Aeden glanced briefly at Jerome who remained unmoving, before looking down at Bosco. Bosco groaned and began to rub the back of his head. Once seeing Bosco would be fine Aeden tore past heading down the corridor. He knew he probably hurt Bosco more than he intended but it wasn’t entirely his fault.
“Things’ll be different soon,” Jerome shouted at him as Aeden stalked off.
Anger trailed him like a dark shadow. They clouded his mind to Jerome’s idle threat. He focused instead on finding Blaise.
He glanced at each passing room. Still no Blaise. Aeden paused for a moment to calm his beating heart. It did little to improve his mood. Why had Bosco pushed him? If only they had left him alone he’d never have hurt him. It was clearly their fault. Yet part of him knew that Odilo would have handled it quite differently, and when he found out he would be most disappointed.
Aeden shook the thoughts loose and decided to continue searching for Blaise. He had started the afternoon looking for Blaise and he was damn well going to finish what he started.
Aeden realized he hadn’t yet checked the second floor. He turned a corner and came upon a stairway. He took the stairs two at a time as the words of one of his gevecht teacher’s came to mind, “temper your ability for violence with your ability to reason.” Shame flushed his face as the onus of his mistake sank into the pit of his stomach.
He passed the library pausing to look inside. Blaise was known to sit and enjoy a good book on occasion. There were a few monks reading and a couple that were in the meticulous process of copying texts. It was an endeavor that Adel recently had him undertake in an effort to drill Heortian characters into his head. He used scrapped bits of vellum and subpar ink of course, they were expensive items. Glancing about he did not see the jovial figure of Blaise.
Aeden continued down the corridor. He rounded a bend and was walking parallel to the courtyard. To his right the stone archways looked down upon the garden. To his left the stone wall was occasionally punctuated by wooden doors. Voices carried beyond the closed door that led to the room of the abbot. Aeden paused at the sound of Blaise’s voice.
“...there is precedent; however, I must reiterate the fractured state of the Church may look upon such a pilgrimage with suspicion.” It was the gentle baritone of Blaise, raised in slightly urgent tones.
“It’s not the Church I’m concerned with, I’m sure our brothers to the north and south will welcome us. It’s the Emperor that may have issue.” This time it was the nasally words of the abbot that barely permeated the wooden barrier and drifted to Aeden’s waiting ear.
“The emperor is the reason for the fractured state of affairs.” Blaise paused as Aeden took a step closer to make sure he didn’t miss anything. “Monks on empire taxed roads may not …” the next part was muffled by a bird taking flight from one of their nesting spots in a stone archway.
“Thank you for your time, but there isn’t much choice in the matter,” came the whining response of the elderly abbot.
“I assume you have already given word to the deacon to the north?” Blaise asked.
“You know very well that wouldn’t be wise, I might as well inform the high priest of Gemynd what we intend. There is no choice in this matter,” the abbot’s voice trailed off.
“Choice is a matter of perspective dear Abbot, one I think you failed to consider,” Blaise said with anger.
Aeden had never seen or heard Blaise angry and almost didn’t realize the conversation was over. It was the turning of the door’s latch that spurred him to action. Without waiting to awkwardly explain his presence he turned and moved down the corridor at a brisk clip. A few final words trailed him as he left. They were the abbot’s response.
“Once cornered an animal does what it thinks is right.”
Chapter 20
“Excessive curiosity is the devil’s own brew.” Superstition of Treton
Aeden had trouble sleeping that night. His mind hovered over the words he overheard like a predatory bird circling over fallen prey. What pilgrimage was the abbot referring to? Why had Blaise gotten so angry? He tossed and turned for a few hours before he resolved to get some answers.
He slipped off his blanket and crept through the dark chambers to Adel’s sleeping mat.
“Wake up,” Aeden whispered as he shook Adel.
Adel groaned as he turned over and pulled his blanket more tightly about him. Aeden shook him gently again.
“What is it?” Adel moaned.
“I want to talk.”
Adel slowly sat up and rubbed at his blurry eyes. He looked at Aeden for a moment as the world resolved into focus.
