The Priesthood

For what was to come, he felt that it would be most appropriate to pay close attention to his audience. How their eyes would flicker, how their expressions would change, how they might gasp out of surprise, or whichever way they might exclaim or showcase the varied emotions and reactions that one might have.

“During those times, it was rare, some would say unusual to see a woman join the battlefield for combat. And so, some made protests against it, but most understood that at this point in the history of humanity, all was needed so that at least some could survive, and if there were those willing to sacrifice their lives for the greater good, why deny them such an honor?”

“Thus, as the first Herald joined the ranks of many men with the powers that were bestowed upon her and with the information and the clarity of self it had given her, she, on the first day of a battle that would last no less than a week, showcased something no man had ever seen before.”

Kanrel produced the most gentle smile he could, one that was perhaps more a smirk than anything else, even in its falseness. On the spot, he performed an interpretation of a code he had seen when he had been Ignar: a landscape, not so detailed but produced from fog, colored with light, and figures far too many to count placed upon this field of battle.

A loud inhale slightly broke his concentration, and he met the eyes of the scholar that had shuffled closer and, with its keen eyes, observed the phenomena that now lay before them.

“The two masses met; one was nothing more than an unorganized horde of beasts, and the other the greatest army that humanity has ever mustered.” On the vision of the field, the two bodies of what seemed like figures began to approach each other; “the first altercation, the first impact, as one could call it, was what would color the sky red on the next morrow.” The two armies of fog met in a violent altercation; there was no sound; it was not needed, for red color came into the fold, spreading from beneath the figures, soon spoiling the whole landscape.

“The Herald had not yet mastered her craft, but within her, there was an understanding about the very nature of power; perhaps it was the loss that she felt that gave her such clarity and understanding; she had synchronized herself with the very power that would save us all, as if she were one with it." A flicker began in the middle of one of the armies, one that soon spread, forming a great fire that burned all that stood in its way.

“She unleashed her powers, a great fire, as that was all she could think of at that moment, for what else could cleanse as well as fire?”

A’Trou’n had no reaction to any of this; it just stared at the landscape and listened to the words that Kanrel said first, and then those that Y’Kraun translated to Lou’Deu’n.

“There was great panic not only among the Wildkin but also in the ranks of men, who retreated in fear, not understanding or knowing what had truly happened... The king of Lo’Gran received news that from a woman who had joined their army, a great fire had spread and became the doom of many of their enemies."

“They found this woman, and she was brought to him after the first day of battle; by all means, she was a hero; her existence should’ve been a cause for awe and admiration, but instead a fog of fear had descended among the armies of men,” Kanrel said, and he let the fog and the fires dissipate; with that, he removed them from their view, as if they had never been there, as if they were nothing more than an image one had for a fleeting moment in one’s own mind, a memory you can’t quite grasp.

“But the king was not afraid; he was a wise man, and he understood that whatever she had used could be something that would save them from certain destruction; thus, he summoned her and asked what had been the cause of such fire.”

“And the first Herald shared with the wise king what the Angel had told her—the very deal they had made—and demanded that the king give her a hundred men for her to guide to the mountains, to the Angel that had given her the clarity she needed.”

“The king agreed, but, with one condition, that he would be allowed to see this figure for himself, so that he might, with his own eyes, determine if they should make such a creature their ally... The Herald chose not to contest his demands, and soon the Herald, the king, and a hundred members of the race of men were forced to march to the mountains; to those selected, the king only said, that this was the only way, that through her they all might be saved.”

Kanrel formed another code, this time a vision of the three great peaks, which began on the table and soon reached the ceiling above. The scholar's eyes followed this creation from its base to its peaks with wonder in its eyes. Its eyes flickered like the eyes of a child, but in those eyes, there was resolve of sorts, but the reason for this resolve would remain a mystery to Kanrel and the others there.

“When they reached the mountains and the place where the woman had planned to end her own life, there she kneeled toward the mountains and advised the rest to do the same, but the king would not kneel. Then she called for the Angel, ‘Oh, great one! I’ve done as you’ve wished of me, and I’ve brought you a hundred of my kin and their king, who has come to you in his quest for knowledge that only a creature as mighty as you might hold!’”

