The Priesthood

It grows. This feeling… It grows. First, it was subtle, something that felt familiar and almost always present, something innate to himself, and not just something that lingered around the edges of his mind and vision; at the edges of his sanity... This disgust. It had grown by the day; each step had made it more potent; each day more unbearable, and now that he found himself in the center of what felt like its origin, it forced him to his knees. To vomit his soul onto the cobblestones of the courtyard of this complex collection of buildings that was known simply as the Forum.

It was, as explained by A’Trou’n, the place where all decisions came from. All laws, rules, and regulations; the most important judgments, be it relating to the economy, education, or even their private lives... Everything came from here. The place where the Council met and made their decisions. Of course, they weren’t the only ones who met here, but also other members of the society who would present their cases, be it a legal matter or a grievance, to clerks who would collect said information and give minor decisions regarding them if they found an adequate guideline or a procedure that they could follow to give any judgment at all. Things that were too complicated or too sensitive were instead presented to the Council, who would then give their opinion regarding the matter, thus either creating a new guideline for the clerks to follow or making one-time decisions that would only affect the very case they had been presented with.

It seemed fair from the description that they were given, and it wasn’t too off from the different forms of governance and bureaucracy that he had witnessed thus far. The only issue was that the members of the council were hidden; their identities were unknown, and therefore, their motives and allegiances were unknown as well.

Y’Kraun helped him up from the ground, as A’Daur’Kra snorted, “Beautiful, wonderful, even... We’ve just arrived, and you’ve already embarrassed us." He then glanced at his sister, “You ought to teach him better, lest he offends our great leaders.” He snickered.

A’Trou’n rolled her eyes at the petty comments, waved her hand slightly, and the vomit burned away, followed up with another spell to wash it away with water. The smell it caused wasn’t very pleasant at all, but it only lingered for a moment as that too was pushed upward and out of the courtyard with a gust of wind, this one created by A’Daur’Kra, who held his own nose.

Kanrel’s legs felt so weak, and it was difficult to walk alone, so Y’Kraun had to help him walk forward and even enter the first building of the Forum—a large room with a collection of queues, long chairs, and tables... A reception, with Atheians queuing in neat lies, waiting for their chance to present their case to the clerks that worked in other parts of the Forum.

As they walked by as A’Daur’Kra led them, Kanrel could hear snippets of conversation, mostly mentions of the reasons why some of them had business at the Forum. One mentioned the “unfair treatment of law-abiding prostitutes in government-regulated brothels.” This was apparently related to taxation. It seemed that the Atheians too knew all too well the “evils” of taxation. But one could guess that if these brothels got tax reductions, then the prostitutes working in them were unlikely to receive any more pay than they usually got. The “handlers” or “pimps,” or whichever more official title these brothel owners used, would with great creed seize for themselves the fruits of the labor of their hardworking prostitutes. The owner of a brothel really wasn’t that different from the owner of any company when it came to profit. But brothels and companies, Kanrel didn’t know much about them; he barely knew what one might look like from the inside. And the look he had didn’t hold any fond memories within.

When one imagines the seat of absolute power, does one really imagine such a complicated process of bureaucracy? In Kanrel’s mind, he had always imagined the Herald and her place in the Grand Cathedral in Lo’Gran, and later on Kalma on his throne, looking down on those who sought his audience and guidance with his dead eyes.

It was far too boring to be all-powerful. It seemed too rational in its tendencies. Calculated and precise. Perhaps this form of power could work. Perhaps if there were enough rules and guidelines, then the people could easily just abide by them or be fairly punished by the system in place. It seemed fair. But was it? Kanrel didn’t know enough to conclude if such a system would work fairly; he had no clue if there were issues with corruption and nepotism as there were in N’Sharan.

So far, all he saw were lines of people gathered here to give a piece of their mind, to share a bit of their grievances, to seek justice and someone to rectify the issues they might have; be the circumstances behind their issues unfair, yet they all found themselves here. Filling in papers, submitting them, taking a queue number, and going to whatever department of the Forum they might need with their given issue. It might not be as fast as one would want it to be. But it could never, and it never should be too fast. Such information needed to be fairly processed so that the solutions, if there are one given to an issue, are fair and just.

