The Priesthood

It takes an immense amount of willpower to keep going. Life is suffering, and this suffering doesn’t just magically go away; it remains and persists; it returns when you think you’ve gone past it; it lifts up its head from day to day and reminds you of its existence. Indeed, a great mountain it is. One many will keep climbing until their limbs are bloodied and broken until their minds can’t take it, until the day they succumb to its will, and death claims them through time, or through means that one can’t expect. Yet they keep climbing this mountain, for they do not know of anything else, and most fear to look behind them, to see the fall that awaits if they take a misstep—a return to an earlier, much more painful moment in one’s life.

It is as if there are two options in life: you either live or you die, but there is a caveat for the former option: you must suffer to live, and either way you die, but at least life itself might’ve given you something that is worthwhile.

This is what Kanrel realized as he woke up one morning, finding it difficult to get up from the warmth of his own bed—to suffer through yet another day whilst in search of a moment that might not bring torment. The seemingly easy thing would be to just remain in that bed, to skip through this day and await the moment where existential dread and the fear of suffering would not cloud his mind, but the only way to survive is to get up and accept that you will suffer either way. At least this way he might choose where and when he suffers; at least outside he might suffer among others, even if those others are unable to understand a word he says.

Of course, everyone knows that this choice is nothing more than an illusion, one that has to be kept, lest the lack thereof force you to give up and fall down that mountain to a new place of torment, from where one finds it impossible to get back up. So he forced himself up from that bed and began this day as he had begun so many before.

Progress is slow; one seldom can see the change that happens within, even when they spend hours of their days immersed with their own thoughts and feelings. And it is so easy to remain in a previous mindset because of previously learned thought patterns that then force you to see yourself in a certain way.

A mantra of, “I hate myself,” “I am to be blamed for all that has happened,” and “I regret each and every moment of my life,” and that paired with vision-like memories of things that you’ve done and what have happened to you; all this too keeps up this toxic mindset that overwhelms and tries to mask all the good that has happened to you, forcing one to either ignore the good or just see it as something that is no different from the bad.

How does one even begin to break such a vicious cycle when that might as well be all that you’ve ever known?

Such thoughts clouded his mind, and recently he had begun, at least to try to find those moments in which he went through a moment of overt self-criticism and hate, to instead notice this feeling of regret and be a little more gentle with himself. But it is, at times, difficult to remember or to allow oneself the mercy one might have for others.

But perhaps today he’d remember to give himself mercy; perhaps today he’d be less critical of himself; perhaps today he could forgive himself his own existence.

So he went on to yet another day, not so different from the many that he had lived through: Kanrel would meet up with Y’Kraun, and they’d have breakfast at the nearby restaurant, with whose owner they had become quite acquainted with, even learning the Atheians name, “B’ou Ne’un,” apparently a female, but Kanrel could hardly tell if they were or if Y’Kraun was trying to trick him, but either way, the food B’ou provided them with was what helped Kanrel gain back the weight he had lost, and by now he was more or less healthy in that regard. He also realized that it was best not to know what the average Atheian cuisine might be made out of. At least twice, he had asked Y’Kraun what they were eating, and both times his sole friend in this city of towers had as an answer named a bug Kanrel had never heard of. Ignorance is bliss, and in this situation—especially when it came to food—he wanted to remain as blissful as he could. Then again, it was possible that Y’Kraun enjoyed tricking the Darshi, whose handler he had practically become, and Kanrel couldn’t hold that against him.

After these breakfasts, they’d continue touring the city so that Kanrel might in the future traverse it without difficulties, and by now he had been able to produce an extensive map of the city that he kept on updating at the end of each day, adding new points of interest, buildings, streets, and parts of the city that held stores, restaurants, libraries, and many other things and places, where he’d like to visit when he’d have the chance to do so.

And when Kanrel would return to his small apartment, he’d do what he had almost always done in his life: write down information that he deemed worthy of writing down. Be it those points of interest or snippets of history that he learned through Y’Kraun, who would work as his translator and his guide, as they met many Atheians who were unable to hide their curiosity as they approached the alien-looking creature, known as a human, to ask what they might be and from where they might’ve come from.