“This is a time of silence and reverence for Salvare,” Adel said sleepily.
“I’ll throw in a few kind words his way,” Aeden said tugging lightly on Adel’s arm.
Adel glanced about the room. The other monks were sound asleep. The brother nearest him shifted on his sleeping mat. Adel’s eyes finally settled back on Aeden. He nodded his head slightly.
“Fine, let me use the chamber pot first,” Adel whispered.
“I’ll meet you in the courtyard,” Aeden replied.
Aeden sat idle in the dark courtyard. His mind was working on what questions he should ask when he saw the shadowy shape of Adel approach.
“What’s going on?” Adel said as he settled himself onto a stone bench beside Aeden.
“I overheard the abbot talking to someone earlier today,” Aeden said.
“Do you know whom?”
Aeden paused.
“No, I couldn’t tell.”
Aeden watched Adel roll his eyes.
“So what was it they said?” Adel asked.
“Something about a pilgrimage.”
Adel leaned forward, “did he say what the pilgrimage was about?”
“No, but the other monk, err, person sounded upset, and wanted to know if the abbot had sent word to a deacon.”
Adel looked about the courtyard. The trees were cast in the faint sheen of moonlight. The blood oranges hanging from the trees looked like dark orbs.
“Did he say which deacon?” Adel asked.
“I don’t think so, but it sounded like the abbot didn’t want to send a message to that deacon,” Aeden continued.
Adel sighed heavily into the night.
“You woke me up, you are defying monastery edict,” he took in a breath, “all so you could ask me if I know about a pilgrimage that the abbot may have been referring to, and some unknown deacon that you don’t know the name of, as he talked to some unknown person?”
Aeden blushed in the moonlight. It did seem a little vague now that he thought about it. He had been hoping that Adel would somehow know more about what he had overheard. Maybe waking Adel hadn’t been the best idea.
“I’ll make sure we win the next hand of kayles,” Aeden pleaded.
“And how will you accomplish that?” Adel asked.
“Prayer?”
“I’m leaving,” Adel said rubbing his eyes and standing up.
“Wait, I know how to get hold of a king’s delight, I know how you rarely get to eat them anymore.”
Adel paused and looked at Aeden’s silvery outline before sitting back down on the cold stone bench.
“Fine, carry on.”
Aeden struggled with his next words. He was already dreading the extra chores he’d have to do to maintain his promise to his friend. He hated emptying bed pans. There were a dozen other things he would rather do.
“Well, I was rather hoping you’d be able to figure out which deacon the abbot may have been referring to,” Aeden said carefully.
“You’re incredulous, I like you, but you really are incredulous.”
“Yeah, I know,” Aeden said shrugging his shoulders, but he pressed on, “So? Would you know which deacon?”
Adel kneaded his temples as if he had developed a sudden headache before answering.
“Everyone knows that there’s little love between Sawol and Bodig, maybe he’s referrin
g to Deacon Saron,” Adel stifled a yawn with his hand, “or the deacon from,” Adel paused again in thought, “there’s another in the Monastery of the Cave, but I can’t remember his name.”
“He didn’t say a name, but I think he was referring to the north.”
Adel scratched his head in thought.
“The deacons to the north wield a lot of influence, some even command small armies. They’re responsible for enforcing Sancire Law. I’ve only met one before, and he seemed more interested in money and power than in prayers.”
“What would a man of god need an army for?” Aeden asked.
“God doesn’t always step in to fight the battles of ambitious men.”
It seemed strange to Aeden to think of monks fighting. He’d seen the monks of this monastery and none of them seemed the fighting type. Yet, he had seen so little of Verold.
“Which deacon did you meet?” Aeden asked curiously.
“The Deacon of Somerset. I was only a boy, yet I still remember him riding in on a tall black stallion. His robes were dark and fine, like a lord’s. I was all the way in the back, so I didn’t get much chance to see his face, but I do remember he interrupted prayer and told us of our important new task. No more judgements for thirty days, as we were to spend our time praying for the armies of Fendrel the Great.”
