This is episode forty-two of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise
. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by.
The Trial
Walking out of the stockade, it almost appeared heavenly and angelic. Torches stood atop pools on both sides of a throng of white-robed cultists. An aisle about six feet wide divided them. They stood motionless--reverential. The sound of mixed male and female voices filled the grounds. Flickering torches lit a colonnade that stretched across the front of the main building.
A man dressed in a white robe met Trace, Sage, and Coyote a few steps from the stockade. “Follow me,” he said solemnly.
Sage spoke out of the side of his mouth. “This is weird.”
They walked at a bride’s pace down the aisle.
“It’s not religious,” Trace said. “It’s bizarre aberrant devotion wrapped in false piety.”
“What he said,” Coyote agreed from the side of his mouth.
They continued the walk down the aisle toward the colonnade where Me’Ached stood on a white podium trimmed in gold. He wore a white robe trimmed in gold. He stood with his face sour, self-righteous, and pious.
“I wonder if he’ll try to warm everyone up with a couple of jokes,” Sage quipped.
“How many three Texan jokes could there be?” Coyote said.
The guard stopped in front of the stage and turned to Trace, Sage, and Coyote. He held his palms out. And they stopped. They stood about six feet from the stage.
Me’Ached began to sway slowly from side to side. Trace heard a rustling sound from behind. He turned to see everyone swaying with Me'Ached. Sage and Coyote also turned.
“Ya think we should do the same?” Coyote said. “Nah, I’d feel ridiculous.”
“Isn’t this one of those sixties danced?” Sage said.
“It does look like it,” Trace said.
“Why am I getting visions of Davey Jones and Day Dream Believer in my head?” Sage said.
“That’s after my time,” Coyote said.
“And before ours,” Sage said.
“I got the feeling Me’Ached is stuck in the 60s,” Trace said.
Me’Ached stopped swaying and so did the others. He raised his eyes and hands heavenward. “Oh master of existence, Great Omni, guide your son. Tell me of things not seen before all things existed. Give me truth. Purify your transmissions to me. Speak so I understand. What must we do to remove the stain of our iniquities? Let me speak as you speak.”
He began to quiver. His face contorted. Whispers form behind Trace waved through the crowd. He heard, “He is about to receive an edict. Omni has taken him over. This is a great day.”
In a loud voice Me’Ached cried out, “Oh, Great Omni, your word has been received and understood. In a moment you have given me all knowledge to step forward and do your will.”
The crowd gasped. Trace hesitated to turn and look.
“Step up,” Me’Ached commended and pointed to a couple of feet onto the stage and about fifteen feet to his side.
“I’m sure he means us,” Trace said.
Trace, Sage, and Coyote stepped onto the stage.
“You have desecrated sacred ground,” Me’Ached began. “We are the sacred ones of Omni. He has consecrated us for a special purpose. This is the place he has chosen to bless his ones. Ignorance is not to be excluded, go unpunished, or mitigated. Justice is eternal. The smallest ripple extends into eternity and is felt by Omni. It disturbs all existence.”
“Is this guy for real?” Sage said out of the side of his mouth.
“He thinks he is,” Coyote said.
“The big question is how many out there think he’s real?” Sage said.
Me’Ached scowled. “You have met my displeasure and that of Omni.”
Trace mumbled from the side of his mouth so only Sage and Coyote could hear. “We got to get him closer to us.”
“Hey,” Coyote said, “I’m not good at words. What does Omni mean? I know there’s a car called an Omni.”
“It’s a piece of crap,” Sage said. “Friend of mine had one. It blew up on him.”
“Yeah,” Coyote said to Me’Ached, “Couldn’t you find a name like Cadillac?”
“I’d go with Ferrari,” Sage said, “or what was that Back to the Future one? DeLorean. Now that’s a name.”
“I think Gremlin, Pinto, or Vega might have been a better fit,” Trace said. “Cheap and no power; guaranteed not to outlast the payments.”
“Stop!” Me’Ached shouted angrily.
“He must have owned one of those at some point,” Coyote said. “My brother had a Pacer and he just let them repo it.”
“I am about to pass your sentence,” Me’Ached proclaimed sternly.
“What,” Coyote said, “here I thought we was having a great conversation about cars-I’m-glad-I-never-had.”
From his podium, Me’Ached looked down at them as if smelling garbage. “Forty strokes and set adrift for each.”
“Could have phoned that one in,” Sage said from the side of his mouth.
“Do any of you wish to speak?” Me’Ached said.
Trace, Sage, and Coyote glanced at each other.
“Trace,” Coyote said, “you appear to be the most eloquent of us all, do us the honors.”
“What do you say, Sage?” Trace asked.
“Yeah,” Sage said, “you are definitely the best.”
“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” Trace said. He looked at Me'Ached. “Is there any chance of talking our way out of this? I was thinking about an insanity plea.”
“You come here and mock us,” Me’Ached said angrily with a tight mouth. “Even now, you seem to treat us as children playing a game and you dare entertain the thought of being able to sway me or Omni.”
“No,” Trace said, “I would never dream of swaying you. We could have a shot at Omni. However, the Omni, you worship, is an invention of your own mind; a sick, psychopathic mind. A mind full of hypocrisy and every sort of villainous deed. A mind that is both diseased and perverted. A mind that is not a mind, but merely a repository of sickness and depravity fed by a maniacal evil ego.”
“What did I tell you,” Coyote said, “it’s almost poetic.” Coyote turned to the crowd. “What do you guys think, purdy darn impressive.”
Me'Ached breathed in anger. His nostrils flared. His eyes widened as if afire. He reached inside the fold of his robe and removed a white club. He held it high and lunged toward Coyote.
Trace grabbed the arm of Me’Ached before it struck Coyote. Trace reached behind him, grasped the pistol, and pulled it out of his trousers. He grabbed Me’Ached around the neck. He held the pistol to Me'Ached’s head. The crowd gasped and some screamed.
A handful of guards rushed for the stage.
“Stop!!1” Trace commanded. “If you step on the stage, I pull the trigger.”
Me'Ached’s face flushed with fear. It was not an impressive look. He appeared vulnerable and helpless.
“Me’Ached stated that no weapon formed can hurt him,” Trace said. “Does anyone wish to find out?”
Silence filled the air with a few scattered whimpers from women.
Me’Ached gasped for air in Trace’s hold around his neck. He strained to say, “You kill me and you’ll be killed.”
“You’ll never know, will you,” Trace said.
Trace lifted his head and spoke to the guards closest. “We are walking out of here. Don’t follow. Is that understood?”
They fearfully nodded.
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