Suppose such a system were without faults of corruption and if it were fair. Then this seemed like something that he could enjoy. He could imagine himself as one of those clerks, receiving people, going through their troubles, writing a report based on them, and submitting it forward to a judge or a higher official, who would then go through this report and then give their decision based on objective reasoning—one that would be fair for all. If only such a place could exist. But it could not. Already, Kanrel knew too much of the nature of the Atheians. He knew of the factions and their game of influence—their desires to lead and to benefit from the possible faults and loopholes of their system, or to create new ones so that their grasp around the control of their society would be greater and all-encompassing.

He remembered the conversation he had had with one of the Sharan, a guard who worked for the Office of Peace in the District of Copper. “Imagine an apple—a big, beautiful, red apple—one that anyone would like to bite into... but beneath there are maggots that have eaten most of the flesh, and that which is left is rotten and stinky.” “All rotten—to the core... So why not indulge in it?”

His gaze went from Atheian to Atheian as they walked by them; some of them ignored their little retinue; some noticed the unfamiliar creature that was Kanrel, but most were busy with their own things. Now, he could finally see what he had missed since he had first stepped inside: those who came here had wealth; they had status; there were no servants unless they were there to attend to their master's needs; there were no serfs, as there was no hard labor to take care of... The people from the “government-regulated brothel” were those who clearly owned the establishment—those who would benefit from fewer taxes so that they might fatten their own pockets. Why would a “law-abiding prostitute” come here when their place was in the brothel, away from those who actually had power and whose issues and grievances actually mattered when they could be making more money for their bosses?

It was boring, yet it was all-powerful. It was dull, yet its will was absolute. It was banal and normal-looking, and so was the evil it could produce.

Kanrel snorted because he knew that even then, he would love to be one of those clerks and process those very grievances of the very people who most benefitted from this system. Why? Because it was easy and comfortable, but only if you could turn a blind eye to how unfair it could be.

The feeling indeed grows. At this point, he was uncertain if it came from outside or from within.

After multiple minutes of walking through corridors and large rooms, with receptions, queues, and office space; up staircases that brought them to more similar spaces, with more Atheians, just less than in the previous floor... This repeated itself five times, until they reached the sixth floor, with the last reception in a large room, where behind an elaborate stone desk sat an imposing-looking figure; their eyes scanned papers laid on the desk and times made careful markings on them; what they wrote or drew on them was left unclear, as the Atheian lifted their gaze from said papers, as Kanrel and the rest stepped in front of their desk.

In the large room, there were many things, mostly chairs and selves on the walls of the room, with large engravings far more elaborate and detailed than those found within the Spire. All in all, the room seemed comfortable, yet the atmosphere was unsettling, as if there were eyes on them at all times; as if one wouldn’t be able to sit without a worry on one of the many couches that seemed well cushioned.

The desk was placed beside a door that would open inward, and the person behind the desk seemed dismissive of them; their gaze wandered from face to face, but they had no visible reaction to any of them, and soon their gaze returned to the tables as they made a quick stroke of their pen on a different paper than before. And when they again lifted their eyes, they simply pointed at the opposite side of the room, at a set of chairs, five of them, as if meant and placed there just for them.

For some reason, A’Daur’Kra said nothing; their eyes only followed where the receptionist pointed, and instead of whining about the lack of respect or introductions, he just bowed with great respect to the receptionist and walked to the simple chairs and sat on one of them. A’Trou’n and Vaur’Kou’n did the same, and even the somewhat confused Y’Kraun figured that he should do the same and pulled Kanrel with them toward the chairs.

