by Erik A Otto
She would remember the captain’s parting look in the days following their separation. It reminded her of something she couldn’t quite put a finger on.
Later she realized what it was. Her brother Landon had owned a puppy once, but it had to be put down because it contracted a wasting illness. Landon had a subtle but clearly sad look on his face when he handed the puppy over to the physician. She remembered it well because Landon rarely lost his confident disposition, and even more rarely looked in any way unhappy.
Something about the captain reminded her of her brother’s look on that day.
Chapter 9
The Truthseeker
“So by Matteo’s grace, do you feel rested, apprentice?” Preto asked.
“Yes, sir. It has been several days, and I don’t feel any aftereffects of…what happened.”
“Good.”
Conductor Preto was a sturdy man who seemed to move sideways more often than forward. Despite his size, his frame looked to be devoid of fat, jowls, or other signs or excess. As they conversed, he continued his crablike pacing, his back to Sebastian, examining the volumes of books arrayed in front of him.
Sebastian couldn’t let on that he felt profoundly ill at ease after the events at the ruin. He still didn’t know what had happened after he fell unconscious. By some miracle, there was no more than a prick mark where the gargoyle had engulfed his arm with its beak-mouth.
All he remembered was being woken to wyg-lit surroundings, with the head monk, Colidas Barbitan, shaking him vigorously. He seemed to be in the forest, out of sight of the ruin. Nala sat morosely beside him, her eyes red, with a splint on her ankle. They were surrounded by a collection of Sandaliers, apprentices, and monks. Timothur was there as well, talking to the monks, but there was no sign of Perenna or Timothur’s squire.
Sebastian had asked Barbitan what happened to the gargoyle. He asked how he was lifted out of the pit. The monk ignored his questions, bent over and pressed his head to Sebastian’s in a Mattean commandment. “You will never speak of this to anyone.” Then he’d retracted his head but maintained his stare to further drill the order into Sebastian.
When Sebastian had returned to the keep, the monks confined him to his chamber, with the exception of meetings with Ravi, an appointed Sandalier teacher who dealt with disciplinary issues for apprentices.
The days spent in his room had been filled with confusion, heavy prayer, and nervous anticipation for what was to come. On the one hand, he’d committed a transgression that was a clear breach of the Sandalier protocols, but on the other, he’d made a find that could be important for the Sandaliers and the monks—maybe even so important that it could be written into one of the narratives in the Book of Canons.
His expectations for his fate oscillated between these two extremes on an hourly basis.
And now, as he was thrust into a meeting with none other than Conductor Preto, head of the Old Keep and one of the most important men in Belidor, these considerations had so made a salad of his mind that he felt uncertain of every utterance issued from his mouth.
The Conductor continued, “Barbitan and venerable Ravi have given me the account. You may have thought it a heroic thing to search this ruin. But what is truly heroic, apprentice, is respecting your teachings. You must take our protocols and every Canon at their literal meaning, and not interpret them to your benefit. Interpretation leads to deviation, which leads to blasphemy.”
Preto seemed to tire of reviewing his books and glanced fleetingly at Sebastian. “I will not teach any more on this, for what transpired is surely lesson enough. If such acts were to occur again, though, there would be swift punishment, regardless of your reasons or who your father might be. If you cannot be at peace with the protocols ordained by Matteo, the tax could be much greater than your immature mind can fathom. Believe me, as I have the unfortunate task of levying the toll.”
It wasn’t going the way Sebastian had hoped. The Conductor wasn’t giving any merit to finding the ruin at all, but rather focusing only on his transgression of Sandalier protocols. Sebastian could feel the blood slowly draining from his face.
Preto turned fully around and showed a benevolent smile, reminiscent of his more youthful portrait posted in places around the keep. “But I don’t think that will happen. I know your heart was with Matteo, and you meant no malice. I’m sure this will pass.”
