Chapter Six: The Priest and the Unpopular

Reginald walked up the steps of the temple complex in the palace district. He was wearing the white robes of the acolytes that they had sent to his house for his first day in training.

The temple complex was as busy as it was sprawling. In the middle of the palace district, it surrounded the massive cathedral. It was large enough to contain classrooms alongside courtrooms and the largest liturgical library in all of creation. He looked around as he reached the top of the stairs where the complex plateaued. He had been here regularly before, but always as an attendee rather than a clergyman. With this new perspective, he noticed for the first time the consistent architectural design principles. The colossal ancient stone structures tended to feature spires of some kind, even if they were solely decorative. The roofs were angled to converge at a single point at the top, making them appear taller than they really were from the ground.

Students and priests swirled in all directions. He crossed the yard, deftly weaving between the crowd of people trying to get to their destinations.

He looked up at the large spiral towers supported by buttresses that hung off various sides of the cathedral. The cathedral had large stained-glass windows covering most of the exterior walls. The large front doors were made of wood with silver filigreed frames. They had been left open he smelled the intense pungency of incense in the air from street. Smoke crawled through the cathedral air, but apart from the braziers at the front of the cathedral, it rose smoothly because of the lack of airflow in the massive stone building.

The building itself was huge in scale, rivaled only by the Patriarch’s keep. It was constructed with exactly one purpose in mind—to remind those in attendance that the Patriarch was God. The front half of the building was made of many rows of cushioned benches that ran the whole width of the massive room. About halfway in, the ground began to rise in a sort of staircase that formed into a wedge pyramid shape that formed an ever-higher set of steps stacked on the side of the closest caskets.

The inner pyramid of the cathedral that served as the Patriarch’s throne was build of the caskets of the God’s former hosts. Most regent’s thrones were designed to be resplendent and intimidating, but usually at least practical to hold court in. The throne’s extremely steep angle made it nearly impossible to see anyone at the top, and Reginald was certain that it would be impossible for anyone up there to hear a sermon delivered below. Reginald had never actually seen the chair up close because it was extremely illegal and sacrilegious to even approach unless you were senior clergy. Though he had heard of how intricate and detailed the carving was on the chair that by all reports was both gigantic, as well as made of solid gold.

Reginald pondered how they could move what had to be literal tons of gold up so high without damaging either the chair or the caskets. He was pulled from his speculation as the crowd murmured a bit louder and turned. Coming straight for him was a cadre of the senior priests dressed in black robes. He moved to get out of the way, but they stopped when they came to him. The group of priests parted, and a familiar face appeared, the only one without pitch-black eyes created from possessing their children in sequence for centuries. In a similar black robe but with silver trim, the high priest approached him.

“Reginald!” the high priest exclaimed. “Good to see you, lad.”

“It’s good to see you too, Uncle Paul,” Reginald replied.

“Ah, ah,” the high priest corrected. “You’re an acolyte now, that’s ‘High Priest’ for as long as you’re on temple grounds.” He smirked conspiratorially and leaned in to whisper, “But on feast days, Uncle Paul does just fine.” Paul leaned back in a relaxed posture and the senior priests reacted as one as if to give him just the right amount of space to keep him comfortable, but still close enough to be able to brownnose. “How’s your father? Good, I hope.”

“He’s ok, uh, High Priest.” His uncle nodded approvingly. “He’s mostly sad that Regina is gone honestly.”

Paul’s face shifted to appear sympathetic. “Oh, I know,” he said. “Every time one of my daughters is married off it tears me up. When we lost our brothers on the same day though . . . It breaks my heart. But we all have our duties and roles to play.”

“But you have almost a dozen children, my father only has two.”

The high priest sighed. “The Patriarch works in mysterious ways. You must trust that things will work out for the best, in the end.”

A muffled grunt is all Reginald offered in reply.

Reginald’s uncle clapped him on the back. “Come my boy, let me show you around, give you the full tour.”

“Do you really have time for that?” Reginald asked. “You are the high priest after all, I imagine you have better things to do than escort a simple acolyte around. I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to go to class anyway.”

“Bah!” Paul waved his hand. “This class of acolytes started weeks ago, so you’re already behind, what’s one more day?” Reginald shrugged. “Plus, I’m the high priest, I tell THEM what to do. Isn’t that right, boys?” He looked behind him to the group of patiently looming black clad clergy.

A reflexive rehearsed refrain harmonized and echoed in the crypt with notes of “Oh yes” and “Of course, High Priest” from the group.

