The Priesthood

‘Tap,’ a singular drop from so far above, came down and struck the pillow beneath his head; he had observed it, how it came down, how it collected itself into that one position, then came down as that singular drop. A memory of rain, as it once was, but now seen as something else. How an alone drop can be so violent?

‘Tap,’ another soon followed, that cruel sound that overwhelmed; it took him by the ear and pulled him with it. It had brought him down here with it. Onto this pillow, to stare once more at the ceiling, yet another ceiling with another meaning. Yet another reason to lie still and look only above, to observe another existence of a ceiling; how different they were from one another, how one ceiling held another feeling, and this one... this one and all the ceilings in this building, they too were now spoiled with a new feeling.

‘Tap,” came down the second to last drop, a tear that dived from above, struck the other side of his pillow as if in control of its own destiny; it wanted to lay beside him, it wanted to strike near his ear, to be yet another one to take him by the ear, to come down with it, and to look above, to remember all those times so different; when the rain still had another meaning; when a ceiling held not the memory of murder but the memory of the inability to move; to change...

Then came down the last drop; it broke the silence for one last time; it struck his forehead, as if to mark a spot, that someone who would not be able to run away from what had happened. One pair of eyes that had to witness something it did not wish to...

‘Tap,” and silence became whole at last.

A lance of ice pierced through flesh—he had done the same. The smell of burned flesh filled the air—he wasn’t so different. Two pieces of a man fell separate on the carpet. Murder was murder, even if the way in which it was done was different. Murder was murder, as long as there was intent.

Yet, to survive, he would do it again. Even then, it would force a man on his knees; it would weigh upon him for the rest of his life. Only those who had lost the last specks of humanity would be able to scathe away that weight; only they wouldn’t feel such a burden deep within their hearts. Only they would be able to meet eyes with their own reflection and not feel disgusted before the creature they had become. And even when one seemed so human, so humane, they were not. Their hearts are cold, and the life of another is only a bother, as much as can be the death of another. A different sort of burden...

Y’Kraun was absent for a few days after what happened, and Kanrel was allowed to navigate his way freely to whichever room or chamber he would have to sit in for hours, just to repeat the things they had told before... The day after Lou’Deu’n’s death, he feared the most to be placed in that same chamber again, to sit once more across from the Atheian, who had so brutally committed such an act... But A’Daur’Kra had stopped attending—now there was just A’Trou’n, Vaur'Kou'n, and whichever representative of one of the factions happened to stumble into their company that day.

At least it wasn’t the same room.

Was A’Daur’Kra someone whose heart felt the burden of killing another? Was his absence born from guilt or regret? Could the Atheian face his own eyes in the reflection and feel nothing? Was there compassion, empathy—anything at all—within that creature? Did they feel the same? Were they the same?

Days went by, and there was no rest for him. There was no moment of clarity given; no freedom to process nor words given to truly understand: Would someone kill another just to receive a piece of information they soon discarded? Would someone kill another just because they felt annoyed by the words that another had said? He had no conclusion other than "maybe." His perception of things was all he had, and he couldn’t find himself in the shoes of A’Daur’Kra; he couldn’t, at all, understand the reasoning behind the act they had committed. Even when before them all, they had rambled and given many explanations, more or less just excuses... At first, it seemed like he didn’t have the intention to get caught doing such a thing; they had been flustered only because their actions would change the perception that others had of them.

Or even that could’ve been a calculated decision. To behave a certain way, to sow more confusion among them, to only seem as if lost and flustered because of the eyes that lay on them and their actions. Only to then be as if nothing had happened. To scoff and discard the information they had pulled out of Kanrel, to get up and walk away, and not look back even once.

Days went by, and he found himself looking for him. He found himself many times, walking past the engraving behind which there’d be a chamber, one which A’Daur’Kra might still frequent... But during days that went by, he only managed to eavesdrop on a conversation between former lovers...