“But the Angel would not show, not at first... Many long moments went by, and the hundred that had followed their king and the Herald began to question the reasons for such a waste of time. The Herald begged them to wait and even advised the king to kneel as well, but the king seemed to hesitate and instead asked the woman, ‘Could I be a king to my people if I were to kneel before a creature whose true wishes and desires are a mystery to me? Should I sell my people outright, even if it might bring them peace and safety, even if the price might be their freedom?’”

“The Herald began to answer, but before she could, a voice answered in her stead, ‘First, I had thought your insolence to be uncalled for, but your wisdom has surprised even an ancient being as myself.’ It is said that the voice sounded amused, then they descended from above, their wings spreading and blocking the last rays of the bright sun that had already begun to set behind the horizon.”

“Then, the Angel spoke once more, ‘We will not enslave your people; you do enough of such things to each other as it is; instead, we wish to guide you on to a path of righteousness, goodness, and piety.’ Their voice was no longer amused, nor was there much disdain for the puny human king that had dared not kneel before it; instead, they stared at him with their golden eyes and a slight smile that brought such warmth into the hearts of the men that now could see their true god.”

“The king, perhaps more shocked than anything, finally managed to clear his throat. ‘What is that which you want in return for such guidance?’ Even then, the king managed to stand when the others could barely stay on their knees.”

“‘It is most simple, little king; you will have no other gods; you will abolish the establishment of slavery; you will be the start of a dynasty of righteous kings who will treat their people with dignity and grace... then we shall save you and your kin... So could you, Oh Little King, uphold your honor for the sake of your people?’ The Angel asked, their eyes now flickering in the form of a challenge—not one of authority, but one of honor and dignity.”

“In that moment, the king kneeled, and he kneeled deeper than the others had. ‘For my people, I would give my all.’ That was all he said, and as if that were enough, the Angel gave their blessing to humanity. That was the day when no more than one person at a time could see the true face or figure of an Angel; and the next day, a hundred and two representatives of the race of men descended the mountains: an enlightened king, now with a far greater sense of purpose than before; the first Herald to the Gods, who held in her heart the singular purpose of revenge; and the rest, the hundred newly anointed priests, who, with great confusion, had to now navigate their loss of pleasure and desire." Kanrel finally stopped; he felt so tired, and again, his body felt weak. He let the vision of the mountains disappear, letting them become nothing.

Y’Kraun continued its translation again, changing the mention of the Angel to be one of a god; its description was similar to the one that A’Trou’n had used before, even changing how it had appeared before the humans, who had come for its aid. Of course, Kanrel could’ve quite easily produced a picture of one, but he dared not do so. He didn’t quite yet wish to go so clearly against his host, the ever-gracious A’Trou’n, who didn’t seem nearly as impressed as Lou’Deu’n at the sight of his showcase of magical ability.

“So these are the powers that you received from your gods; how wonderful, I must say,” the scholar remarked. Its voice was far more excited than it had been ever since they first met. “It is not so different from what most of the Atheians are capable of... Of course, I mean no disrespect; it seemed like a rather complicated spell for your kind. I am most impressed.” It continued while not looking at Kanrel; instead, its eyes were solely kept on the notebook in its hands as it took notes on the things it had seen and heard on this day.

“Wonderful, I am done for today; I've got to review everything I’ve learned today... And be most certain that tomorrow I will have at least a hundred questions that I might want to ask of you.” Lou’Deu’n got up from the pillow, gave a quick bow toward their host, and just left without another word, but it was no wonder; the Atheian seemed to already have its mind somewhere else.

And when the doors opened and closed and the steps of the hurried Atheian could no longer be heard, a thick silence came in between Kanrel, A'Trou'n, and Y’Kraun. One that lasted for a few minutes before A’Trou’n spoke at last: “Do not use your powers without my consent; such an action in the wrong company might lead you into danger.” It said, its voice even and its stare kept directly in Kanrel’s eyes, then it tilted its head and asked, “Am I understood?”

Kanrel gave a nod. “Forgive me; I thought it would help me tell the story better; this won’t happen again, I assure you.” He promised and averted his eyes, not being able to meet the gaze of A’Trou’n.

“Good,” it said and got up, “I forgive you... this time.” Then its gaze finally found Y’Kraun again. “Serf, you’ve done well today; as a reward, your family shall receive more daily portions.”