“Sycophantic hierophants, the whole lot of them . . .” he said and rolled his eyes. “Anyway, let’s get started. I know I don’t need to show you around the cathedral, but have you ever been to the top of one of the spires? You can see the whole city from up there.”

Reginald swallowed nervously. He had never liked heights. He couldn’t say why, but it gave him anxiety every time he approached a significant precipice. “No, I can’t say I have . . .”

“Well, now you will! Come on, I’ll show you,” the high priest replied and began to walk off. Reginald reluctantly followed. They were both trailed by the group of priests. They walked all the way through the cathedral, past the pulpit and altar, further into the cathedral than Reginald had ever been. They reached the far end and Paul moved a wooden facade away from the wall. Behind it was a spiral stairway that led up into one of the spires. “After you,” he said and gestured to the stairs.

Reginald took a hard swallow and began to climb. The stairwell was very narrow and lit only by the intermittent small slit in the wall. Reginald quickly was out of breath and being in front he couldn’t just stop. He had to keep going. At last a big blast of light washed over him as he steps up the last steps.

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Relieved to be done Reginald leaned against the door frame once outside and took several deep breaths before opening his eyes to see his worst nightmare. Even more stairs. They were on one of the lower tier roofs that was very high up, but only half as much as the spires could go. There was a small metal handrail along the edge and Reginald threw himself at it.

“Ahhhh,” the high priest said as he stepped out onto the roof. “Smell that fresh, clean air?” Reginald suppressed the panic welling inside him each time the wind gusted again chilling him and sending his robe flapping. Paul continued, “Up here, away from the smell and pollution of the city . . . It’s just, refreshing.”

“Uh huh,” Reginald replied, not letting go of the railing.

“So that’s the dormitory,” the high priest gestured beneath him. “Over there are the classrooms and library. Over there is the palace, of course.”

Reginald looked up from the railing toward the palace. The keep tower reached even higher and stood as a colossal testament of the power and Godhood of the Patriarch. He observed the city from this new high vantage point. The thin spinnerets incapable of holding more than a candle and the steep sloping roof that served only to increase the perceived vastness of scale looked ridiculous from where he stood. He would have chuckled at the comic absurdity of the design if it weren’t for his fear of heights. They undoubtedly were a huge hassle to build, and they were clearly designed to impress from below, not above.

“And if you look way over there,” he said, gesturing to the center of town, “you can make out the market square in the lower city.”

“Cool,” Reginald said curtly.

The high priest looked over to Reginald. “What’s wrong?” he asked, finally noticing his tension.

“I-I just really don’t like heights,” Reginald said. The wind Gusted and Reginald clenched his teeth.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know.” The high priest became Uncle Paul for a moment. “We can go down now.”

Reginald ground his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. “Yep! Sounds GREAT!” Reginald shouted into the wind. Together they descended the stairs, and when they reached the bottom, Reginald took several big, heaving breaths to calm himself.

“Sorry again, man, I didn’t mean to stress you out.”

Reginald took another deep breath. “It’s ok, you didn’t know. I’m just weird.”

“You know what’d help with that? Getting you laid.” The high priest gave a nudge to Reginald’s shoulder. “You don’t normally get access to the harem until you’re rocking a gray robe. But hey, you do know the high priest after all.”

Repulsed by the idea, Reginald tried and mostly succeeded in suppressing the sneer on his face. “Thanks, but I think I’m ok.”

“You sure? The earlier you get started, the sooner you have a good heir. You don’t want to take over the body of a baby, do ya?” Paul playfully gibed Reginald. “Well, not that you can until they’re much older, but all the more reason to start early.”

“No, not really,” Reginald replied, not really wanting to take over anyone’s body, much less a theoretical son’s.

“Great, then it’s settled. I’ll make sure the proper paperwork gets done. And hey, some advice: Don’t fixate too much on one girl, spread it around a little, ya know?”

“Yeah . . .” Reginald trailed off, still repulsed.

“The others are looking at me like I’ve murdered someone, so I should probably go do some actual priestly stuff,” the high priest said. “But your class should be studying in their classroom by now. And hey, don’t stress too much about your grades. They’ll know you’re behind. Plus, you literally can’t fail. You do know the high priest after all.” He winked at Reginald as he turned to walk away and rejoin the cabal of priests in black.

Reginald watched them go and collected himself. He suppressed a shudder at the idea of visiting the harem. He wished he could find a way out of that. The idea of selecting a woman, much less several, to bed made him cringe. Clearing his mind, he left to the library classrooms.

