(THOB) Chapter 130: Apocrypha (Patreon)

Ezril lost his Tainted to his brother.

An acceptable sacrifice, he thought, taking Salem’s bishop.

He had sequestered it to a point at one end of the board, hoping Salem would be forced to claim it so he could in turn take the bishop that had caused him so much trouble in the past five minutes.

Although, the piece had troubled his brother as much as his brother’s had troubled him. Perhaps Salem had seen the loss of his bishop as an acceptable one as well. What if he had walked into the priest’s plan thinking it was his own? This was why he hated playing the man. The second-guessing never did him any good.

“You’ve gotten better,” Salem said, and his mind eased. “It’s almost as if you’ve been playing with a greater opponent than I.” He looked at him with a playful glare. “Have you been cheating on me, brother?”

Ezril shook his head with a smile. “A priest should never play and tell.”

In the space of eight moves, Salem claimed two other pieces and Ezril could feel the tides turning against him. It’s just a game, he told himself, I can lose this one. Learn from it, and one day, beat him.

Despite his thoughts, he could feel panic set in. It was the same with every game. His brother would turn the tides, or hold it from the start, and he would give himself one of these talks about how losing to him was not so big a deal. Then he would panic and mess up. Tonight was no different.

“So tell me, brother,” Salem asked with a smirk, and took his other Tainted, “What do you want from me?”

“You offend me, brother.” Ezril smiled. There was no winning this game. “Can I not have a friendly game of war with you?”

This time Salem barked a short laugh, his melodious voice filling his room. “I guess it does happen,” he admitted. “But only when I initiate the game. You, however, only make the challenge when there’s something you want.” He looked up from the board. “So, what can I help you with, brother?”

The jig was up. Not that there had ever been one. The truth was he’d been waiting for when to broach his reason for coming to his brother’s room and had almost gotten lost in the game, and this was Salem’s way of bringing him back. Ezril sighed. If only Salem had chosen the path of the polymath, he definitely had the brains for it.

“What do you know about Father Trakael?”

“The first evangelist?” Salem moved a piece unto an empty space. “The un-ordained priest?” He shrugged. “Nothing much.”

“The fact that he’s the first evangelist was all I knew about him until a few days ago,” he told him, executing a similar move. “Then Brother Talod said he told stories of dragons.”

Salem snorted, or perhaps it was a chuckle.

“With all due respect,” he moved another random piece, or at least Ezril hoped it was, “what does our instructor turned brother know of history?”

“And that’s why I’m here.”

Ezril connected the pieces, and, unsurprisingly, Salem hadn’t moved random pieces. Each piece had a purpose, and now he found himself staring down at an assault against his only remaining bishop, with no sign of escape…

Or maybe…he moved the piece.

Salem’s hand went to his chin. “Then what else do you want to know of your path’s founder?”

There it was. He had rubbed off on his brother, now the man had no patience for rounding a subject for too long, unlike when they were younger.

“What do you know of the Apocrypha?”

Salem paused, his piece frozen mid-move.

He moved the piece aside, changing its initial trajectory, ending the assault. Had he seen the plan? Ezril wondered, or was it his intention to prolong the match.

“That,” Salem said, “is a word I’d never have expected you to ask me at any point in time.” He thought a while. “Perhaps your encounter with an Broken has you thinking of more things than you ever would.”

Unsure if his brother was insulting him, he pressed on. “What’s the Apocrypha?”

Completely disregarding the game between them, Salem sat back, “The Apocrypha is a collection of books intended to serve as part of the scriptures of Truth that the church deemed too…” he twirled his hand before him in thought, finally ending palm up, “for lack of a better word, troubling, to add to it,” he finished. “But also too enigmatic—again, for lack of a better word—to destroy. Simply put, they are books with questionable origins, either by plain existence or content.” He leaned forward and moved a piece. “Evangelist Trakael wrote most of the books in the collection, and is the most enigmatic author of the Apocryphal.”

Ezril moved his king from harm’s way. “And how do I get my hands on one of these?”

“That part’s easy. Use the library.”

“Which one?”

Salem frowned at the board, his brows creasing in thought. “Ezril,”

“Yes.”

“You’re in the building that vaunts the third largest library in the realm, asking of how to find books written by one of its founders,” he raised a piece then returned it, “which one do you think?”

Ezril frowned at him. “You could’ve just said this one.”

Salem returned it with a smile. “And where would be the fun in that?”

“But what can you tell me about it before I find the library?”

“Well,” Salem finally moved a piece, “he did speak of a dragon. Something about finding one in a mountain to the south.”

“Has any other evangelist thought to verify it?”

Salem frowned at him, or maybe it was the move he made. “Is it the dragon you’re here for, or do you want to learn of the Broken?” he asked.

Ezril sighed. “Tell me about the Broken.”

“Well, we do know there has never been a confirmed sighting of an Broken since the existence of the realm,” he began, then looked at him. “Until now,” he added. “However, Trakael spoke of a village he found littered with corpses of what he claimed were the Broken.”

“I thought they were already dead?”

Salem sighed, as if having to deal with a dumb child. “You killed one yourself, brother. What do you think?”

Ezril pursed his lips. He deserved that.

“This was over two seasons before he returned with the news,” Salem continued. “So having little men to spare, the understanding that too much time had passed, and the fact this acclaimed place was too far away from the realm and in another man’s land, they paid no heed to it.” He moved another piece and Ezril responded immediately. He frowned. “But the simple existence of the Broken wasn’t the bone of this particular write up,” he continued. “It was the corpses of those he found in the village that troubled him. Even though some had died fighting their fiendish foes, he claimed the others had died of a disease. The only thing he could discern from his survey was that the Hallowed died first, then the un-Hallowed. The Tainted seemed to have died the latest… or they were immune to it…” he scratched the back of his head, frowning. “I’m not entirely sure of what he said of the Tainted. But I know they survived the longest.”

