The Priesthood

Then a bell rang. A new hum was created, overshadowing the previous one, this one deeper as the intense strike tone dissipated. It was slow and lasted for perhaps minutes before silence took over. His ears opened up, but the sound of the bell rang deep within his head; it was something that he could focus on; it was something that made him feel less anxious. He forgot about the tips of his fingers. There was peace after a storm at last.

“When there is dissonance among the populous, those more wise ought to stand up and guide the people toward salvation.” A voice with a metallic distortion pronounced; one of the five had said as such, but those who had come before them had no idea which of the five had said a word.

“But you wouldn’t know much about salvation; now do you, A’Daur’Kra, the son of the A’Kau’Tou’n patriarch? It has come to our attention that you do not believe that there might be salvation for our people.” A different voice with a metallic distortion said.

“Such cynicism, yet we cannot pretend that we didn’t know before, nor can we claim that all of us disagree with said cynicism, but...” A third voice added, and the fourth one continued, “Wouldn’t you agree that you’re setting a poor precedent for your subjects and guests alike, be they from above or from below?”

A fifth voice seemed to chuckle, “Those who have power must always show the world that they indeed deserve the position that they have—why? Because they are supposed to be better... Tell me, A’Daur’Kra, are you a serf, are you one of the poor, are you a petty merchant, or are you what your heritage claims you to be?” The fifth one asked.

A’Daur’Kra seemed embarrassed—regretful, even—and they dared not raise their gaze from the ground beneath the feet of the members of the council.

“Speak, offer a futile defense of your actions so that we may move forward... Even if the decision we’ve made was one we came to long ago, your words might yet change the sentence we’ve foreseen." The first one spoke once more.

He fell to his knees, placed his head on the floor of the circular room, and spoke at last, “I have no excuse; grieve and torment have twisted and molded this mind of mine for too long; forgiveness and salvation aren’t easy to reach, nor is it easy to forgive a crime as heinous as the one my dear sister has done to me.”

“I seek neither redemption nor forgiveness; instead, I will receive your sentence... For as you said, ‘those more wise ought to stand up and guide people toward salvation.’” A’Daur’Kra spoke from the floor, keeping his face on the ground, but even then, Kanrel could imagine a smirk on that face. Contempt for those he had to kneel before; and hatred toward his sister, who he claimed to be the sole reason behind his actions.

“You have been heard.” The second voice noted.

A bell rang once more, this one higher in tone, and its hum was so as well; it echoed around the room for minutes before it too dissipated and became naught.

“To murder someone beneath your own status, this is accepted and seen as a rightful action, when a mere scholar dares to make demands; your action regarding the death of Lou’Deu’n is forgiven; but you must pay reparations to his family; one must at least claim remorse for their actions even if there is none to be had.” The third voice claimed... There was no justice for murder.

“A’Trou’n, the daughter of a once great man... Long it was decided what your sentence might be for the crime that you had committed. A mere secondborn ought not to usurp her brother; the order of inheritance must always remain intact; this you know, and for this crime, through your father, you were only given Blue-Stone Village to rule over." The fourth voice continued.

“Was this too merciful of a judgment? Contrary to her brother, does the sister believe too much that there might be salvation for our people? Enough for you to plot and scheme against him and to try to usurp his throne in the City of Creation with the mere help of a Darshi?” The fifth voice asked.

“And all this with the help of the Herd? Why?” The first voice accused.

After a moment of silence, the first voice then continued, “You may speak; defend your actions.”

A’Trou’n did as her brother had done; she went to her knees beside her brother and placed her forehead against the ground. “Is it not only in our nature to wish for more than what we have? Had he not done the same when he went in between me and my love, ruining a union that might’ve been?” She asked.

“Before that moment, I had no interest in going against him; to usurp his inheritance and his claim as the firstborn—all I wanted was that union, but he took that away from me... Is my scorn not just?” A’Trou’n finished, her voice wavering as if in fear, and perhaps such fear did exist, but all Kanrel could hear was the anger she felt, be it just or not; she believed her wrath to be righteous.

“The idea of union between you and Captain Vaur’Kou’n is well documented, and we cannot blame one for the feelings they might harbor for another... but..." The second voice began and the third continued, “The moment you pushed your brother into the shadows was the moment you ought to have forgiven him; what you want as your vengeance for something so miniscule as love that has now long ago dwindled and withered away is to take everything your brother might have.”

“Wasn’t his near death enough for you? Wasn’t his torment of years in seclusion enough for you? For how long can you claim your wrath to be righteous before it becomes so irrational that you can’t even recognize the initial feelings of anger you had so long ago?” The third asked.