Preto sat back in his chair and nodded to himself. “Yes, sometimes the harshest purveyor of punishment is not our respective authorities, or our teachers, or even Matteo; it is ourselves. This is why, for full reconciliation, you must look inward and think of how to appease Matteo.”
Sebastian sighed quietly in relief. “Yes, Conductor.”
“There is one thing you must do to ensure that this can happen, however.” Preto leaned in to him, causing Sebastian to flinch backward in his chair. He realized the Conductor wanted to issue a holy command, just as the monk Barbitan had done in the forest. Sebastian closed his eyes and leaned forward enough so that the Conductor could touch his forehead with his own.
The words were a wet wind buffeting his face. “I hear from your teachers that you are dedicated and ambitious, anxious to be weighed as a third-level apprentice and ultimately wear the white robe of the venerable. Well, here is your test. What you have seen must remain confined. Not so much as a whisper of this should be invoked. And this goes not only for your communion with common folk, but also those that were with you that day. Furthermore, you should report any such transgression from those in attendance to venerable Ravi. Is this understood?”
Sebastian whispered back, “Yes, Conductor. The monk—venerable Barbitan—has commanded this as well. I will comply.”
Preto pulled away. “Yes. You would be wise to listen to Colidas. He is a great adviser to me, and the monks perform an important service to the realm. Those that would speak of their obsolescence know nothing of our history.”
Sebastian had heard rumors of commoners wanting to decommission the order of the monks, despite all they had done for Belidor in prior generations. Dissidents said there was no more need for them since the realm had been cleansed of many of the blasphemous evils, and because there had been so few infidels to bring to justice every year.
But Sebastian needed no convincing of their importance after seeing the gargoyle. “I hold the monks in great esteem, venerable one.”
Preto nodded. “The people will be informed in good time, under the right circumstances, when the monks have reached into the heart of the matter. Perhaps our teachings will be updated—if the monks deem it appropriate.” Preto smiled his magnanimous smile again.
The pause seemed to indicate that Sebastian should respond, so he reinforced his earlier commitment. “I understand, Conductor. You have my earnest word, by the grace of Matteo, and will do as you say.” He pushed his chair away from the table and bowed his head two times in succession, the ultimate gesture of Belidoran humility.
“And so by the grace of Matteo, we are blessed.” Preto nodded and smiled, waving his hand toward the door, indicating he should leave.
With an awkward, jerky movement, Sebastian raised himself from the chair and backed out of the room, nodding again in reverence.
Once he passed the threshold, the Conductor shut the door, nearly clipping Sebastian’s nose.
The guards who had escorted him were gone. He was no longer confined to his chamber.
He started back through the halls without direction, reflecting on the meeting. In the end, he was glad of the outcome, for it didn’t appear he would be held back in his studies or otherwise seriously reprimanded.
He made a solemn vow. He would do all the Conductor had asked, with no exceptions. He shouldn’t have entered the ruin at all. Perenna had shown her strength of will again where he had failed. His pride and ego needed to be severely checked, and he would have to look inward for many a moon change.
He made his way to the main courtyard of the keep. The mural had been finished
and the scaffolding removed. The same energy flowed in the courtyard as the day he’d arrived not long ago. It invigorated him and brought him peace.
A chapter was closed, and the world could move on.
Then he saw the announcement postings written in green chalk on the bone board below the mural. There was to be a rally in the square for all devoted followers of Matteo. This announcement was the most prominent, but it wasn’t the one that caught his attention. The second announcement read, Apprentice Exam Results in. Report to the Teacher’s hall.
The exam results! With his mind in flux about the meeting with the Conductor, he’d all but forgotten that the results were due out the day before.
He moved with purpose to the Teacher’s hall, knowing that any delay would mean he would be relegated to even more nervous anticipation. The last few days had been enough.