All in all, it was a blessing that there was something to do. Something to throw his mind and will at, to avoid slipping down that mountain he so wished to climb…

But this day was different from the previous days, as they would, for the first time since the very first day that Kanrel had arrived in this city, reach the outskirts of the city and the walls he had heard so much about but hadn’t had the chance to study. For these very walls were, to him, more mysterious than the things those walls tried to protect. After all, he had heard so much about them by now. And from what Kanrel could gather, the walls were considered, for some reason, a punishment for the most heinous criminals that there might be, yet at the same time they were somehow sacred to many—a construct that struck the many Atheians he had the pleasure to communicate with, with fear and awe, and at times almost religious fervor. The walls were, indeed, a curiosity, a point of interest; he most wanted to learn and understand…

While looking at the wall from within the city, it did seem like a normal wall and nothing else. It was tall and a mix of dark and gray brick, with no other buildings touching it. There seemed to be at least a ten-meter perimeter right next to the wall that was kept clear at all times. A barren strip of land in between the walls and the city itself, even and without even a singular stone or boulder to make it uneven or imperfect in its emptiness. In this perimeter, there was no one, and the duo came to a sudden stop at the edge of this barren portion of the city.

Y’Kraun seemed nervous for some reason and even grabbed Kanrel’s arm to make sure that he wouldn’t step on that narrow strip of land. “We shouldn’t wander too close.” He hissed, a mask of worry covering his face.

“Why?” Kanrel asked, staring past the strip of land at the walls that reached several tens of meters up toward the ceiling.

“It would be disrespectful to bother the ancients," Y’Kraun whispered and pulled Kanrel away from the walls and the land between them and the city.

“Ancients? You’ve never mentioned these ‘ancients’ before.”

“We prefer not to talk about them, lest we find ourselves too curious and having the desire to go closer to the walls... To touch them, even when we know that we should not.”

“But they are just walls, are they not?”

Y’Kraun seemed more nervous than before. “Yes—they are just walls, and nothing more.”

Kanrel peered at the Atheian for a few moments, intrigued by his reaction, then he smiled, “I’d like to see these walls from outside the city, of course from far enough.”

Y’Kraun hesitated for a while; he seemed to be torn about the whole situation, but after a while, he let out a long sigh, “Very well... But if you take even one step too close, I will have to use force to bring you back into the city.”

Kanrel scoffed, “Do not worry, my friend. If there is a reason why you and I aren’t supposed to get too close to these walls, then I will, of course, listen to your advice; I wouldn’t dare to go against your rules and regulations.”

Y’Kraun scoffed in turn, “I can see the curiosity in your eyes, Darshi; don’t think of me as someone so naive that I’d trust your words.”

Kanrel couldn’t help but grin rather widely at that, as he soon asked, “Have I ever lied to you?”

“Most definitely more than I have." The Atheian replied promptly, but even then he pulled Kanrel with him as they looked for one of the entrances to the city, most of which were located between the western and southern parts of the city.

“The reason for the locations of the four primary gatehouses to the city was simple,” Y’Kraun had one day explained to Kanrel, “no Atheian lives to the north or the east of the city. We once did, as we so long ago marched from somewhere there, past the veil of shadows that now surrounds most of our lands. Thus, no sane Atheian has tried to even take a step or wander too close to where none could return alive from.”

So, to put it simply, there was no need for an entrance from the east or the north; such had been decided when they had first begun building the walls that now surround the city from all directions.

The gatehouse they exited was the most western one, simply known as “the Western Gate.” Through this entrance, most trade from the City of Creation came from, as well as the lands beyond them, such as the Blue-Stone Village. Because of this, it was the most active of the four gates, simply because of the abundance and the need for the blue stones that lit each room in each building of the city. The City of Last Light also served as the very center of all trade; everything flowed through it, be it mushrooms and salt from the fields in the southern lands, strange species of fish, and of course water, from the southwestern lands. Everything made its way here, both people and goods, as it was how the flow of trade was made to be because of the many tunnels that led here to the very center of their civilization below the earth.

Of course, it might’ve not been the most optimal way of doing things, as considerable effort could’ve been made in the construction of other tunnels so that they might shorten the time needed to go from the southwestern lands to the southern lands and so forth. But, this wasn’t seen as an issue, and none would go against the wishes of the council, and so far no council had ever wanted to make such tunnels. They seemed to think that what they had now was more than enough, and it did make sure that the City of Last Light remained the seat of all power.

The gatehouse was the same one they had traveled through to enter the city itself a couple of months ago. It was tall and elaborate in its facade, with the entrance itself being wide with an oval arch at the top, allowing plenty of people to enter and leave at the same time. All the while, a few dozen guards collected information about the people who traversed through the gate, keeping track of what they brought with them or what they left with, how many people were in a given party of people or a caravan, what names and occupations they had, as well as if they had any deeper connections to any of the factions in their wider society. And of course, there were also those who were on more “official” business; for example, when Kanrel and the rest had at first arrived at the city, they were allowed to enter a different queue of people and to be part of this queue, you had to have an official seal or an invitation that had been confirmed at the Forum, to enter more quickly and without having to wait possibly hours to seek entrance.

