The Cult of the Open Eye

By Timothy S Currey

Dust is doubt. Doubt is Dust.

 

In the land of the eternal dust storm, nothing is ever certain. You never know what might come out of the Dust.

 

For the green-eyed lookout girl, her brother is the only thing she can depend on. He is the Tall Warrior, the Brave Defender of their people.

 

One day, he vanishes into the Dust, where grey shapes walk the dunes under a grey sun. They say he went with the Farseer, a strange man with strange charm. Only the lookout girl knows the Farseer's deadly intentions.

 

She braves the Dust alone, following the trail her brother left for her. Dust means death, but she must rescue her brother. After all, she is the only one that can save him—from the Dust, from himself, from the Cult of the Open Eye.

 

As the trail of black beads becomes a trail of blood, her doubts grow …

 

Can you save someone that does not want to be rescued?

 

A chilling tale of dogma and doubts, The Cult of the Open Eye comes with a dire warning:

 

Beware friendly lights in the deadly dark …

• Language: English
• Publisher: Timothy S Currey
• Release date: Jul 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215860540

Book preview

The Cult of the Open Eye

Beware friendly lights in the deadly dark.

––––––––

Timothy S Currey

© 2023 Timothy S Currey, all rights reserved

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Fear prophets, Adso, and those prepared to die for the truth,

for as a rule they make many others die with them,

at times instead of them.

Umberto Eco

Chapter 1

You never knew what might come out of the Dust.

Many long years ago, my brother and I watched a hooded stranger move through the haze near our village. We hid among the rocks on the lookout hill, uneasy. The Dust, an endless storm of fine grit, hung over everything in our lands. Everything was grey, even the sun. A grey stranger moved through the grey Dust under a grey sky. We watched, unsure. You never knew what might come out of the Dust, because the Dust kept you from really knowing anything.

Doubt is Dust; Dust is Doubt.

That’s the saying where I come from. I do not know if you have a similar saying here.

Come now, sit closer. My eyes are not what they used to be.

As I said, my brother and I watched the stranger come out of the Dust. As lookouts for our village, we had seen many shadows and phantoms trudge through the haze. You never knew which of them meant you harm. Mostly, though, they turned out to be lonely travelers.  

Are they getting closer? My brother pointed with his sword. It always seemed to be in his hand, and never in its sheath. I never wondered what that said about him.

I wish I had.

I think so, I said. But you can’t really be sure.

No, you can never be sure. He spat the words like a curse.

My brother, a tall warrior, the great defender of our village, hated the Dust. His great passion in life was hating the Dust, cursing it. That was why I couldn’t understand the reason he left. Only a few days after the stranger arrived, he vanished into the very Dust he loathed so much.

Maybe the grey stranger was the reason my brother vanished. Maybe it was my fault. I cannot be sure.

I could never be sure of anything.

We should cut this stranger down. My brother’s face was covered to ward off the Dust. His eyes gave his feelings away, though. I could almost feel the heat from his scowling face. They might bring disease. They might be a foul beast in human form. They might be leading raiders to our door.

Or they might be a poor wanderer with nowhere to go, I said. They might be heading another way. They might be some demon or spirit, best left alone.

The sooner we confront them, the sooner we can be sure.

Wait a little longer. We must watch them.

Don’t you care about protecting our village, Sister?

More than anything! Stay and watch a little longer. My insides coiled like snakes as the stranger approached. That lone figure might have been dangerous. We had no way of knowing. If we struck down someone who meant us harm, we would be safe. But if we attacked one who turned out to be a harmless old wanderer, who would blame us? We would only have acted to protect our village. Out in the Dust, people understood. You do what must be done to stay safe.

My brother always did his duty.

A few months before that day, in fact, a bandit had come our way. My brother slew them to protect our people. He had no choice, and he did the right thing, but he never spoke about it afterward. Such was life out in the Dust.

They are on the main path now, my brother said. They are heading directly for the village.

They will come close as they pass. We can have a good look at them before we decide what to do.

My brother said nothing, but turned the sword over and over in his hands. I didn’t draw my sword, but I kept my hand near the pommel.

Down on lower ground, where the Dust was thickest, almost nothing could be seen. Up on the hilltops, you could see a little, but you could also be seen. You stood out like a black shadow against the grey, Dust-eclipsed sun. So my brother and I hid among the rocks on the hill. We watched the stranger approach, uneasy.

I have kept watch in the Dust since before you could walk, my brother said. I know what can come out of it.

The elders have watched longer, and they always say caution defends us better than steel.

The elders. My brother scowled and chewed on the words like they were gristle.

The hooded stranger kept to the path and started to climb the hill. In moments, they would pass us by. We shrank silently among the rocks, everything covered but our eyes.

The figure shuffled slowly with their head bowed. It looked like they were very old, or injured, or weary. I remember thinking how desperate such a person must be to wander the Dust alone. They must have needed shelter and food. They passed by our hiding place, almost close enough to touch. Their whole face was covered in grey rags, eyes and all. Few chose to travel that way. The Dust would sting your eyes and keep you half-blind, but a blindfold kept out both Dust and light. It took great faith to travel without knowing what lay ahead.

After all, you never knew what might come out of the Dust.

The stranger continued past us, along the path leading to our village. Even blindfolded, they seemed to know where they were going. Was it by chance or some strange magic that they came that way? I don’t think I ever learned which.  

My brother sprang up without warning and rushed over to block the way. I followed closely behind, ready to draw my sword.

Stop there! My brother aimed his blade at the stranger’s chest. Why have you come here?

I have wandered so far, for so long. Can you help me? The stranger spoke in a thin, rasping voice. It was the voice of an old woman in dire need of something to drink. Thirst in the Dust could be a horrible thing.

What do you need? I asked.

The stranger turned her head, toward the sound of my voice.

Before she could reply, my brother stepped in front of me as if to shield me. Before we let you go any farther, show your face.

My face? She coughed weakly. The Dust ... makes it hard to breathe.

I understand, and I hate to be unkind, he said in a gentler voice. All I ask is a moment of pain. We can’t trust you otherwise.

The old woman struggled to speak for a while, but could only cough and wheeze. She swayed unsteadily.

Brother ... I wanted to make him help the woman. Maybe I should have. Even all these long years later, I wonder what might have happened differently if I had intervened. Not for the old woman’s sake—for my brother’s.

That one word was all I said. I stood and watched as the frail woman unwrapped the rags that covered her head. Her fingers moved stiffly, as though bending them caused her pain.

The whole time, my brother kept her at