Y’Kraun again showed its hands in submission, and in its eyes there seemed to be genuine gratitude.

“Come now, Kanrel the priest, I promised you a notebook and a pen; before you retire to bed, I wish to see you write and then tell me what you’ve written, after which you may do as you desire, but I would advise you to eat, to then wash, perhaps shave away that funny-looking beard of yours, and then sleep…”

“No matter what you might think of me, I, for now, wish you to live.” A’Trou’n then declared and walked to the doors as they opened for it. It was soon followed by Kanrel, who had a difficult time keeping up with the much taller Atheian. Y’Kraun was left behind, and before the doors again closed, Kanrel could see the pure expression of relief on its face as it began to clean the room.

They entered another room; this one was more of an office than anything else—a workroom for someone as busy as A’Trou’n. A fairly spacious interior, one garnished with engravings and shelves that were engraved into the very walls of the room; one side of the room was in its entirety a window, one from where you could see the road that would lead to where the blue light came from. It was an interesting choice, for if Kanrel had been the one to make the decision to build this room, it would have been directed toward the lake and its allure; the scenery of a road seemed a waste to look at.

On the floor, before the window, there were many more pillows and another table, on which there were hundreds of pages of paper, books, pens, and trinkets with certainly different purposes. The Atheian took a random notebook and pen that floated toward Kanrel, who received them after a quick thank you.

A’Trou’n sat down and waited, so Kanrel sat across from it, and then it commanded, rather simply, “Write.” Its gaze was set on the notebook, which now lay in front of Kanrel, and the pen, which had yet to touch the surface of the paper.

He had to think for a while; he hadn’t written a word down in such a long time. He barely knew where to begin. After a while, it became clear where he should start: from where he left off. The day before, he had entered through the dark mirror and heard the Voice for the first time. And so, he began:

The very concept of time seems to be convoluted at the time of writing, for I cannot, for the life of me, say how many years have passed since I set out on this foolish adventure. Only by the condition of my beard can I make an assumption, but such an assumption could never be accurate, for I cannot say for certain how much a beard grows in a day. Nor do I know if there are other conditions that might affect how quickly a beard may grow.

This is how he began the continuation of his notes, and he kept writing so for a few hours, condensing as much information as he could and writing down any key moments or memories that he had claimed as his own so far. And after those few hours, he was able to move on to the current situation:

By no means are the Atheians pleasant people, but at least they seem like they won’t outright kill an outsider. Their culture has a keen sense of hierarchy, and there is a clear distinction between those who have power and those who have naught. At times, one who is greater in their status, as is my host, seems to take such treatment for granted, and so do those who are beneath my host, such as the guards, servants, and other villagers, such as the serfs. The serfs and servants seem to grovel before it as if it were the embodiment of Kalma and us in his court. Of course, the context is very different, but, to a god, are the people whom he rules over nothing more than serfs in the end?

It is a curious culture, one that has its differences from the human and the Sharan cultures, yet there are clear similarities between all of them; this makes one wonder if the Sharan culture has had a greater influence on the rest, more so than one might think at first; or are many of the concepts that they’ve developed just inherent to more intellectually capable species, be it the Atheians, the Sharan, or the humans?

And, the connection between the Sharan and the Atheains seems to be the most curious one, as there is still so much more information that I need to come to any form of conclusion about this connection; for now, it seems one that is unfortunate to the Atheians, but at the same time, there seem to be those within the Atheian society that might be more sympathetic toward the Sharan, and some of them might serve them as gods.

He finished his notes for the day with a few lines pointed mainly at the physical appearance and form of the Atheians; there was one thing about that that remained a mystery to him: how does one differentiate between a female and a male in the Atheian society? This was something that he, too, had to find out.

He placed his pen on the table, then shook and massaged his hands, which had begun to ache as he hadn’t taken a break from writing in the past few hours. Then, at last, he again met the eyes of the Atheian, who patiently waited and just stared at him and his writing.

“You wrote a lot.” It said, its words coming out in almost the form of an accusation, “Why?”

