(THOB) Chapter 68: The Seminary's Request (Patreon)

Ezril sat in the bow hall with Ellenel, knowing he would have to take Shade for one last walk beyond the mist later in the evening. Ellenel loosened arrows at her target, each one hitting its intended mark, but Ezril knew she took no satisfaction from it. Less she didn’t, and more she couldn’t.

“Does it get lonely?” he asked.

Ellenel shrugged. She released another arrow and hit its mark. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Are you used to it?”

She shrugged again. This time there had been a pause.

“I won’t see you again, will I?” he asked.

She turned to him with a sly grin. “Will you miss me?” she asked. When she saw he did not share her humor, her expression grew serious and she turned away. “Perhaps not.”

Ezril nodded. “It was an honor learning from you, Sister.”

“You don’t have to sound like one of us is dying, Brother.”

The title sounded wrong coming from her. He rose to his feet. “A question.”

She nocked another arrow. “Ask.”

“What is a priestess of the church doing teaching in the seminary?”

Ellenel laughed and it echoed through the hall. “How long have you had that question on your mind?”

“Since you started instructing us on the bow,” he answered. “I’m fairly certain my brothers wonder the same thing.”

Ellenel sighed, all hints of her laughter gone. “The church and the seminary made a deal that required I teach the seminarians.” She shrugged. “They didn’t see the harm since there was no war, and they agreed my skills wouldn’t be used to the maximum if I taught the sisters. So I ended up here.”

“And what was the deal?”

Staring at nothing, she frowned. “I don’t know. I’m not important enough to.”

There was a moment of silence before Ezril answered. “I see.” Then he turned to leave.

“Ezril.”

Ezril stopped, doing nothing to hide his surprise. She never called him the way she did now. There was a softness to her voice, a longing.

“I hear you are an Evangelist,” she said.

He nodded.

Her face saddened. “Take good care of yourself out there.”

He studied her. Finding nothing, he nodded. “I will.”

Olufemi found him beyond the wolf gate, seated atop a tree stomp as dusk drew terribly closer. The sun was halfway through its descent and the evening breeze was cold enough to demand a cloak, but they wore none. It had been a while since Ezril wore a cloak in the snow. Father Zakarid had told them it would happen the older they grew as Hallowed, that the weather would not bother them so much. Ezril’s brothers had stopped wearing theirs, so he, too, had stopped. Hope had motivated him that in time he would need not pretend to be unfazed. Time was yet to play its part in proving hope assured. He had performed the Hallowed step, he could still perform the Hallowed step, however, the other gifts of the Hallowed were lost to him. He did not have the strength, and the weather still affected him. Ezril had no answer to why this was so.

Shade bounded through the forest enjoying the sand and the grass as Olufemi walked up behind them.

“I knew you’d be here,” he said.

Ezril turned his head. Olufemi was watching Shade. The cape of his cassock flailed from the breeze. Unlike Ezril, Olufemi kept his hair cut short, but his jaw bore stubbles which he began scratching.

“Brother Talod is looking for you?” Olufemi told him, then walked over to Shade.

“What does our brother need?”

Calling Talod brother tasted wrong in Ezril’s mouth, and he fought back the wrongness.

“He’s not the one that has business with you,” Olufemi said, ruffling the fur behind Shade’s ear. The wolf had grown so big he didn’t have to bend to do this; its head stood as high as his shoulders now. “He says the Monsignor wants to see you after you’re done.”

“I see.” Ezril observed him. “And why are you using the Alduin tongue today, brother?”

Olufemi faced him. Because I can, he signed.

Ezril laughed. “Fair enough.”

Olufemi rubbed Shade’s fur, walking the length of the wolf as he did, his hand trailing its length from neck to tail. The grey black fur glistened at the tips like silver. And even in the evening light Ezril could see it as it flicked out from beneath Olufemi’s touch.

“What is that about?” Olufemi asked, nodding to the floor beside Ezril. “You did it during the test, too.”

The test, Ezril thought. The words had an ominous feeling to him, even now. He cast his gaze to the floor beside him where his Sunders stood buried to their hilts in the sand. We didn’t even know it would be our last test.

“I saw a priest do it once,” he said. “No,” he corrected. “I saw a priest do it a few times.”

“Your father?”

Ezril nodded.

“Do you know why he did it?”

Ezril shook his head.

“Is it any different from sheathing it?”

Ezril shrugged.

“But you still do it.”

This time, Ezril spoke. “It’s calming. And I don’t have to bear the weight.”

It was Olufemi’s turn to nod. It was as if he understood what Ezril meant by not having to bear the weight. He turned his attention back to Shade. The wolf looked at him, eyes searching. It was prone to it very often, watching Ezril in expectation, but looking at Olufemi as if there was something about the boy it wanted to know, something it couldn’t discern.

Olufemi took his hands from it abruptly, and turned to leave. “The Monsignor will tell us our assignments in the morning, and then we’re to leave the seminary.”