Thankfully, Y’Kraun carried a seal with him; apparently, it had been awarded to him by the Receptionist, when he had been called to the Forum to receive new orders after Kanrel had settled into his new apartment. This seal gave them free entrance in and out of the city, as long as this specific seal had been marked for such purposes. The guards at the gatehouse checked the seal and compared it to the edict they had received from the Forum; thus, they were allowed to exit the city.

Kanrel couldn’t help but wonder, as they left the city, why the Atheians were so okay with using these gatehouses to enter and exit when they were also part of the walls. What made them less of a “taboo” to walk near as well as talk about? Was it just their purpose, or had they been de-stigmatized out of necessity? So he asked Y'Kraun, who then explained, “There are no ancestors in the gatehouses." A simple answer, prompted Kanrel to ask follow-up questions, “Do these ancestors live in the walls? Are they stationed there, or what?” But to these questions, Y’Kraun refused to give an answer; he only seemed more uncomfortable because of them.

They traveled northward, along the ten-meter perimeter of the walls that had been kept desolate and without the touch of nature and Atheian alike. And slowly, the discomfort around these walls, the awe and fear that they brought out from Atheians, and the reason behind them became apparent; it all began to make sense.

On the walls, there were stories that reached the very top of the wall; on each level, there was a figure, a gray creature, not different from the Atheain who stood by him; their limbs were stretched, and they held bars that went from the bottom to the top of the walls. Some seemed withered, some almost alive, some were mere husks of a once-living creature, but all stood tall; all had their faces pointed away from the city, their eyes cast forward as if eyeing the shadows that were like a thick fog around the city as if keeping them at bay. Engravings cover these poor souls, and at last, Y’Kraun spoke, “It is the old tongue; not many speak it, for we have forgotten how to. There are many words not used, many concepts not understood, but they are there to remind us of the things that we were above and of the reasons why we were forced here." His voice wavered, as if he were a lonesome candle in a mass of darkness, trying its best to remain and give its last light to the darkness that would, in the end, cover all else.

Kanrel remained silent; he had no words to give and no questions to ask for now. He stood there and took it all in as it were, as he saw it. In a way, these carcasses, if they even were dead, were like a library—not just a wall to keep the shadows at bay, but a history written on the very skins of those who witnessed some of it. And the collection of them then formed a story that was complete—the whole history of the Atheian people—but all indeed written in a language barely alive.

From so far away, Kanrel couldn’t really make out shapes or even give a guess what those engravings might want to share with the world. He knew that this view was horrible, but at the same time, he could feel the necessity of its existence. And the way these figures stood, their libs spread apart; a memory resurfaced, one of a dream he had had:

I am pierced, stuck—part of a wall that stands between the city and the shadows that lie past its walls. Beneath we are, and no light is potent enough to pierce through, to exorcise the lost souls that now roam the edges of my vision.

…

It is cold here, and against the fog that never settles, only together might we hold these walls intact; only together might the rest live. Only together must we reach the point of insanity.

These walls devour me; we are together, but not one memory remains between us; we have long forgotten who we are; only our purpose remains, as we must hold, even after we break; even after I can no longer remember how to remember or even how to forget.

A shiver ran down his spine as he then looked at what the figures on the walls looked at.

It quivers and bubbles, the darkness around us; one can almost touch it, feel its rough edges and smooth junctions. A mass of figures sewn into one, their voices loud and silent, a choir of lost souls, of a lost time, of a lost empire; the servants of a dead god…

“Who was the madman who claimed that they could kill a god?” He whispered a lonesome question as he felt the urge to enter those shadows, to feel their despair and reach the truth they didn’t want the world to forget.

“Did you say something?” Y’Kraun asked, a worried expression resting on his face as he observed the human and his gaze that was set somewhere so deep into those shadows that refused to avert the light that came from the false sun above.

Kanrel shook his head. “Nothing important.” He said, now a bit louder, he turned around again, and met the frozen eyes of the so-called ancients on the walls, “Let’s head back to the city; a good hearty dinner is much needed." He said, and in turn pulled the Atheian with him, away from the walls and the shadows that lay not so far away; away from the barren strip of land that surrounded the walls from both sides; away from where the shadow met light; away from the figures that had forgotten how to remember and how to forget.