Kanrel cleared his throat. “It has been a long time since I could write; there seemed to be far more thoughts and memories that I had to recount than I had at first thought, and yet there remains so much more that I have to write down; the number of pages might triple or even quadruple by the time I am done with those years, which might as well be nothing more than lost time or, worse, wasted time.” He explained, still massaging his hands.

“Would you like me to read it aloud for you?” He then asked and prepared himself for the worst.

A’Trou’n tilted its head and pondered for a moment: “For now, tell me only of the things that you wrote in relation to us, the Atheians.” It demanded.

“Very well,” Kanrel said, further clearing his throat. He shifted through the pages and then began to read, “The Atheians are a pleasant people, although at times a little strange to my eyes. Their understanding of hierarchy and how important it is to a well-working society is commendable and only slightly different from that of human society. The leader of the village is treated as they should be, as someone better than the rest, yet even then, this leader seems to treat its people fairly, even giving food and a roof over the head of a stranger—” He began, but the Atheian soon stopped him.

“That is more than enough; I would much rather hear an accurate translation than one so altered,” A’Trou’n remarked. It seemed more amused than anything else as it observed the man before it.

Then it scoffed, “Do you have any questions for me that I might be able to answer?” It quickly asked; it didn’t seem to mind the blatant lies that Kanrel had told it; it took no offense, for some reason.

Kanrel could feel an unpleasant warmth on his face; he got caught lying and was then mildly scolded for it as if he were nothing more than a child. It took him a moment to gather himself, as he soon asked the only question that he could think of at that moment: “How does one differentiate between a female and a male Atheian? From the outside, I cannot, for the life of me, tell if you are male or female, or if any of the Atheians that I’ve seen or interacted with have been male or female.”

A’Trou’n stared at him for a moment and blinked its eyes, then a smile came to its face. It was soon followed by laughter that held a speck of confusion within it, yet not a speck of ridicule. “It isn’t obvious to you.” It muttered and chuckled a little more. “It is no wonder; you’ve not seen one of our kind before coming here, so how could you?”

“Well, my amusing human, I will not let you outright examine one like the way Lou’Deu’n examined you, so I shall instead give you examples that you may observe from the outside.”

“The serf, Y’Kraun, is male, and I am female.” It said and smiled almost sweetly, “You may let your eyes linger on me; perhaps you might find the difference... Oh, and tell me when you do; I would love to hear all about it.” She added and then dismissed the man, who, at that moment, must’ve looked rather baffled.

In the large hall, a servant brought him food, and he ate it without much thought. He didn’t care what it looked like or what it tasted like; there was no reason for him to care. It would all taste the same either way. He was led to the same place where the two servants had washed him, and this time, he was just provided the means to wash himself, a clean set of clothes, and a mirror if he might need one, but Kanrel also requested a sharp knife. Of course, the servant didn’t understand a word, so he fetched one for himself, kept pointing at it, and said, “Knife!” The servant said nothing and just stepped to the side; it would not allow him to wash on his own.

After a long sigh, he got to work. He began by undressing; he placed the used clothes to the side; and he took the knife. While in front of the mirror, he took a good grip on his beard and began to cut. He removed huge chunks of it at a time, burning said chunks when he dropped them. He did so until his beard was as short as it had been when he had just entered through the dark mirror.

Now, he could almost recognize himself. Past the malnourishment that his face had gone through, he could find features that remained the same: his eyes, though they were more set and more tired than they had ever been, but at least the look was the same. This was his body. Or rather, this was what his body had become.

He tidied his beard to his best ability, while the horrified servant witnessed his actions, once even trying to stop him, only to receive a sharp glare as a response. The servant dared not take another action; it just stared in horror.

Then, Kanrel went ahead and washed himself at last; this time, the experience didn’t feel like a violation of his freedom, even if the servant observed him from the side. Soon he was done, and soon he found himself dry and in a new pair of clothes as the servant escorted him to a small room with only a bed and a table. He entered, and the servant soon left him behind. It was dark in the small room that would be his own for the foreseeable future; it wasn’t that comfortable when compared to the lavish rooms through which he had walked, but it felt more right than any room that he had slept in for a long while.

It reminded him of the academy and the room he had there. The ceiling at which he would stare and the way it remained unchanging had become a testament to the boredom of life and the memory of despair that he had learned to link to each ceiling he found himself staring at.