Kanrel could hear A’Trou’n’s voice; he had grown so accustomed to it, and hearing it so often had helped him differentiate between male and female Atheians; such a difference was so slight that only an accustomed ear could hear it. As he could hear everything through the pearl, everything was translated to him, but even the emphasis of a word remained; so did the tone and the timbre of one’s voice. By human standards, all of their voices were more or less the same, fairly deep, and something one could describe as manly. The female Atheians had a higher voice, but just ever so slightly.

There was one thing Kanrel had learned about the Atheian language, and it was this: the gender of the one who spoke was most present in the way in which they spoke. A word would have a different gender to it when spoken by a male representative of their species, and thus, technically, each word had a double. The word meant the same, but depending on the speaker and their gender, there would be a slight change in a word. Be it a different vowel or a consonant as a prefix or as a suffix.

It was interesting and not totally unfamiliar as a concept to him. In most known human languages, gender was present in one way or another. Sometimes words would have a gender; in some languages, a towel might be represented as feminine and a carpet as masculine. It made one wonder why such a phenomenon was present in language.

In Atheian language, it was quite clear why this was; for how else could one be certain of the gender of the person you are talking to? Even when you yourself are an Atheian.

“For how long has your new master been so... lost?” A’Trou’n asked

The room where she was was the room where they’d have yet another long session of questions and answers, mostly on the same topics that they had gone through many times before. Kanrel stopped at the door, not stepping in, remaining where he now was, not showing himself to those who might be past the threshold. The corridor was empty; only he was there.

A long sigh followed her question, “I shouldn’t tell you, but you might be able to guess the truth.” Vaur’Kou’n said; his voice was even, always so even. There was never much emotion within, less so than before; at least when Kanrel had first seen him, Vaur’Kou’n had seemed at least somewhat emotive.

A’Trou’n scoffed. “Then it must be the years of quarantine. No one to talk to, none to visit—not even our parents, if I correctly recall.”

She received silence as an answer but soon continued, “Then how can anyone claim him to be sound of mind? How is a madman allowed to rule over a city?”

Vaur’Kou’n snorted, “He does a good job—there is a reason why he was chosen over you, even if he walks the line of insanity... He is your mother’s rightful heir... He was groomed for this, and you know it.”

“And I wasn’t?”

Another silence came, one during which Kanrel could only imagine the expressions on their faces, for there was no anger in A’Trou’n’s questions; she sounded so gentle instead.

“I am loyal to your brother,” Vaur’Kou’n answered after a long silence; now his voice was different; there was emotion there after all. Gentleness.

“I know.” She answered, and with that, their conversation came to an end. Kanrel was left outside, waiting for a good moment to enter—one that didn’t seem so improper; one that wouldn’t be so awkward.

“You may enter.” A’Trou’n soon commanded; her voice had become normal. Kanrel swallowed and entered; he met eyes with her and then with Vaur’Kou’n; both of them had known that Kanrel had stood just around the door and heard everything.

“You really have no manners, not even concept of them; how amusing... Yet I am inclined to forgive you; after all, you heard nothing you shouldn’t know by now.” A’Trou’n said and smirked. Had this too been a calculated move? Another manipulation?

Kanrel bowed his head and then walked to the couch opposite them and sat down. He formed a smile on his face as he then asked, “What made you push him to the shadows?”

A’Trou’n’s eyes widened for a moment; her smirk had frozen, but soon that widened as well; her teeth glimmered in the light. “You’ve become brazen, confident, even.”

“What makes you think that you have the right to ask such a question? And what makes you think that I’ll answer?”

“It is something I should know by now.”

A’Trou’n’s smirk vanished. “At least humans seem to have a concept of humor.”

“So you will tell me?” Kanrel asked.

A’Trou’n tilted her head and seemed to ponder for a moment; her smile returned, “Isn’t the answer to your first question obvious? I know that you have brains, and I know that you’ve paid much attention to everything that has happened so far. I know you have thoughts, and I know what you might write in your little notebooks."

“So tell me, Kanrel, what do you think is the reason behind such an action? Why would I want to murder my own brother?” She asked.