Olufemi’s action seemed to stun Shade. Not long after he was gone, it ran into the forest. Ezril wondered how a beast as big as Shade was could run without making a sound. Because it’s hunting, he answered himself. Then he basked in the silence for a while. As quiet as it was, it seemed as though there was meant to be more.

“He does it because it cleans it of the blood it sheds.”

Ezril didn’t need to look to know who had spoken. Somehow he found no surprise in the man’s presence.

He smiled. “And a good evening to you too, Cyrinth.”

“You will come to know it is not, soon enough,” Cyrinth said, walking into sight.

Ezril kept his discomfort from his face at the sight of the old man. He was nothing if not older, and he moved with a walking stick which he now very much relied on. His weathered skin bore wrinkles and freckles, and he heaved with each step. His demeanor was now, more than ever, a perfect display of his age, whatever it was.

“Come to know what?” Ezril asked.

“That there is nothing good about the evening. About this evening.” Cyrinth stopped a distance from him, relying on his stick with both hands to keep him standing. “Congratulations are in order, Father Vi Antari,” he said. “Was it everything you thought it would be?”

“No,” Ezril admitted. “Not everything.”

Cyrinth chuckled. It turned into a bout of coughs almost immediately. “Your father said the same thing,” he said when his cough subsided. “Although, he never was one for ceremonies.” Now he observed Ezril through slit lids. “Maybe you will come to dislike it, too.”

“Maybe,” Ezril agreed. “What did you mean by it cleans the blood?”

Cyrinth looked to where the Sunders where for a moment before turning his eyes back to him. “Yours are similar to his, are they not?”

Ezril nodded.

“Why?”

“I was looking at them for two months.” Ezril shrugged. “I must have ended up liking them.”

Cyrinth frowned. “Very well.” He shifted. His weight bore down more on one hand. “I’m sure, like your father’s, it caused a lot of questioning looks from your family. As for why he does it, the way both of your Sunders are fashioned causes Vayla to draw on it whenever it’s in her.”

Ezril’s lids narrowed, confused. “Draw on it?”

“Yes,” Cyrinth answered. “She cleans it of any impurities, things that shouldn’t be in it. And after a while, the metal is left with no trace of bloodshed or other blemishes. It returns it to what it was when it left the forge.” He made a failed attempt at a shrug. “At least the closest it can get.”

Ezril frowned. “And why does the seminary not teach it?”

“Because they don’t know it.”

“Then how does my father know it?”

“Because I taught him.”

Ezril’s gaze narrowed. “And how do you know it?”

“I travel, and I am old. I know a lot of things, child,” Cyrinth answered. “And do not look at me like that. There is no reason for it.” He coughed again, something fierce.

Ezril’s gaze softened. “You are dying, aren’t you?”

“It’s just flesh, child.” Cyrinth cleaned his mouth with his hand. “It is bound to die.”

“And you are okay with dying?”

Cyrinth failed another shrug. “It’s what it means to be human.” He cleared his throat in an attempt to disguise a small cough. “Our body dies, and there is no reason to oppose it.”

“If you are dying, then why are you out here?” Ezril demanded. “Why are you not getting treated?”

Cyrinth looked around, surveying his environment. When his gaze settled back on Ezril he seemed confused, frailer even, something Ezril did not think possible.

“I’m not certain,” he said.

Ezril’s worry grew. Something wasn’t right. “Cyrinth?”

The old man looked at him. It was as if he didn’t recognize him. He also seemed to strain more to stand. His old eyes didn’t seem so wise. His visage wasn’t as present. Then he frowned, shook his head, tapped a finger against his walking stick. He opened his mouth, closed it back, then rubbed a hand against his forehead. He seemed a man trying to remember. His eyes closed for the space of two heartbeats. When they opened again, he seemed mildly annoyed.

“Do away with your worry, boy,” he chided. “You will need that mental strength soon enough. And I best be leaving before your wolf returns.”

Ezril felt like he was saying goodbye to everyone today. “I won’t see you again, will I?”

“Perhaps not,” Cyrinth said, and turned to leave. “But no matter what you learn, and what the truth reveals itself to be, you should remember this: The Credo is not everything, and what it says does not change how your family feels about you.”

Ezril didn’t know when he had risen from his seat. Perhaps it had been when he thought he would never see the old man again. Maybe it was after the old man left. But he had risen, nonetheless, and the evening breeze played with the cape of his cassock and ruffled his hair.

It was near an hour before Shade returned. Its snout was stained crimson with blood, a sight Ezril could not ignore as the wolf stood before him, its snout lowered to meet his eyes. He found himself wondering what kind of prey could satiate its hunger as it bent its head, and he rubbed it behind the ears. Almost half the size of as a Titan, he thought, having only seen one, and that one having been three times the wolf’s present size. How big will you grow?

“I’ll soon be riding you instead,” he told it. “I wonder how Apparit will feel about that… Alright, time to go back inside.”

…………………………….

Crowl sat behind his table, head bent over a bunch of parchments. An ink stained quill rested in his left hand. The seminary’s letter seal was on his right, and a bow of fine Asmidian black sat at the edge of the table.

