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Sermons were usually done in the morning, but today was special. A recent famine had ushered in the deaths of countless followers, and with the upcoming winter, they needed the numbers. After the fifty fourth follower asked if they could resurrect a loved one, Lambert had decided to recall everyone to the temple at early noon.
It was night when they resurrected the last follower. The disciples had been sapped of all their devotion, collapsing onto the floor. The flock that had been revived showed signs of nausea, and were rushed out to the med bay. The flock that were still standing were tasked with making dinner. Faith had dropped significantly, especially since the promised feast ritual had just been canceled. Some even wished they could drop dead right then and there, (and for the ones resurrected, again).
Watching the last follower walk out the temple, the lamb leaned over their podium with a grunt. They were exhausted, truly, utterly exhausted. The crown sat heavy on their head, the bell all too tight around their neck. They closed their eyes, getting whatever stray minute they had to rest.
“Bold of you to resurrect over a hundred followers. In less than a day no less.” Narinder feigned flattery.
What was actually bold for Lambert was to assume he’d leave them alone. Lambert scowled into the podium before pushing themselves upright, and gave him the smile they showed every follower. Calm, poised, and kind, as a leader should be.
“Narinder, nice to see you join us for once. Did you grow tired of your hut, finally?”
They stared right at the temple's doors, locked, refusing to scan the room. The cat was hiding in the shadows, fine then. Let him. This was as much power Lambert would grant him.
A humming bounced along the temple's walls, as if the temple itself was singing. “Perhaps. I’d do better with a grander home, farther away from you too.” He sounded far away, probably hiding by the benches.
Lambert organized the papers on the podium, getting ready to leave. “What’s the point of coming to me, then? Nothing’s stopping you from just leaving the cult grounds, Narinder.” They mocked.
Narinder was tied to the cult, incapable of leaving unless the Lamb was with them. He traded chains for leashes; Endless nothing for enchanted fences. He would never know freedom.
He tsked, stalking the walls. The candles further out were snuffed, the shadows looming closer. “Hmph, and what about you? You can also leave. At any time. Get on a boat. Sail away from this accursed land. Who knows, you may even find some lost kin my siblings failed to capture.”
Lambert furrowed their brows, but their smile didn’t waver. “I’ve found my flock right here. Why would I leave?”
The candles by the center of the temple went out, the only light remaining were the ones behind him. Lambert did not back away, nor did they draw their sword. They stared straight ahead and drew measured breaths. Narinder didn’t scare them. He never scared them.
“Why would you leave, lamb?” His voice came from the dark, but nowhere in particular. Always focused on the theatrics, damned cat. “The flock needs to be tended to. Coddled, even. You’ve bred them to be docile, but not enough.”
The corners of their mouth twitched, the shadows were reaching out to them. “Where are you going with this?”
The air had chilled, the flames behind them flickering. The used ritual circle lying ahead needed to be wiped clean, the leftover bones put away. The smell of pumpkin soup and hearty meat broth wafted into the temple. The followers must already be eating. Lambert wanted to leave the temple.
Laughter erupted, ricocheting off the walls in raw mania. It was so loud, it was as if they came from inside Lambert’s head. It died down instantly, and with it the last of the candles. In the darkness, Lambert had only themselves and Death.
A hand on their shoulders, whiskers meeting cheeks, Narinder whispered “You were waiting for them to die on their own. Don’t try and hide it from me, damned lamb, why else would you wait so long to resurrect anyone? Why else have you turned down indoctrinating new cultists? Be honest, you want them all dead.”
The lamb bit their lip, burning holes at Narinder’s hands. “Of course not.” They hesitated, before continuing, “If that were the case, why would I resurrect so many?”
Narinder chuckled into his ear, low and gravely. “Because you realized you couldn’t. A God is only as strong as their following. You fear death, despite being it. You fear that once the last of your believers die, you’ll follow suit. Who will wait for you in the afterlife? Those who share your blood, or the blood you’ve shed? In life and in death, you are doomed to tend to the flock.” Narinder’s grasp slipped away.
A candle was lit, being held between the two of them. Narinder’s smile was wide and thin, his eyes boring down on Lambert. They were caught, seen for what they were. And their afterlife was confirmed for them too.
“How’d you do it? Guiding the dead, I mean. Is it any different from what I’m doing now?” they asked.
“Very” he answered.
The lamb looked at the candle Narinder was holding. The flame was golden and hotter than expected. Without thinking, they pressed the wick between their fingers, putting them in darkness once more. When they let go, the flame lit up again. They repeated this action a few times.
“Narinder, you can’t die.” They started, not knowing where they were headed. “If all of my flock were to die, you’d still be around.”
He waited for the lamb to continue, but when they didn’t speak they replied “I may no longer be a God, but I am still Death.”
Lambert eyed the flame, finding their courage before meeting Narinder’s gaze. “So I’ll always be tethered here. I won’t disappear so long as you’re around, won’t I?”
Narinder’s posture stiffened, his tail hitting the floor with a thud. A God needed faith and devotion to thrive. In other words, an unwavering cult in both numbers and will. Narinder was neither. They were not devoted to the lamb despite being indoctrinated, and they held no faith in them despite being witness to their accomplishments.
He only stayed to steal the crown, because he knew the lamb would break eventually. He didn't fight them or cause dissension, he only needed to wait . The lamb already had lines under their eyes, tremors in their hands. He only needed to wait a few centuries. A mortal couldn’t understand death the way he did, and the lamb is unfit to rule the afterlife. For the new God of Death, the Last of the Old Faith, the lamb was terrible at their job. Only serving to rule the living, they deny themselves the end .
But Narinder will be there waiting. Narinder will be the one they turn to when they give up. And Narinder will not let them die. They’ve stolen the crown, and he’ll make sure they’ll wear it. This was punishment enough.
Lambert knew this plan, and resented him for it. For as long as they’ll live, they’ll be the symbol of Narinder’s defeat. They’ll force him to watch them become a God, a better one. This was punishment enough.
It was a standstill that tied them together. Chains and bells, fleece and veils, they were each other's prophecy. Hate grew into obsession, and that turned into fear. It was only them in the Land’s of the Old Faith, in this temple.
There was no devotion, no faith, no loyalty , but there was worship . That was enough to keep them moving.
“Yes, vile lamb, you’ll always remain by my side, as I do yours.”
Lambert hummed, putting their fingers on the wick to snuff out the light once more, their hand reaching Narinder’s in the dark.
They stood on their hooves, beckoning Narinder closer. He obliged, and their lips met. It wasn’t sweet nor revolting, but it was comforting. If they were only to have each other, then let it be in the dark, away from the living and far from the dead.
Seperating, Lambert released the wick to allow it to light, head lowered. “I’m tired. I think I might just sleep on the floor.”
“If you fall asleep here, you won’t be well-rested enough for tomorrow's sermon.” Narinder rolled his eyes, the third remaining trained on Lambert.
“We can skip it for one day.” Lambert laid down, eyes already closing.
“With faith this low? You’ll have dissenters.”
“Fine by me. I can lock them up if I have to.” Lambert nodded off to sleep.
Narinder picked them up and laid them on a bench, sitting by their side for a moment. He whispered a curse for eternal sleep, followed by a blessing of a peaceful one. He left soon after.