Kanrel let his fake smile fade away. “Isn’t it all about power for you people? You gather information that you might have something that others don't know; you manipulate people and information so that you might have that over others."

“But to kill another is quite direct. Before what your brother did, I had wondered if your species did not indulge themselves in senseless acts of killing, but even his deeds, as senseless as they may seem, clearly have intent behind them. Every word uttered that day, was just another form of manipulation; every question asked after, showcasing the reasons for his actions.”

“Information regarding the angels is what you all truly want. A simple scholar or any other curious person might find stories of the above interesting and quite amusing at times, but hearing the word ‘angel’ brings a glimmer into your eyes. It makes you manipulate the information that you receive.”

“You wanted to murder your brother because he is in your way. The glimmer in his eyes is anger when he hears any mention of the angels and the glimmer in your eyes... I wonder, is it love for them or just simple curiosity." Kanrel explained, and as he did, he observed the eyes of these two creatures, the glimmers in their eyes, the truths they might tell him... It was speculation in the end, but it was the only truth he could find.

“So I will again ask my question... Why did you push him into the shadows? Was it really to kill him? Or were you just... curious? I doubt it was an accident."

“You have lakes down below, right? I’ve seen one, and you have seen the same one; after all, it is just behind the mound you call home."

“Have you ever thrown a stone into that calm lake? Just to see how it might ripple, how many waves a simple stone might create, for how long would it last?”

“When you pushed him into the shadows, you must’ve wanted to see how your life would ripple... For how long would there be waves? How would your life change and distort as the surface of a lake disturbed by a simple stone?”

A’Trou’n’s eyes were aflame, and her smile was wider than ever. “So I was just bored?”

“Of course not. You were curious and perhaps filled with desire.” Kanrel corrected her, knowing all too well that he was sticking his face into a hornet's nest. This was a simple mistake, depending on her reaction.

“No.” She denied, “No, no, no.” “Just no.” Her smile faded, and the flames in her eyes changed. Was it regret or sorrow there as she continued, “He took him away from me, claimed him as his own, and with what right? Just because he is my superior? No, no no.”

“He wanted me to suffer. He saw what I had and wanted it for himself. It was always so. He always wanted more than I had. From the beginning, he wanted it all. Everything was his. All should follow his lead and his commands.”

“So I pushed him.”

“So I made him suffer.”

“But now, he won’t leave me alone.”

“And I—I—am left to regret, alone.”

Her voice wavered at times, her brows quivered, and so did her eyes. She spat out her truth, the words she had kept in her heart, and her eyes and gaze kept on Kanrel. Then she smiled and shook her head. “You’ve learned much since you got here. I wonder, are the Darshi and the Atheians not that different?”

A’Trou’n got up from the couch and walked to Kanrel; she lifted his head to face her gaze as she looked down at him, then she tilted his head from side to side and observed how Kanrel looked.

“You’ve gotten much better; you’ve gained weight; you’ve gained knowledge; and you’ve hurt others. In this moment you are like my brother; your eyes feel the same; the lies you hide behind your smile." She grabbed him suddenly and began to lift him.

Pain shot through Kanrel as she lifted him to her eye level; it was so difficult to breathe.

“Tell me, oh our esteemed guest, why should I forgive your words? Why should I forgive you when you’ve mocked me so when you’ve hurt me so?” She asked and then dropped him.

He hit the couch below and inhaled air in as much as he could. He had brought his own hands to his throat. He looked up and met her gaze again. Her anger seemed to be gone; in her eyes, there was curiosity once more, and her smile had returned as if she had only caressed his chin and nothing more.

“Because you’re different from him...” Kanrel whispered and witnessed the grin that spread on her face. She leaned closer and ruffled his hair. “I know I am.” She then turned toward the door and commanded, “You may enter!”

So, the party they were supposed to meet today entered—on their faces many questions as they wondered, What had happened, what had the Darshi done to deserve such treatment?