“What you should’ve done is to reconcile with your previous lover instead. Such a decision might’ve given birth to riper fruit than petty revenge ever could." And the fourth concluded.

“You have been heard.” The fifth one noted.

A third bell rang, this one, again, of a higher tone than the previous one; it too echoed for perhaps a minute, before silence filled the round room.

“Captain Vaur’Kou’n, we thank you for your services; the information that you’ve provided of these fools has been valuable; as such, you may seek compensation from the receptionist and further orders when it comes to your next appointment.” The first one said, in the depths of their metallic distortion, there was a hint of amusement as they waited for the second to continue.

“And you might want to reconcile with your previous lover; the union between the two of you is permitted if you might receive forgiveness from her.” The second finished.

Vaur’Kou’n did as the other two had done, he knelt on the floor and placed his forehead against the ground. But as he was not permitted to speak, there was no bell rung.

“Darshi, or Kanrel Iduldian, as you claim your name to be... You are a mere curiosity to us, a caged animal who relies on the sustenance and shelter that we can provide you. Your stories are compelling and often quite amusing, yet their authenticity cannot be proven; as such, you’re quite useless.” The third voice began.

“First, we wonder if we should make you a serf, and practically you’ve lived as one from the moment you entered the house of A’Trou’n; but your tendencies, as strange as they at times seem to be to us, harbor a hint of familiarity.” The fourth continued.

“A priest, you claim to be, and a scholar as well. As such, you’ve deserved a hint of our respect, even when you are a curious outsider, without a speck of information that we could claim to be truthful." The fifth then added.

“Thus, we shall not enslave you, as we had at first intended to do. Instead, we might as well consider you a free man. Either way, there is nothing you can do. Your skills in magic are minuscule by our standards. Your physical abilities we didn’t even have to consider. All you have is that head of yours, with the information that you claim to be the truth." The first said.

“As such, we have decided to give you residence in our city; you are not to leave its perimeter; you aren’t to break our rules, our laws, or our regulations; you aren’t to go against our decisions, our wishes, or even our words... This city will do as your cage; you shall do as you wish, but you must comply with our judgment, or perish within the shadows." The second voice concluded, and a bell rang with an even higher pitch, a tone almost unbearable as its hum filled the circular room.

Kanrel remained still; he did not kneel. He was too shocked to do anything—to initiate an action.

“Y’Kraun, your talents and knowledge have surprised us. And we feel regretful for the sight that you had to witness.” The third voice began.

“As such, you’re made a free man. You and your family are no longer tied to the lands that A’Trou’n owns; they too are free to live as they see fit.” The fourth continued.

“But you will find residence within this city... You will be employed by us, and you will make sure that our guest, Kanrel the Darshi, finds his footing as one of our own. You will be his translator—a bridge between the common populous of our city and the curiosity that is the Darshi.” The fifth finished.

Y’Kraun hastily went to his knees and placed his forehead against the floor; they trembled, and tears ran down his cheeks. Kanrel had not known that an Atheian could cry until now.

The bell rang, its hum covered the muffled cries of Y’Kraun, and as the hum dissipated, silence ruled once more. Even when there had been no words, not a reply demanded; a bell had rung; perhaps it was done to hide away his cries.

“We have almost unanimously come to the conclusion that the behavior of the A’Kau’Tou’n siblings has been useless, improper, and foolish in nature, especially when one considers the status that the both of you hold.” The first then began; their metallic, distorted voice held much contempt in its tone.

“One ought to punish such behavior... But your father was an esteemed and well-respected man, and almost solely because of his memory, your punishment will be lesser—a warning that you must withhold and respect, and if either of you decide to go against it, both of you will find themselves a part of the wall.” The second finished, and Kanrel could, from where he stood, observe the sudden change of air in the room; the mention of ‘the wall’ brought this sense of coldness and dread among the inhabitants of the room, especially those who had knelt.

A bell rang, its pitch the highest of the bells that had been struck; its hum went around the room for minutes; it wavered around the circular room as if bouncing from wall to wall, ricocheting continuously and without stopping, until it, again, blocked his ears, as if he had ascended to a higher altitude. And with that, the doors opened and they were disregarded—their presence was no longer needed, and it was highly unlikely that any one of the members of the council would give another thought to any of them.

They stepped out of the circular room, and the doors were shut behind them. Again, Kanrel was greeted with a smile without a wrinkle and a pair of dull eyes that peered deep into his soul.