Downpour
By Austin Gray
Cults come with some serious downsides. Dart had been aware of that going in, but he
thought most of those problems were for the followers. Yet, here he stood, ankle-deep in water
and pig shit trying to stop the rain. It started two weeks ago, harmless and calming rain. After
three ceaseless days, the basements of the complex began to flood. Several of his disciples had
lost their food stores before they even realized the problem. Being the speaker of the God—the
inflection of ‘the’ showing his divine supremacy over lesser religions—meant that he had the
power of ultimate sight, and as such he should have been able to foresee the loss of their food.
And the rain poured.
Originally, Dart had been happy to find a large piece of land that was completely devoid
of other people. As a rule, cults didn’t tend to want neighbors prying into their business. The
Church of The God had been built in the middle of the middle of nowhere. This particular middle
of nowhere also happened to be at the bottom of a valley. After two weeks of unceasing
downpour, Dart saw why the land was uninhabited when he found it years ago… Every spring
things got a bit swampy in the valley; the hard clay that lay about eight inches under the surface
offered no drainage in this forsaken soup bowl. This they had prepared for, sandbags and gravel
for a little minor flooding seemed an easy fix. That was like putting a bandaid on a freshly
opened corrugated artery now.
Several of the Children’s huts had collapsed, the shattered pieces of his people’s lives
now floated by his feet in the muck. Dart had never managed to get any trained architects in the
group—individuals with both a high level of education and unquestioning faith in The God
seemed to be a rarity—so the huts had been ramshackle at best. What a mess!
There were many solutions to this problem. Unfortunately, all of them involved seeking
help from the outside. An outside which, rather consistently, did not look kindly on cults. They
could seek shelter outside of the valley, buy equipment to dig an overflow pond, buy sandbags to
stop the water from entering their houses. But the outside was strictly forbidden to all of the
Children by The God, as decreed upon his third visit to the mortal plain.
“Great job Dart…” he whispered to himself under his breath.
He had likely destroyed their only way out. It had seemed necessary to him then, the
more contact with the outside, the more likely that higher authorities would take an interest in
their not so savory activities. Besides that, the outside world was cruel, judgmental, conniving.
The more time his people spent in that world, the more opportunity there was for corruption to
leak in. Dart was always worried that someday his followers would rise against him, best to keep
them away from any influences he didn’t control.
If Dart were a smarter man, he would have included a stipulation that the speaker could
visit the outside. But he tended not to look too far towards the future, and once things were
recorded in the stone slab he had all too creatively named The Slab of Truth, they could not be
changed. Dart had never before dreamed he would need to leave his people. This was a heavenly
paradise, manifested into the physical world by the grace of an imaginary sentient being. 147
amiable idiots willing to do whatever he asked to gain favor with their so-called god. Artists,
who managed to paint his less than average features in a more gracious light than he had thought
possible. Musicians fought and bickered between one another to perform ballads detailing his
heroic deeds. The most beautiful women of his small corner of the world, awaiting his call and
willing to please in any way he wanted. And water, mixing with the waste of man and beast to
make a stew not so far off from Dart’s own cooking abilities. There were several small drowned vermin floating now, and the remaining live ones clung to the roofs of still standing huts like moss on a rock. As Dart watched, one of his favorite entertainers used his elegantly polished guitar to sweep dozens of mice and rats off a ledge and into the drink to thrash their last few
breaths away.
“If this doesn’t work I am screwed…” Dart said then.
The water roiled around him as the rain droned ever on. He had to hope for the rain’s end when
he guessed it, or else his people may try to place the blame on him. Up to this point, he had
accused his followers of hiding their sins. They had to “…face The God’s wrath as punishment!”
But how many more houses would collapse before that was not a good enough answer for them?
How long would it take for them to blame Dart?
Dart had heard about a group of such dissenters the night before. An earnestly ugly youth
had woken Dart around three in the morning.
“Your holiness? Most humble and honored in the eyes of The God, supreme above all
other men on this mortal plane?” Dart had almost throttled the little shit for waking him.
Thankfully he had not, instead responding with the religious hogwash he had made up years ago.
“Yes, my Child? Speak your sin and stand to face The God’s holy hand.”
“It’s Ricther o’ holy Speaker, he is attempting to lead a group from the homeland in an
effort to escape The God’s wrath.” Being awakened by such concerning news had left Dart
shocked, and at a lack for words. He usually was good at hiding his surprise… but at 3:00 a.m.?
Dart hoped the darkness hid his startlement from the boy, but had no real way of knowing. He
may have to deal with him later, the speaker was all-knowing, anyone saying otherwise was a
heretic. Dart did not tolerate heretics.
