Lloyd was horrified by Boy's story and under his breath he could just sigh, "Barbaric!"
Brook and Dearborne held each other, tears slowly dribbling down their cheeks as Boy went to them for comfort, as well. To Lloyd's surprise, he watched them embrace the child.
"But why? — " Lloyd pleaded. "Why, my Lord, would such an atrocity be done to so young a girl? What was there to be gained by such barbarity?" he wiped his eyes as he thought of his little sister, still in Besten, and imagined that this could also become of her, if they lived in Phoride.
"Lloyd, my friend … the ArchBishop has made some strange laws, that I could not veto. One such law was that the refusal to bare a child by a monastic was a sin, punishable by death. Nothing could be done and fear prevented me from asserting what powers I do have over him, at Halls. More of Phoride follows his words and requests than they follow mine. My power is possessed just out of respect for my Blue heritage. He, with whom I had ruled, died early in our lives. Our co-sovereignty, that we promised to Smith Blue, died as well. It was I who united Upper and Lower Phoride but that Almighty ass of hypocrisy and immorality, took hold of my people's hearts."
Brook became very angry and felt so vulnerable and alone. He stood up and moved away from Dearborne and Boy.
"He banned all forms of learning, unless all the teaching was conducted by his monks, in the monastery. I tried to oppose him with all my power on that resolution. All I accomplished was the formation of our small Blaisaman. The masses listened to him when he told them _ "The Devil is in Knowledge, unless that Knowledge was conveyed by a righteous man of the Almighty" … but as you see Lloyd, we know the real devil."
Lloyd came to realize Brook's thoughts and confirmed them with a nod. He could see that Brook had some real influence in the local government but no real power.
For the first time since the afternoon, there was a still quiet in the room. A morose presence hung in the air and it felt cold and ugly.
Outside, the people began to yell and scream in ecstasy as the warm drizzles finally began to pour on them. Their moderate prolificacy grew stronger with the coming of the rain; where the men chased their wives and daughters, their mistresses and their whores, out into the streets. In their uncontrolled lust, they rolled around in the mud, like swine, and fornicated with anyone or anything nearby. It mattered very little to them whether it was man, woman, child or animal. That rain was the ill-begotten legacy of the Twentieth Century war. The rain fell only once or twice a year in Lower Phoride. It was the same rain that caused the beautiful vegetation to grow into its remarkable splendour. Throughout the year, the green would survive by the watering from the artesian seas beneath the ground, until the next rain came. Some citizens eagerly waited for the rain to come, on that one day or night, where they believed that the evil within them would be fully satisfied and would leave them if they allowed themselves to be fully indulged in whatever manner of perversion happened upon them, during that season.
There were those who were afraid. Mothers, who didn't want to see their innocent ravaged, hid in their homes until the rains passed, and after the rain, those who hid came out into the streets. They wouldn't be afraid of the pools and puddles because the rain lost its strange properties shortly after touching the ground.