The Priesthood

In all of its glory, the beautiful engravings that garnished the walls, the comfortable bed, the view out to the city below, the presumed quality of the food that he got to eat—this lavish experience was, in the end, an experience in another prison. It was as if a prisoner had been transported to another prison; this prison was just slightly nicer, but the warden of this prison was perhaps a tad more insane than the previous one. You could see it in his eyes, his actions, and especially in his words.

How, during the long sessions of interviews and examinations, the lord of the City of Creation would stare at him, now a pearl in his own ear, able to understand everything that the human would tell them.

A’Daur’Kra would tap the arm of his chair in a slow, irregular beat. He would ask questions that would not at times make sense within the context of the conversation, questions that not many would think to ask, “Is your heart a mess?” “Does it palpitate with fear or love?” “Have you killed someone you loved?” “Can you, even love?”

Kanrel couldn’t answer those questions, not because he didn’t know the answers to them, but because it was difficult to speak the truth so candidly, so openly, to ears who would use this truth to their own benefit. And some, be they truths or not, be they intertwined with emotion or not, are difficult to, regardless, say out loud. Some words get stuck in your throat; you want to say them out loud, and you so solemnly do want to confess whatever it might be that weighs on your mind. But you just can’t say them; you just can’t speak the truth. Lest those words stuck in your throat untangle and unwind themselves, bringing forth a burst of emotion that you can’t control nor handle at the moment, or perhaps ever. Yet one yearns to release them, to set them free so that you yourself might be free at last.

So he lied because that was the easier thing to do. And after each lie, A’Daur’Kra would smile as if knowing the truth.

“No, my heart has never been a mess. No love nor fear have I felt. Never have I killed someone I loved. No, I cannot love, for I forgot how." Each lie is one that brings forth a memory you almost want to forget—a regret that is there and remains even if you think you’ve gotten past it. When can one get past such regret?

He had hoped for change to come—for him to be someone he was not, a better version of who he had become; but he could never change for as long as he refused to do so for the sake of a memory.

This was insanity. He had made himself insane. All for the sake of a set of memories that made him tell those lies. They would populate his mind, even when he didn’t think about them for a long while, yet they would always return as unresolved, even when he thought a simple confession within his mind was enough or one made on a letter left between the pages of an old book.

People who are unwilling to change never do so. People who refuse to be honest, at least to themselves, can never be who they truly are. And if one is unable to face the consequences of his own actions nor his own emotions, he then must distract himself; force himself to not think nor face what might as well be around the next corner; thus, when Kanrel wasn’t being examined or interviewed by, at first, A’Daur’Kra and his personal companions, be they other nobels, wealthy members of society, scholars, or even priests, Kanrel would spend his time with magic. The theory and the practice of it; after all, his time stuck in the visions had given him a better understanding of it, a better feel for it, and now it was time for him to hone and better the system that he had come up with. To push himself past his own initial ability, to come, at least, a little bit closer to the power that the Sharan and the Atheians seemed to be able to wield.

By now, in comparison to most other priests, he would most likely be far more powerful and knowledgeable about magic and how it truly works. But if he wanted to make sure that he’d survive this alien environment with its outlandish inhabitants, he would have to come up with ways to make sure that he’d live no matter what even if he’d find himself a murderer once more.

A murderer once more... Would it be murder to kill a being of another species? Of another race, especially when that race or species is as or even more intelligent than his own species. It was a line of questions that he had wondered before, but more so in the context of livestock: Was it murder to kill a sheep or a cow? A pig or a rabbit? Of course, it wouldn’t be for the pleasure of it; it was simply for food. He himself had never killed one, but he had eaten said meat; was he then not a participant in a line of practice that one could, depending on his or her own morals and ethics, consider murder?

Of course, he wouldn’t eat an Atheian, nor would he kill one with the purpose of eating one. But then again, in the end, he would only ever have to kill one if his own life was in danger.

He wouldn’t kill a dog unless it attacked him first. He wouldn't kill a wolf or a bear unless it wanted his blood. Thus, he wouldn’t kill an Atheian unless it wanted to kill him. When he had been in the body of Hartar Agna, he hadn’t cared as much, since he was far too cognizant of the fact that it was, more or less, a dream in which everything had happened. As Ignar, on the other hand, in the moment he had killed Kalla, he didn’t know that he was, in fact, Kanrel Iduldian; that all that happened had happened in a dream. But at least, when he woke up, he knew that he was Kanrel, who dreamed of being the Sharan known as Ignar; but in a way, he couldn’t be certain that he wasn’t Ignar dreaming of being Kanrel instead. Thus, he wondered if there truly was any difference at all between Kanrel and Ignar. They were, after all, so similar in the end.

There was something Kanrel had noticed, a feeling that had gradually become more prominent the closer they had gotten to the city, and now at the heart of it, it wavered and remained still; this foul air, the disgust that he felt, became so still, something he could get used to. It was like water in a swamp that had once been a battlefield; the air felt stuffy and the water had no movement, and each step had to be taken hesitantly, lest you get swallowed by that swamp and drown in its still waters. And if you took no step and remained still as did the water, then you’d surely become sick. It was as if the foul feeling that surrounded him would alter him somehow. Affect his mind, not with fear or anything like that, but with murderous desires, and the regret and grief of those who had long ago perished. It felt as wrong, if not even more wrong than what he felt when using magic... And that regret, that grief that was intertwined with it all, reminded him of that touch...

He brought his hand to his chest. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he could still hear them. Shivers ran down his spine, and he found himself looking outside of the window—past the buildings and the lights, past the lanterns that kept them at bay, toward the shadows that lay claim to all else.