The Teacher’s hall was furnished with a series of benches and desks positioned in square assemblies throughout. The hall was blessed with a few sizeable windows, illuminating much of the interior with a broad swath of radiant light. It was empty save for Fabian, the head Teacher’s apprentice, sitting studiously at a desk at the front of the room, doting over a large, bound text. Sebastian had encountered Fabian at one of the Sandalier lectures. He was a brooding fellow with a thoughtful air and a dry wit.
“Ahh…you must be Sebastian,” Fabian said, noticing Sebastian at the entranceway. He stood up.
“I’m sorry, honorable Fabian, I didn’t know you knew my name.” Sebastian approached Fabian’s desk.
Nodding, Fabian said, “There are only two results left to give out, and there is only one male result. You’re male, aren’t you?“
“I see. Yes, of course,” Sebastian said while sheepishly glancing down at the two wax-sealed envelopes on the desk.
Fabian continued, “Well, apprentice, I don’t know how you could restrain yourself. Almost everyone came yesterday. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep.”
“Indeed, I didn’t sleep very well last night,” Sebastian said.
Fabian seemed to tire of the conversation. He picked up one of the envelopes and gave it to Sebastian. “For you,” he said.
The envelope was in his hands. Fabian backed away politely and sat back down, pretending to read. He was surely eager to see Sebastian’s reaction when he opened it.
As Sebastian carefully broke the oily wax Sandalier stencil, his heart began to rage. With his confidence crushed by the events at the ruin, he had no sense of how well he’d done. He used to believe he was a top student, but now he had no bearing. And these results, if negative, had the power to send him back to Pyros to become a farmer or guildsman, never to wear the sandals of a faithful servant of Matteo.
It read, “By the grace of Matteo, you have scored an eighty-nine out of one hundred, and thereby shown adequate comprehension to be granted the title of Apprentice Level III. Congratulations. You have been assigned to Sandalier Thomas. Please report on Day 342, morning work hour.”
Sebastian fell to his knees, heedless of the smirking Fabian, and prayed to Matteo. “Oh, thank you, Matteo, for granting me this opportunity despite my profound imperfections. I have seen my failures and will correct them. I take on this honor with humility and diligence.”
It was a common prayer, but it felt more right, more powerful than ever. He had made it to third-level apprentice. Only half who had taken the test made it, and he was one of them. He was one of the chosen.
He kept his face pinned to the floor in prayer, dirtying one cheek then the other without care.
“While congratulations are in order Harvellian, could I ask you to pray somewhere else?” Fabian asked. “I think Matteo would prefer you do so in your room or the prayer hall. Besides, I find it distracting.”
“Oh, certainly. I would be happy to, Fellow.”
Sebastian couldn’t suppress a giddy smile after calling Fabian a Fellow, which he could do now that they shared the same apprentice rank. Then he moved quickly from the room, taking care not to break into a run. A modicum of poise was in order.
As he made to leave the room, he heard Fabian yell after him, “Harvellian, wait. Could you ask Nala Réalla to pick hers up as well? I have other matters to attend to and can’t be idle here forever.”
“Yes, Fellow Fabian,” Sebastian nodded without looking back, his exhilaration pushing him forward.
Eager to share the good news, he decided to search the keep for Nala soon after he retrieved his results. But there was no sign of Nala in her chamber, in the dining hall, or in the stables. The keep was full of people preparing for the upcoming rally, and having to wade through clogged corridors slowed down the search considerably. A steady stream of commoners were coming in the front gate as well, compounding the bottlenecks.
After he’d spent much time traversing the many hallways and staircases of the keep, Sebastian returned to the square, thinking perhaps Nala was assembling for the rally as so many others were.
There remained a strong energy to the square, but it didn’t seem to be a pious energy. Rather, it was a loud, raucous thing. The Sandaliers were steadfast at the front, but the town and common folk had been multiplying, outnumbering the Sandaliers ten to one. These people laughed, argued, and cajoled. It reminded Sebastian that there was a world outside the keep, a world where the demure Canons weren’t the center but a periphery.