The wrinkles around his eyes were more than Ezril remembered, and he seemed more aged, too. It hasn’t even been up to a day since I saw him, Ezril thought.

To the corner of the room sat Father Talod in his customary black cassock, face kept in a blank expression.

“Father Antari,” Crowl addressed Ezril. “Again, congratulations on your ordination.” He glanced at the bow. “It would seem you will be needing this now that you are the First Bow of the seminary, and not simply one in training.”

Ezril took the bow from its place atop the table. The action was almost ceremonious: slow and observant. The bow was cold to the touch. It was a sensation he remembered very well from his brief time with it at the Elken forest. It felt eerily familiar. Ezril knew this wasn’t the reason he had been called.

“Why do you wish to see me, Monsignor?” he asked.

Putting his quill aside, Crowl sighed. “You are a priest now, Ezril. And as a priest, there are things you should know. The man that brought you to us was ordained as a priest over three decades ago, the best of his mates, a reverend most deserving of the title. Like you, he took the class of Evangelist. He wandered the kingdom. But unlike his mates, he wandered beyond it.

“Father Vi Antari, about two decades ago the man that brought you to us, the man that adopted you, Urden Antari, was found guilty of transgressions against the Credo. He was defrocked. He is neither a priest of Truth nor a priest of the seminary. He is but a fugitive of the seminary.”

Ezril pressed his lips in a thin line, holding back his confusion. “Twenty years ago?” he asked.

Crowl nodded. “Yes.”

“Then why did he bring me here?”

“I do not know,” Crowl answered. “Guilt. Maybe regret. I honestly cannot say. What I know is that he’s been on the run ever since. Eighteen years ago he was found guilty of crimes against the seminary and was convicted to the flame.”

“That’s not possible!” Ezril objected, his voice rising, his masked expression cracking. “A priest doesn’t face the flame! Defrocked or not!”

“He broke the capital law!” Talod bellowed in disgust from his seat.

Ezril looked at him. “How?”

“You forget your place, Vi Antari!” Talod scolded.

“And you forget yours, Brother,” Ezril growled back. His anger touched the surface. He saw a brief confusion on Talod’s face and the priest said nothing. This was a conversation regarding a man important to the seminary and himself. He had been given the authority as a priest and he would not stand here and allow Talod say whatever he wished about a man Teneri had trusted so deeply.

Ezril returned his attention to Crowl. “Did he kill a priest?” he asked, while Talod contained whatever anger raged within him.

Crowl shook his head solemnly. “No,” he answered. “He killed at least a dozen priests that we know of.”

Ezril struggled to reign in his anger. “Is he hunting them?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

Talod’s frown did not escape his notice. There were no masks in the room. Not anymore.

“We sent priests to bring him to face judgement,” Crowl answered.

“And if he refused, as he had done?”

“They were to bring him back in whatever way possible.”

Ezril clenched his teeth. “And you didn’t see how that could’ve been a problem?” he asked, infuriated.

“The first priest was only to bring him back for his actions against the Credo,” Crowl said. “But he killed him. And has been killing everyone else we sent ever since.”

“What was his crime against the Credo?” Ezril asked. “Was he a heathen?”

Crowl said nothing.

Ezril frowned. Crowl had the answer and he knew it. “By Truth! The seminary owes me at least this.”

Crowl fixed him with a pitiful look. It was the look a man gives a fool or an adult gives a child. It made him feel small. “The seminary owes you nothing, child. We have taken nothing from you, and we have done nothing but give to you.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Twenty years ago a dissident woman from the north was found worshipping her heathen gods, but before she could be put to the fire he helped her escape.”

Ezril’s frown deepened.

“I tell you this not because you are owed anything, but because you are a priest of the seminary,” Crowl continued. “And it pains me to say this, but your allegiance is with us, not Urden Antari. The family you have here that has come to trust you. The brothers you have grown with and come to know.” His gaze hardened. “After all, if you can’t trust family, who can you trust?”

His words, once said as a chiled, turned on him, Ezril pinched the bridge of his nose, holding back a mixture of anger and frustration so that when he spoke his tone was flat. “What is it you are asking of me, Monsignor?”

Crowl glanced at the bow in Ezril’s hand. “If he comes to you, you are to inform the seminary of it and his whereabouts. Or if you can, kill him. I do not ask this of you, Father Vi Antari. The seminary does.”

Ezril grit his teeth as he left the Monsignor’s chambers, bow clenched in his fist so tight his knuckles paled. They had instructed he kill a man trusted deeply by Teneri. He thought it madness. But he killed a brother, he told himself. They have a reason to seek justice. He should have known this would happen.

As he reached his room, another voice spoke in his head: “The Credo is not everything, and what it says does not change how your family feels about you.”

He knew, Ezril realized.

“…You will come to know it is not, soon enough.”

His frown grew to a scowl. By Truth! he knew!

Cyrinth had been right, as he was beginning to seem to always be…

It was not a good evening.