slow, rusty voice displayed his many years of age. “There is trouble written all over your face. What seems to be the matter?” 

         “I’m fine. I–I just—” Nicodemus stammered, catching himself. He wished not for Friar O’Dale to find out about the court jester. “Some days bring more questions than answers.” 

         “Oh, my boy. Remember that your faith is strong. The Lord will always stay by your side.” 

         “That is why I’m worried. Is this devoted life worth the struggle? What if…what if there’s only suffering after our last breath? What if we were only meant to burn in the end?” 

         The church fell silent. Friar O’Dale said nothing. Even the birds stopped their songs. Only the sound of adrenaline gushing through his rushing heart pounded in his ears. Fully prepared for a verbose lecture, Nicodemus took a deep breath in, biting his cheek. 

         “Do you remember what you told me years ago?” 

 

 

 

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   “We live for what’s ahead, don’t we? What we do now matters, but we’re allowed to make mistakes. God knows living is hard.” A child’s slurred tone came from his missing front teeth. A gleeful smile eased its way across the little boy’s face, even though the bliss did not shine in his eyes. “We’re meant to be good people. The best we can be, as long as our faith shines through us like the dawn.”  

 

 

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         That same smile slowly spread over Nicodemus’ face, as the sun’s rays spread across the land while it prepared to set. That flashback held more meaning than any faithful scolding or spoken lesson. If his younger self was able to see the sunrise after death, then so could his current self. 

         “Why don’t you take a stroll to refocus? Nature always tends to ground you. The noise on the streets will only get to your head.” 

And that Nicodemus did. 

 

 

 

         The priest found an alluring beauty in nature, despite not being able to appreciate the vibrant colors of petals and the intricate details of leaves. The memory of his deceased companion slipped into his mind. As children, the two were inseparable friends. She shared his love for nature and would describe each and every plant to the best of her ability, from the chocolate bark to the glittering water that ran through streams. 

         He would simply listen with a smile. 

         Nicodemus ran his hand along the rough trunks of trees and listened to the rushing of rivers. She had a way with words. Her descriptions moved him in a way no other scriptures did. In a way, she freed the boy. With her by his side, he was safe to venture off of the beaten-down trail. Since the two’s parting, Nicodemus dared not to leave the path. His bittersweet memory saddened the priest. He felt the whole world grew colder as the sun sank beneath the horizon. 

         But nothing lasts forever. Not even the sun’s warmth. That’s right, he thought, bowing his head. My old friend, how did she go? 

         “Burn the witch,” the foolish enemy whispered in the priest’s ear. “You know the church accused her of being a witch. At the lovely age of twelve, she was burned at the stake. It all ends in fire, don’t you see? It’s only a matter of time, and yours is running out.” 

         “Let me alone!” Nicodemus cried, turning around. He reached out, as if he could push Azazel away. He spun around, aimlessly trying to defend himself. His efforts were fruitless. The priest stopped to catch his breath, but realized that he no longer knew which way he faced. East could not be told from West, nor the North from South, for foliage blocked any remaining rays of light. 

         “Silly fool, you’re a lost lamb,” the jester teased, wrapping his arm around the priest’s to lead him down the path. “I’ll be your guide, just for tonight.” 

         “No!” Nicodemus struggled to escape Azazel’s grip. 

         “You’ll finally see this world and all of its debauchery!” The court jester pulled him down the path. Walking alongside the fool was like traversing across hot embers. Nicodemus held his tongue. Out of dusk’s cool ambience, smoke wafted through the air, stinging the young man’s sinuses. He scrunched his nose, hoping that it was just a bonfire. Though, that didn’t explain the brewing cries in the distance. The laments for help only grew louder. 

This had to be another illusion.

         Nicodemus was sure of it. 

         “And, no, this isn’t magic. The spark might have been. Actually, it definitely was.” The two were soon overtaken by rushing footsteps and screaming townsfolk. “But can’t you hear their cries? This is destiny! Inevitable pain and suffering! This is where we all end up, no matter what!” 

         “That’s where you’re wrong.”

         “See for yourself!” The jester shoved the priest. 

         As he fell, the cobblestone scraped his palms. Embers dotted the black cloth of his attire. His useless eyes wide, the priest recoiled in terror. 

         “Know that nothing you’ve been through has compared to the things I’ve seen with my very eyes. The beheadings. The hangings. The executions. The ridicule. The anguish. God has forsaken me. He has abandoned all of us. Why else would His people burn?” 

         “Because of people like you! The faithless who have strayed from the path of God only put his children in danger. We’re meant to overcome and lift one another up, not to lay down our lives and offer ourselves to the devil,” Nicodemus retorted, gnashing his teeth. 

         Raging flames replaced what should have been a still evening. Embers brushed Nicodemus’ fingertips. He pulled his arm away from the fire, clasping his skinned wrist over his chest. His heart pounded under his palms. He’d rather have no afterlife rather than an eternity consumed by hellfire. If there was a void of nothing at the end of the line, Nicodemus could be content with that. After all, he was quite familiar with the feeling. 

         But this shared suffering was unbearable. 

         Screams cried for Nicodemus’ help, calling out his name. He knew he couldn’t save them. He couldn’t even muster enough strength to push himself off of the ground. His life was turning to ashes in front of him, but all he could do was grit his teeth and take the pain. 

The jester nudged the priest with his foot. “You know you’re not strong enough to protect them.” 

         “I know!” 

         “You might have been able to help them repent.” Azazel’s acknowledgement made                  Nicodemus lift his head to face him. “But you’re a sinner, not a saint. You do nothing but lie. How can you cleanse others if you’re impure yourself?” 

         “I try my best, I promise!” 

         “Lying is a punishable sin, you know! Even to yourself!” 

         The young man scowled.  

         “There’s no redeeming yourself, Liar.”

         “Stop.” 

         “You’re happy your parents are gone.” 

         “Stop.” 

         “That girl? You truly believed that she was a witch.” 

         “Stop.” 

         “You curse God for your vision—Or should I say the lack thereof.” 

         “Stop!” 

         Nicodemus smothered his face with his hands, digging his nails into his forehead. His sharp breaths felt like they would stop at any moment. That was until he wailed, “What can I do to get rid of you?” 

         The fire’s crackling filled the air where there would be silence. Nicodemus’ throat burned as he gasped for breath. The tears running down his face stung both his watery eyes and swollen cheeks. 

         “I’ve been waiting for that question since I made your acquaintance! You cannot rid of me. You can only join me.” 

         His village was burning. His family was gone. His life was falling to pieces. Even without sight, he could see it all. What was a man when he had nothing else to lose? What did he have to live for? Was a God coming to save his damned life? No signs pointed to that conclusion. 

         Nicodemus searched for hope. He listened for traces of his old life. One that had not been consumed by flames. A cluck of a hen. A calm greeting. Even the church bells would do. He had not heard their chime in an ominously long time. Friar O’Dale never failed to ring them. What had happened to him?

         “The Dark Prince will save you from your misery. He will open those useless eyes of yours and free you, just as he unleashed me from my cage.” 

         Nicodemus’ lips trembled as he considered the thought. The chance to live a fulfilling life danced among the flames in front of him. 

         But what of the life he had lived thus far? Would that devotion go to waste?  

         He longed to see the colors of the sunrise. Maybe then would he find a greater meaning in his life, something more than blindly serving an unforgiving God. For once, he saw something. Unfamiliar script appeared before him, illuminating the void Nicodemus once resigned himself to. 

         “So, what will you decide? The choice is all yours. You have until daybreak.” 

 

 

 

[Sign your life away]

 

[Accept]         [Decline]

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