Up with the Sandaliers were a few Apostles he recognized, flanked by no less than the Great Defender and Conductor Preto.
He scanned the crowd, but there were hundreds of people in the morass, maybe even a thousand. Nala could be hidden anywhere among the faces.
The throng was becoming rigid as people found their spots and the speeches were about to begin. It would be hard for him to make it to the other keep entryways with the people barring his way.
With his search for Nala temporarily stymied, Sebastian decided to focus on the speeches and then look for Nala later.
The Conductor began by raising his hand. It took several uncomfortable moments for the undisciplined rabble to comply. “My fellow faithful Belidorans. I am Conductor Preto. It is fitting that we are gathered here, in the Old Keep, a monument that has survived countless generations. It is in this great bastion of faith that we bring to you a message equally shocking and important.
“When the Shepherd traversed Matteo’s lands during the Crossing, he did so at great personal risk because he knew the Canons needed to be taught, because they were the one and only word of Matteo. Others have tried to imitate the Canons, and some have bastardized them, and until now, the Sandaliers have preached tolerance and forgiveness, for that is the way of the Canons.”
The Conductor paused briefly, then added further depth to his voice. “But it is also the way of the Canons to defend the just and to protect good virtue. It is this calling for which you have been summoned today. You have come here out of your loyalty to this need. Your hearts beat to Matteo’s drum, and this cadence has paced your march here over many leagues. And yes, we know what you’ve heard. We wish to clear the air and set the path, for tolerance has led to offense, and forgiveness has led to duplicity.”
He stepped back. The crowd murmured.
The Great Defender stepped forward. He was a round man, his girth taking half again the space of the Conductor on the stage. With his eyes uncommonly narrow and his cheekbones high, his facial structure was configured in such a way that it amplified his gregarious smile. Sebastian had seen him weave his way through crowds before, having a joyful gravity. His charismatic greetings would often infect those in the vicinity, making them smile as if not on their own accord. Sebastian disliked watching the effect the Great Defender had on others. False smiles were like a Valderan plague.
But today the Great Defender wasn’t smiling.
“Great citizens of Belidor, welcome! You have come from Tranto, Pyros, Millian, and Aston. Some have come from as far as Esienne, Tardiff, Rio Castellan, and many other great municipalities to be here. The
Defenders and Sandaliers are humbled by your goodwill and sacrifice. We are humbled, indeed, but we aren’t surprised, because this is how Belidorans are born and raised…and you’re Belidorans, aren’t you?”
A loud call back of “Aye”, “Yes, sir,” and other expressions of affirmation rolled through the crowd.
Sebastian’s fascination at the speech receded to worry. Whereas Sebastian kept his countenance calm, as any humble servant of Matteo was taught, the commoners were throwing their arms up and yelling. It didn’t feel right, so he started backing away to a more discreet, less crowded area with more apprentices and Sandaliers, closer to the exit.
The Great Defender continued. “Our graceful and venerable Conductor of the Old Keep is right. You have heard the rumors, and I’m here to clarify…”
Murmurs from the crowd could be heard as he paused.
“It’s true. The Sambayans have sacked Marsaya.”
Gasps ensued. Marsaya was a city just over the eastern border, occupied by Belidor’s allies—the Thelonians.
The Great Defender spoke louder so as to be heard above the din of the crowd. “In an act of brazen cowardice, they tore through the city in the night to massacre the population indiscriminately. They have spread through the city and are, as we speak, belching their calypso language and preaching their bastard version of the Canons. Those brave Thelonian people who remain have to submit not only to the perverse rule of the Sambayans but they also face the purgatory of acquiescing to a false faith.
“It seems the Sambayans have been moving southwest for weeks. Bless Matteo, they have left Thelos untouched, but beautiful Rio Castellan sits only five leagues from Marsaya across the Prosana river…”