He finally moved another piece, his queen was poised to attack the king, and Ezril almost stopped listening. It struck him as a desperate move.

“Apparently,” he added, “he believed the Broken carried some sort of contagion that affected the Hallowed faster than the un-Hallowed. And if anyone had a chance against it, it was the Tainted. Sadly, he didn’t have enough time to study the event because he had to move on lest he contract whatever it was.”

“Was he a doctor, too?”

“I have no idea.” Salem shrugged. “But most of his writings made him sound as if he had some knowledge of it.”

Ezril paused. “His writings?” he asked, then moved his king from harm’s way. “When did you read his work?”

Salem chuckled. “You think the rest of us just sat around while you and Darvi prepared for your big meeting? Of course not. I took the time to peruse the library.” He moved his queen in attack of the king again. “Takan updated himself on the architecture of the cathedral, seeing as it’ll soon be his home, and Olufemi…” He shrugged. “Well, I guess he did what he always does when you’re not around; stayed in his room.”

“So you spent three days reading the Apocrypha?” … By Vayla why are you, an exorcist?

“Arnesh! No. I tried looking for the lost books first,” he answered. “But I couldn’t find them. No surprise there.”

“The lost book?” he asked, ignoring his brother’s use of the heathen god. It was probably a real god, but he’d likely never come across him… or her, considering Cyrinth hadn’t mentioned the name back at the forest tribe.

“Yes,” Salem answered. He took his eyes from the game and, when he caught the look on Ezril’s face, he added, “All the books deemed apocryphal were written by priests, so I’m guessing at some point in time the seminary realized the church wasn’t taking the work of its priests seriously so they stopped presenting them with works that Tainted on topics addressed in the scriptures. The church probably demanded they continue to present them seeing as it was a part of some arrangement but the seminary claimed there were no such books.”

“Then why didn’t the church just search its archives?”

His brother shrugged. “I’m guessing they did. Probably found the same things I did.” He looked at his queen and frowned. Somewhere in the last few moves Ezril had turned the tides, and now the queen was trapped. In two moves he would lose the piece. “You’ve gotten really good at this, brother.”

“I’ve played you long enough to pick up a few things.”

“Either that, or you’ve been learning from your secret war lover.”

Ezril laughed.

“Is it Helva?” Salem asked. “Because that woman seemed like she could beat anyone in a game of war.”

Somehow remembering the tribe brought up a taste of bile, and it must have shown on his face because his brother apologized.

“I’m sorry.”

Ezril waved it away. “You did nothing wrong. So what about the lost books? If they are not in the archives, or the cathedral, or the seminary—because I’m certain the church wouldn’t have stopped at the archives—then where are they? Perhaps they really are lost.”

Salem snapped a finger. “They didn’t,” he answered. “And they aren’t. Rumor has it that the books are divided and their locations are known only to the apostles.” He moved his queen, making an escape Ezril hadn’t notice previously.

So the rumored books were practically in the rumored hands of a rumored group of people who were rumored to make the major decisions of the direction of the priesthood. Ezril almost laughed. This was beginning to sound like one of Hunmar’s stories. Then again, the man had told stories of the Broken, too.

“The Apostles? Really?”

Salem shrugged.

The apostles were said to be the existence of a select number of priests recognized as the elite of the priesthood. Twelve in number, they served to represent the twelve brothers of Tamaron Duret, and came together to make decisions only in time of true crisis.

This title was said to be carried for life. And the only way to renounce it was to be defrocked and excommunicated. But considering how much secrets came with the position, these were not easy options, so most of them were said to hold it till their death.

“What can I say,” Salem answered and moved his queen after Ezril. “The Apocrypha leads to a rumor of a collection of lost books, which just happens to lead to the rumor of an existing secret conclave existing in the history of the seminary.” He smiled. “Where there is smoke, brother, there’s usually fire. And with so much smoke I dare say something’s definitely burning. Either the lost books, the apostles, or both, exist.”

“And you’ll find out.”

“Not at all.” Salem leaned back, shifting his weight to rest on the backrest of the chair. “I’m too lazy for that. The Broken are back, and they’ll no doubt pose a crisis. And if that happens, the conclave will no doubt come together, and that will be a chance for some dedicated conspiracy theorist to try and flush them out.”

Ezril looked at his brother. “Why in Vayla’s mountain peaked tits are you not a polymath?”

“Because I would die bored. And speak of Vayla with more respect.” He rose from his chair. “Now, if you don’t mind. I’d like to have my sleep.”

“Sleep? But—”

Ezril’s eyes settled on the board, and there it was. Salem’s queen stood before his king, protected by his remaining Hallowed piece all the way on the end of his half of the board. A game of forty pieces had boiled down to a mere twelve and he had still lost it.

“You almost had me,” Salem told him, returning to the board of his defeat. “When you moved your Hallowed to hold off my queen,” he Tainted one of the many squares, “here. I thought I was done. But then I moved here, and,” he Tainted another, “you moved it here, and then you started following me.” He Tainted another, “here,” then another, “here,” then he settled on another. “and finally here. The rest wasn’t difficult to put together.”

Ezril watched the trail in shock. Had he really played that? He’d have expected such a foolish blunder from a him in the seminary. But him, now? It was completely baffling.

“Yes,” Salem added, moving away from the board. “I thought you were stupid too. Then I wondered if there was a plan I simply wasn’t seeing.” He shrugged. “But I guess I was right the first time; you were stupid.” Then moving to his bed, he collapsed on it, face down. His next words were stifled.

“Put out the lights when you’re done. And please close the door behind you.”

Ezril blew out the lanterns and left.