He ought to remember them, whoever they were, whoever brought them their demise... But who could tell him the truth? Who would know about that truth?

“Do you, at night, hear their voices?” He had asked him... There might be just that one person who knows more about them than he does. Kanrel needed a private audience with A’Daur’Kra, but the rest would not leave his side, not those who had brought him here nor those who seemed to be under the direct command of A’Daur’Kra. To have such an audience with him seemed nigh impossible.

During the first two days at the City of Creation, he found the answer to one of the questions that he had: Does the city remain bright through the nights as well? And the answer was a simple "no,” which came during a moment far less simple than the answer received...

The first night, being unable to sleep as he was, Kanrel had stood and looked outside from the large window that gave a view of the city below and the things that were past it. He had a thought, one he had had before. A certain call one sometimes has; some have it when they face times of deep trouble; some have it in their nature; some have it regardless if it is in their nature or if their lives are troubled; sometimes one just has such a call when it fits the situation, be it because of curiosity, be it an actual call from the beyond; a call of return, for have we not all been born from the void, the emptiness and lack of memories that we have before a certain point in our childhoods? And do we not return to such a state of nothingness in the end? First, we see nothing, then the world blinds us with its light... We live, mostly in the light of day, through difficult times, true happiness and love, through hatred and regret, through forgiveness and illness, until we reach the final moments of our lives. We die in whichever circumstances seem to fit us the most, be it disease, be it old age, be it through violence or worse; be it surrounded by our loved ones, be it alone, in our beds when we least expect it... The world blinds us once more, this time not with the light but with the lack of it. We return to that darkness we came from as if it were a womb that surrounds us; just the only difference is the kiss of coldness that leaves our hearts empty and unable to beat, for even it shuts down as the lights fade away.

And the lights went out. The bright lights that came from above him shut, and so did those that were across the city; the buildings on top of which the mirrors were and distributed the light among its streets went out, and all lights except the lanterns that surrounded the city gave no bright blue hue to give world color.

It felt symbolic, in a way. This absence of light and color that was outside; instead, he again saw himself mirrored on that window. He still wore that white piece of clothing that had been given to him at the village; his beard was short, and by now he was well groomed. His eyes weren’t so sunk anymore, and his face had regained some of what it had lost during his years of starvation.

This woke him from his thoughts at last—this vision of himself as he was now. He had again made the mistake of giving his mind too much power over him. A mind when it wonders so isn’t always as rational as one wants it to be. After all, the mind isn’t just the mechanism that processes things that are of a rational kind; emotions are a large part of it, and one’s so-called rational mind will always be controlled by emotions, as it is most evident in the conclusions that one reaches whilst they ponder things of importance, like relationship drama and the meaning behind the words the person you like said to you, not to mention questions like, “Why do I always feel so tired?” and “I am hungry... What should I eat?”

Kanrel, who had long ago likened himself to be a logical being with a sound and rational mind, a student far above his peers in his wits and his wisdom, had now, with a long enough life experience, come to understand that yes, his heart was a mess, and his mind was controlled by the fickle emotions that all humans have to deal with; of course, some emotions were emitted by the nature of his condition given to him by his occupation.

He formed a joyless smirk with his lips and observed the reaction on his face. Perhaps it was time to learn how to smile. Perhaps a smile helps veil a lie? But if one veils one lie with another lie, would he have to veil the veil of that lie with yet another lie? Or will there be a moment in which a lie is best covered with the truth?

He let the smirk fade away, and snorted at his own thoughts, as if he truly found them funny, a third lie to hide the first two... But which was the first lie that prompted him to hide it with another?

A memory forced itself as he was about to turn away, as he saw his far too comfortable bed and then, at last, a couch that faced away from the bed. “You’ll be fine,” he had lied, “just don’t give up, and everything will be fine.” Then he had crowned that lie with a smile—the first normal-looking smile that had ever covered his face. But it had all been a lie.

Uanna… Was she well? Had his lie worked? Was everything fine?

Kanrel gritted his teeth and went to the table where his notebook lay; it was open on a page about magical theory, a new investigation he had recently begun into the differences and the similarities with all the types of magic he had run into thus far. The magic of the humans, which was granted to them by the Angels; the magic of the Sharan; the magic of the Atheians... and the magical item Yirn had used to turn himself into an eldritch monster...

He sat down and continued his work; he really didn’t want to, but even less so did he want to think about the past. Just once, just for tonight, he wished that no memory of the things that had happened so long ago would populate his torn mind. The memory of Uanna and the many lies he had told since then... Even if such a lie was meant to comfort someone else, even then he found regret in said lie... He could’ve at least covered the lie with the truth. Told in all honesty to at least her how difficult it was, their time at the Academic Hospital, strapped to the bed that brought them only pain. He could’ve shared his thoughts about the difficulties of this new experience, the life of a priest that they all had to go through, for it was evident that he wasn’t the only one who went through such a difficult time; they all had lived through hell.

Would it have been so wrong to share that pain with someone? To help carry their pain, to let them lean on you so that you might lean on them in turn; to carry the weight of the powerless together in their hearts and on their shoulders... Even if the priests had magic, were they not among their peers as pitiful and powerless as those they were meant to serve?

Those words had been stuck in his throat for so long...

He grabbed his pen and began to write. He forced himself into different thoughts, to use his mind in the most rational way he thought possible, extending his mind into numbers and letters while writing code that he’d hopefully be able to test soon. One in particular that he thought that he would need here the most: light. And not just any light, but a light that had the property of those blue stones, the attribute or whatever, which gave them the ability to repel the shadows that were all around them...