The sun hadn’t come up yet, when Isak started moving up the hill through the dirty unpaved road. His boots get caught up in the mud, while the mild rain pours on his hood.
The white facade of the temple can be seen from afar, reflecting the moonlight. This particular temple — devoted to Deuron, of course— is one of the few in this province, located close to the town of Evuitt.
Isak can barely remember when he was here the last time. It must have been early childhood when his mother used to travel to the temple with him and his older brother on holidays. But with older age, his mother couldn’t afford such journeys. Since then, as Isak could see from a distance, the temple only got richer and sprawled forth; now with wall statues and precious metals, embellished on the exterior. The garden expanded further and got decorated with archways and benches.
With his clothes soaked, Isak finally arrives at the entrance. As a sign of hospitality — the temple is always open to any visitor. Though, he isn’t sure if his current look won't taint the pristine place. But, maybe, it’s only pristine on the outside.
The large door, embellished with ornaments, screeches and whines.
Inside — a choir, located in the loft, is engrossed in the high-pitched song, prepared for the start of the morning sermon. The singers grow silent for a moment, glancing at the entrance before they revert back to the place they left off — for some reason Isak’s presence proved distractive. The ostiary — the temple’s own guard — gives him a cautious look.
A bit alarmed at the severity of the reaction that he caused, Isak pulls down his hood to mind the manners. Finds the empty seat in the furthest row from the loft.
It’s alright, he can wait. Even though it’s still dark outside, the sermon is attended by quite a few devotees. Mostly older people; grandparents with their grandchildren; and, of course, local priests.
A few of the visitors glance at him with a hint of disdain in their eyes. He admits it — his appearance since being dismissed hasn’t been taken care of as previously. He stopped shaving in contrast to the neat look, required by the guard’s guild, and didn't bother to properly tie the near-shoulder length hair. After losing his job, Isak felt pretty apathetic about a lot of things — including his looks — due to falling into some sort of slumber. Prolonged and dreary slumber.
As the choir sings in an ancient language, of which Isak catches only a few words — his village school was managed by one priest, whose knowledge didn’t expand to many subjects — he gets distracted by the temple’s interior. Colorful mosaics depict Deuron in different scenes — young Deuron; old Deuron; Deuron on her deathbed; Deuron with a sword; Deuron with a hefty book, titled in all-capital Justice. When the sun arrives, the vestibule would play in different colors and shades, amplified by the grand and tall windows.
Some attendees close their eyes, trying to enjoy the belting choir, while their kids sit in boredom and shift around in place. Isak’s eyes are shut too — but not for the same reason. The choir serves as a good lullaby and he still feels drowsy.
The last verse finishes, and one of the priests takes up space in the choir’s stead to continue the sermon. It forces Isak to pull his mind out of the haze and focus his attention. It is a time for a preach and then — for the faithful to share their worries in the hopes of answers and blessings.
“Oh, Deuron, The Excellent,” the priest starts, his voice resounding clear through the vestibule. “She, standing at The Limit and its gates to the other world, showed what was possible and impossible, and what lies beyond our physical existence and earthly desires back when no one believed Her…”
Isak slouches on the bench. It seems, he has to wait for a bit more.
“...Her justice is performed in ways of many, and we may not know those ways until our body withers and grows old. Some — wouldn’t know until their very end…”
After the introductory part, the priest starts the discussions with the temple’s visitors about everything that bothers them: someone’s daughter-in-law not behaving and how that relates to the respect of elders and whether the “crude damsel!” would receive her punishment; why someone’s crops didn’t rise this year but their neighbors’ did; or how to survive the coming winter when you felt like you weren’t much of a good person in the meantime; and what fortunes does someone’s son has to have to step off the treacherous road and finally attract a good wife.
“Oh, the young man in the back, maybe he can provide an answer. He has been silent for the entire sermon,” the priest, in a lighthearted and soft tone, turns everyone’s attention to Isak, who would vouch right now for the exact opposite — to be left in peace. “What does a man need to find someone for a righteous marriage?”
“Well…” Isak, confused, shuffles different options for a suitable answer in such a crowd. With his current appearance, he must give off some air of the delinquent who would break hearts left and right but now has finally decided to visit the temple and pray for a chance to find The One. In the end, he decides to pick at random, “Faith.”
The priest nods, thoughtful expression on his face. “A good answer,” he announces with a kind smile as the people around him agree in unison. In an instant, the crowd warms up to Isak. Influenced by the preacher’s words, they decide that the young man has morphed from a cold stranger into a kind soul that lost its way.