Dart had now been ‘listening’ to The God in the town’s square for a few hours. Standing
still and getting urinated on by the sky was incredibly irritating. However, Dart knew it was good
to put on a show for the dolts, helped them stay zealous. He was also keeping track of time best
he could, basing his calculations off of the faint glow of the sun behind its cloudy curtain. He just
had to make it until 4:16 p.m. His divine intuition had told him that was when the rain would
cease, or maybe it had been the FM radio he kept squirreled away in the temple. Who could say?
Gauging the hidden orbs’ descent in the sky as the hours passed. And the rain poured.
It was time to start.
With a grandiosity on the verge of cartoonish, Dart shot his head up to the sky and began
to speak in his deep baritone.
“My children, o’ how we have sinned in the face of The God. His wrath you see around
us, swallowing your hard work for the sins of your neighbors.” Dart paused, he had learned very
early the importance of silence, you had to let the dead air drag them in like a hooked fish.
“The God’s word is absolute, his will is steel. Yet for you my children, I have faced him
and pleaded. I have pleaded that he forgive your transgressions and show mercy on your
befouled souls!” It was as if all 147 sets of shoulders leaned in, 147 lungs held their breath in
anticipation.
“He has deemed us worthy of mercy, at the cost of a great sacrifice!” Chaos. This would
not be their first sacrifice. They had killed goats and chickens first. After about a year, Dart had
moved on to ever larger prey. There was a roar of excited voices at the prospect of death. The
monsters Dart had created were starving bloodhounds at steak scraps.
“Hold my children! For there is more I must say. The God is gracious, and he is fair!”
Silence, Dart turned up the corners of his mouth in what he hoped was his most wizened
and fatherly smile.
“The God demands we sacrifice only the purest soul, a soul so stainless that it may take
with it the blackness we have sown upon the homeland!” Rule one of a sacrifice, make it an
honor. If it is desirable to die, anywho refuse are scorned for their lack of faith.
“I have sought the guidance of the heavens as to who among us is worthy, but I was told
that I must follow my own heart to find your salvation.” Time for the gut punch.
“Richter! My child will you, purest in the eyes of The God, offer up your life that ours
may see an end to this plight?”
Richter—whose complexion was always on the pale side of pasty—turned a ghastly
shade of green. He had been caught by a god, and no worldly miracle would save him. “Serves
him right for spreading lies” Dart thought.. A smile grew gleefully across Dart’s face, awaiting
the only possible response from a dead man. Richter gave a nod. Just like that, it was decided.
The people congregated around their prey like crows to carrion. Grey steel glinted in grey light
as blades were yanked from robes. Normally they would simply stab him, yet somehow Dart did
not find that quite adequate today.
“Feed him to the depths! Soak him with your sins so that you may be cleansed!”
Suddenly the masses converged on Richter, flys on an open wound. Knives splashed into
the pool, forgotten as they grabbed him, shoving him under the waist-deep water as his arms
thrashed and spasmed. Bubbles rose to the surface, an accented counterpoint against the staccato
pattering of rainfall. In almost no time at all, Richter’s body floated limply in the pool like a log,
surrounded by his friends and neighbors. Dart felt queasy at the brutal death, but he shoved his
thoughts aside and finished the show.
“My children! Our sacrifice has been seen, now we must wait to behold The God’s
almighty mercy!” Dart held his arms to the sky, casting his gaze upwards in prayer. 146 pairs of
eyes and arms followed his lead. Any minute now…
After a half-hour, murmuring started to emerge from the rain. Dart could do nothing,
looking at the perpetrators could destroy his holy farce. The Children would rip him to shreds for
this. Why was it still raining?
“He said that The God demanded the purest soul, right?” a gruff voice mumbled.
“Richter must not have been good enough…” said the voice of the boy who had come
before him last night.
“That sinner will have damned us all!” shouted the voice of a woman Dart had shared his
bed with a few nights ago. What was her name again? Rebbeca? Reata? Remma?
“We still have time, we just need to find the right sacrifice!” said the gruff voice, no
longer pretending to be quiet.
Dart suddenly saw his mistake. The rain had to stop now!
“He said the purest, there is only one pure among us…” the boy said hesitantly.
“That must be what The God meant! The Speaker is the only one who may save us!” Her
name was Rebanthia, who names their child Rebanthia?
The water erupted beneath 146 sets of feet, a veritable vortex with Dart at the epicenter.
His well-trained beasts came now to shed his blood. Dart had always disliked weathermen, never
reliable. His arms shook as he looked at the crying sky with hatred like a hurricane. And the rain
poured.