Aeden’s curiosity was sparked anew.
“Who’s Fendrel the Great?”
“You mean who was Fendrel the Great,” Adel corrected.
“Sure, I meant who was he.”
Adel smiled amusedly. Good, keep him amused and he’ll keep talking, Aeden thought.
“He was the king of Sawol,” Adel stated slowly, a smile still on his face.
“I may be a barbarian, but I’m not stupid,” Aeden replied, he thought Adel was going to go into greater depth than a mere title.
A week ago they had been discussing some topic or other and stumbled upon the story of Chronum the Destroyer. Adel was deep into the story of an early man of incredible power who challenged the church and killed thousands of the early church inquisitors, when Aeden finally realized Adel had been talking about one of the Thirteen. He had been talking about the god Kegal, husband of Gauri.
“I know, I just forget what you know and don’t know,” Adel said soothingly. “He died in battle years ago.”
“Did you see the deacon again?” Aeden asked, switching subjects, trying to get back to the original reason he’d dragged Adel out of bed.
“No, he just disappeared, no one heard anything from him again that I know of,” Adel said thoughtfully.
Aeden’s mind was mulling over the words he had overheard earlier. There was still more he wanted to know and to ask Adel. If he could just remember all the words then maybe he’d stumble on the hidden meaning of the conversation. He’d then understand why Blaise had been so upset, and he’d justify waking Adel in the middle of the night.
“So the abbot’s planning a pilgrimage?” Adel said more to himself than to Aeden.
“What’s a high priest,” Aeden finally said, recalling something the abbot had said in response to Blaise.
“High priests are the holiest of the Holy Order of Sancire. They speak directly to Sancire and know his will.”
Aeden suddenly remembered the recent ceremony with the beautiful archduchess. He remembered Adel saying the high priest was in attendance, but now that he thought back on it he couldn’t remember seeing a high priest. To be fair the archduchess had stolen most of his attention, the building could have burned and he would have hardly noticed.
“Which one was the high priest at the ceremony?”
Adel glanced upward as if in recollection.
“You mean the ceremony where you wouldn’t stop staring at the archduchess?”
Aeden’s face turned red. Only the late hour of night and the lack of light spared him from further shame. He hadn’t realized he’d been that obvious. She really was beautiful.
“Yes, that one,” Aeden almost whispered.
Adel cracked a large smile. He placed a hand on his chin and glanced up for a moment, as if counting the stars.
“It was strange, we were told he would come, but I didn’t see him,” he finally answered.
“So you know what he looks like?”
“Well, no, but I’m sure he’d be wearing the finest robes the Holy Order has to offer,” Adel replied quickly.
Aeden suppressed a smile. It reminded him vaguely of his arguments with Devon.
“What about the high priest of Gemynd?” Aeden asked.
“Do I know what he looks like?”
“No,” Aeden said, “What do you know of him.”
“Not much actually. Thomas may know more, he’s from Gemynd,” Adel said as he stifled a yawn.
“Great let’s go wake him,” Aeden said enthusiastically.
“What?”
Adel’s face took on a stern visage. He looked ready to leap into an argument about right and wrong and the rules of the monastery. Aeden spoke in an effort to avoid another disagreement.
“I’m joking,” he said with a smile and small shrug, “I know you just want to go back to sleep.”
“Well you did wake me from a particularly good dream,” Adel replied.
A gentle breeze played with the trees in the courtyard, lightly rustling their leaves. Aeden’s mind churned over all the questions he had. For some reason he was hesitant to let Adel leave. Aeden knew that once he was back under his blanket, he’d simply stare at the ceiling, his mind working itself into exhaustion.
Adel stood. Aeden looked at his friend in the faint light. His shortly cropped hair had grown a touch long. His paunch was barely noticeable on his otherwise slender frame. And for some reason he felt a great affection for him. He was suddenly thankful for Odilo introducing him to Adel.
“Let’s go,” Adel said.
Aeden remained seated; one more question was nagging at him.