But Kanrel decided not to move. He stayed where he stood, even when Y’Kraun pulled him even more. The receptionist, who had returned to their notes, had stopped writing and observed the slight commotion that unfolded before them. Their eyes were dull and gray, their gaze without a speck of curiosity, but then they smiled. Or it seemed like they tried to do so, but that smile never reached their eyes; there were no wrinkles or lines created by the movement of their lips.

The three others, who sat motionless on their chairs, seemed unsettled, worried, even. Panic had found its way into Y’Kraun’s eyes, as perhaps he had begun to wonder if today would be the day that he would die.

But then, the receptionist spoke, “Kanrel, you will sit, and you will wait—soon, you will be received by the council.” Their tone was flat, and their smile remained for a few moments before it went away, and they returned to their notes, not giving another stare at Kanrel nor another word. The sound of precise strokes of a pen upon paper filled the room.

Shivers ran through his body as he still couldn’t take his eyes off of them. And at last, he let Y’Kraun pull him toward the chairs, where he was soon placed, between A’Trou’n and A’Daur’Kra. As A’Trou’n refused to sit next to Vaur’Kou’n, even Y’Kraun was forced to sit down as Vaur’Kou’n pulled him next to him and onto the chair to the left of him.

In A’Trou’n’s eyes, Kanrel could see shock at what Kanrel had done; in A'Daur'Kra's, a mix of anger and perhaps amusement; but Vaur’Kou’n kept their faces clear of all emotions; instead, he kept his gaze pointed at the door—he seemed to be anticipating something.

They sat in silence. And listened to the sounds created by the motions of the pen in the left hand of the receptionist. At first, he couldn’t help but keep his eyes on them; he carefully observed what they did—how their pen would move, how they would take another piece of paper and begin to write on that as well. Sometimes, they would go for long moments without writing anything; then, Kanrel imagined that they were immersed in the words of whichever paper they were reading at the time.

They seemed pale, paler than the average Atheian, and their presence was different as well. It was the first time he had met anyone so empty. So lifeless. Their words even more so. Behind those words, he couldn’t find a meaning deeper than that; it was a command, or more so an observation than anything else. Their eyes seemed to look past him. Their tone was strange and flat, as if practiced to perfection, as was their smile. How could one smile without a wrinkle on their face? How else, if not without an immense amount of practice?

Their presence was unsettling; it was immense; it was imposing, and one couldn’t look away, yet he had to. He couldn’t take it anymore. The feeling of wanting to rip the tips of his own fingers returned, now stronger than before. This annoyed feeling, he had to do something about it—to look away, to let his gaze linger around the room, to observe other things, to find something more interesting than the figure that seemed unnatural.

Perhaps the engravings would give him something to look at for a longer period of time, but as his eyes would wander around the room, looking at different things, his gaze would always return to the receptionist. He could feel pain at the tips of his fingers, and as he looked down at them, he soon realized that he had begun to scratch them with the nail of his thumb. The tips had become red and irritated.

He managed to stop himself; he placed his hands under his thighs, but the tips of his fingers would not stop tingling, and his heart couldn’t seem to find its normal pace; he felt so cold as sweat lingered on his body. And as he raised his gaze from his thighs, he met them again. Empty and gray. Dull… There was nothing there... But their smile—their smile without a wrinkle—populated that face.

They spoke once more, “Kanrel, don’t be so nervous; the council will see you now.” Their tone remained flat, but as they finished their sentence, the doors from which they had entered closed, and those opposite to them opened, “You may enter.” They added and pointed at the door.

They got up from their chairs, and the receptionist still stared at Kanrel, their smile slowly fading, as they again returned to their papers; again, they made a quick notation on a previous paper they had marked something on to.

Kanrel stared at them until the very moment that they stepped past the threshold and entered a round room, where lights descended from above and five figures stood in a semi-circle; they wore dark robes that covered their bodies, a hood that covered their heads, and masks with long bird-like beaks; the masks had no eyes or any other significant features.

The doors slammed behind them, and a hum wavered around the circular room, as if bouncing from wall to wall, ricocheting continuously and without stopping, until it blocked his ears, as if he had ascended to a higher altitude.