Reginald walked into the class while the teacher was mid-sentence and gesturing at the board at the front of the room. “Ah, hello. Can I help you?” the teacher asked. The teacher was wearing a dark gray robe. He was bald, pudgy without being overly fat, and he had a big gray mustache like their sparring instructor.

“Well,” he said as his voice cracked. “I’m Reginald Thurblood, I’m a late addition to the class. I’m sorry I’m late today.”

“Ah,” the teacher leaned back in consideration. “They told me we would have a new student today. They didn’t tell me he’d be a direct descendant of the royal line,” he said, gesturing to Reginald’s tied back two-toned hair.

Reginald averted his gaze and touched his hair self-consciously. “I—yeah,” he said, not adding anything to the conversation.

“Have a seat. We have extra books for you in the library. Today, you can share. Grab a chair from the front and sit next to someone,” the teacher said as he gestured to the chairs.

Reginald looked out over the sea of students’ faces. Their unimpressed wan countenances stacked into an unusually judgmental stone wall. He tensed up as he walked down the aisle toward the back, conscious of the eyes on him. He selected a desk with a student that at least didn’t look openly hostile and grabbed a nearby chair. The other student scooted wordlessly over to give him some space.

“Thanks,” Reginald said, appreciating the gesture.

“Sure,” the young man said in a tone that didn’t invite further conversation.

The teacher began again. “Where was I?” he said, looking at the board. “Oh yes, so today we will be continuing a very important piece of scripture: the Patriarch’s fifteen commandments and how they interact with each other. Now, commandment seven . . .” Reginald went cross-eyed at the repeated lecture he had heard many times before.

Reciting all fifteen commandments at length, the class began to discuss the theological ramifications of one commandment conflicting with another. No real progress was made, but it rarely ever is in theological debates. As the class finished and they were dismissed for the day, Reginald tried to get to know some of his classmates as they gathered their supplies to leave. Most of them barely acknowledged him or said anything at all. Even his desk mate barely gave Reginald his name. Soon he stood alone in the class with the teacher packing his supplies away.

“Don’t let them bother you,” the teacher said. “They see your position and privilege as a threat to their status.”

“I’m no threat to them,” Reginald said dejectedly.

“Ah, but you are,” the teacher replied, wagging one finger in the air. Reginald raised an eyebrow and looked at him questioningly. “I know you may not be used to the idea yet, but you could be the high priest someday. You could be high priest tomorrow with a single well-placed bomb—Patriarch forbid.”

“But I probably won’t be, and even if I am, why does that make me a threat?” Reginald asked with a hint of pleading in his voice.

“Because you can END them. Their livelihood, their futures, their hopes, their dreams. They all exist because of your good graces. Even now, do you really think that if you told your uncle that you had a problem with one of the students, that the student would even make it another day untouched? In the best-case, you hold him back from advancement in the church. Worst case, he’s tossed out ass-first and with no other profession to fall back on.”

“I wouldn’t do that!” Reginald protested.

“And that’s very honorable of you. They don’t know that. To them, you’re a new student who got put into advanced classes that they had to work hard to get into, solely by virtue of your family ties.”

“But that isn’t what happened . . .” Reginald said.

“Isn’t it? You mean to tell me you did so well on the placement exam you took earlier this week that the review board just decided to move you into the advanced class with no prior education beyond primary school?”

“Well. I . . .” Reginald thought for a second. “They wouldn’t do that to me. Would they?”

“They would. And they did,” the teacher replied deadpan. Reginald staggered back a step in shock. “Welcome to the life of the rich and powerful, kid.”

“How do you know all this?” Reginald asked the teacher.

“Because it happened to me too.” Reginald cocked his head sideways in question. “I was the current Patriarch’s host’s cousin I was the second son of the Patriarch’s fourth son. I never had a realistic chance at becoming high priest, but I still was kin and I used my influence to advance my own personal ends. I’m not proud of it; that’s why I shave my head. If I let it grow, what parts aren’t gray would be black and red.”

“My father was the fourth son too . . .” Reginald said with a tinge of sadness in his voice.

“Mhm, yes. I heard about that, tragic really. But now he’s the second son, and with that, you are one unfortunate death away from attaining everything your classmates hope to achieve. Now ask yourself, how would you feel if the situation was reversed?”

“Pretty upset, I guess. But they didn’t even give me a chance,” Reginald said dejectedly.

“Welcome to the life of the rich and powerful, kid,” the teacher repeated. He picked up his bags and walked out of the classroom, leaving Reginald alone with his thoughts.