“Do you know what’s behind the forbidden door in the crypt?” Aeden asked seriously.
Adel turned to look at him. His face was a mask of temporary confusion, followed by annoyance.
“No I don’t. I’m tired, let’s go.”
“Sleep’s probably good,” Aeden replied as he slowly stood.
“I doubt I’ll get much sleep tonight,” Adel said.
Aeden smiled and placed a hand on Adel’s shoulder as they walked back. They had their differences. Adel was far more pious than Aeden would ever be. His faith seemed untested and resolute. Aeden, however, was often filled with a longing to understand the unattainable. And a more secret desire to avenge his true family.
“We can listen to the symphony of farting monks,” Aeden said, hoping to make amends for waking his friend in the wee hours of night with humor.
Adel laughed as they walked down the corridor back to the room of sleeping monks. The sound of Adel’s temporary laughter danced in Aeden’s heart.
Chapter 21
“Anticipation often fuels the imagination to staggering heights of stupidity.” Anonymous
The next day Aeden finished his chores following Noon Prayer and was situated comfortably on the roof alcove he enjoyed frequenting. Traffic was slow. A few days before there was the frenzied activity of a small group struggling to upright a tipped cart. Today Aeden was left with nothing but his thoughts to entertain him.
The previous night Blaise had told the story of Ansuz the Imprisoned. Aeden closed his eyes and felt the steamy breath of the city wash over him and stir memory. The story replayed itself before his inner eye.
After the death of Huta, the son of Magis then known as Ansuz, the lands fell into a period of darkness. Verold felt old and brittle as night settled heavily into the hearts of men. Pleasure was but a thought and a memory, and joy had been forsaken. Even the beautiful Bellas, wife of Ansuz, stopped her painting and sat despondently in a wreath of dying flowers. Verold had dissolved into the muted shades of grey and brown.
Salvare watched over
this dark period knowingly. His weary eye observed the last of the Scapan in the hope that humanity would be worth saving. He saw Verold weep at the passing of Huta. Shrines of the darkest stone were built and imbued with the ashes of the false god. People traveled far and wide to cast their prayers upon his ashes, to touch the shrines, and beg for the light to return.
Ansuz witnessed the people’s pain. He ignored the whispers of Salvare and unleashed his magic upon the darkened lands. He created an island of unequaled beauty. He cast it in perpetual light, so that twilight’s deep purpling was the only shadow cast upon the ground. He shaped the forests, the water, and the soil into shapes and colors never before seen. He then shaped a city from the rocks, the trees, and the sands and called it Bryn Yawr.
When Ansuz had finished he sat back and saw what he had created was good and beautiful. He called upon Bellus to cast her weary gaze upon perfection. Her heart leapt with joy and she resumed her painting. She painted until her fingers hurt and her eyes fell blurry. Soon people flocked to Bryn Yawr and sang the praises of Ansuz above that of Huta, Ghut, and Zhov.
Salvare grew angry as he was ignored. Men stole his glory. Men worshiped men, when he was the true and only god, deserving of their praise. Salvare reached down and tore the very fabric of Verold. He wrapped the lands of Bryn Yawr unto itself, casting it in shadow. He then breathed into Ansuz’ nostril the breath of ever-lasting life, cursing him to immortality. Salvare then banished him to the distant lands of Templas and chained him to the Hidden Cliffs of Desolare.
Blaise had turned the story into a moral tale of Salvare’s mercy, power, and greatness. Aeden ignored most of the latter, for he felt the Thirteen were the true gods. Three of whom had been mentioned by Blaise as men playing at gods, members of the Scapan.
The story had stirred the deeply buried emotions Aeden had worked so hard to stuff under layers of platitude. At first anger bubbled to the surface. But with anger came the bitter taste of sadness.
The story of Ansuz reminded Aeden of his lost home. It was too easy to imagine an eternity away from all that one loves, one knows, to reside within the infinite realms of immortality, writhing in despair. Just as emotion began to tug once more at the brittle strings of his heart he heard Odilo’s voice, soft and hesitant.
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