When, in fact, nothing has changed.
For some reason, at the end of the sermon a few people, who previously looked at him with disgust, were now “wishing him the best”; saying such as “find the right path”; “live a righteous life” and “good luck on the journey of amends”.
“So, what is it that you came for, young man?” asks the priest, his hands hidden in the long sleeves, when Isak approaches after the sermon.
“A Penance… Trial.”
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His face lights up, “Ah, yes, of course. Just as I thought. It’s the right decision. It’s never late to—”
“Not quite that.” Isak interrupts, rubbing the back of his neck, “I need to become a Chevalier.”
The preacher doesn’t lose his expression, “That’s… Just what I meant. All of us are not without burdens. Chevaliers included,” he shows a wide ostentatious smile as if it excuses any earlier misconceptions he could have had. “Here,” he points at a group of priests at the temple's nave, “sister Iveta would lead you to the right place.”
“Yes, brother Simeon,” she rushes forward and bows to him as soon as her name is uttered.
“Be sure to grab a lamp and take the ostiary with you,” he advises in a sympathetic tone as usual.
“I’ll be sure to do that,” the sister's answer is barely-audible, while the corners of her lips rise. Then with her expression changing in an instant, she nods at Isak, telling him to follow.
Later, she would lead Isak out of the temple to its grounds, with the lamp in her hand and an ostiary following her close.
Her long robe gets stained by the dust and dirt of the damp ground, and filthy water from the puddles splashes on her garment. But she doesn’t care to pay attention.
The destination is an entrance to the underground chamber — an uninviting inclined wooden door and circular stairs behind it, leading further down. The ostiary offers his hand to help the priestess but she ignores him, stepping down with no hesitations.
They walk down in a hurry. Iveta stumbles a few times but it doesn’t slow her down and she goes forward without a pause.
“Um… Sister Iveta?” the ostiary — a tall man, who has to lower his shoulders every time they descend further — addresses her as if she forgot something.
“Your trial lies behind the gates of The Limit,” she starts, reacting to the call. Her voice is calm and without intonations, echoing through the barely-lit space of the underground. “The reality and emotions of the past will become warped and you will have a troublesome time keeping yourself intact and cold-headed. But if your resolve is truly strong and you can triumph over your sins and burdens, you can overcome everyth—”
She stops abruptly, reaching the end of the long round stairway. In front, lightened by the faint glow of the lamp, stretch rows of cells on both sides, locked by the rusty metal doors.
Perhaps, in the past it was a prison — but, now, it's used as a ground for the Trials. Worst of all — the visitors can hear quiet cries, drown-out screams, and shallow growls, coming out of the cells. As it turns out, Isak isn't the only one who was wishing to perish his absolute sins.
Iveta's pace stiffens as she slowly walks the corridor, shining a lamp at each cell and every trialed-one. Isak could barely see, or he preferred not to, but people’s expressions were that of pain, confusion and desperation. Those people — some of them pilgrims; or criminals, forced to go through the trial; or, the same as Isak, trying to land a job in the Royal Palace — were covered in sweat and their hands clenched in fists.
“The gates to The Limit,” after regaining her composure, previously lost for a short time, the sister continues, “can only be revealed to us — people without gifts — through holy items. It could be a pocket watch, or a ring, and in your case, it will be” —she stops after shining at one of the furthest cells and finally finding something suitable and free of its current user— “a diary. It’s a diary of one of the earliest followers of Deuron.”
The ostiary points at the man in the chosen cell, “Take him out?”
“Yes. He’s not breathing.”
The words, said without any emotions, make Isak feel unnerved. Unsettled even. As expected, the results of the failure are irreversible. And ruthless.
Iveta opens the cell, spending a minute to find the right key out of the rattling bundle. After — the ostiary drags the deceased man who still grips the pages of a diary into the corridor. On his face — the grimace of meeting an inevitable end.
“If you don’t finish in two days,” the sister says, leaning down to snap the diary out of the death grip, “and will keep wondering in there — this will be your end.”
The man’s fingers don't let go, though Iveta is putting in more and more strength. Finally, something cracks, resulting in her almost losing her balance but still securing the object. Some of the pages are now torn apart, some — are still left in the man’s hands. But, it seems, the damage to the precious holy item doesn’t concern her.
She offers it — an old diary, its contents covered in stains and blurred from the wear, “Go on.”
The image of the one, who died in this very cell no longer than hours ago and now lies in the corridor, doesn’t leave Isak’s mind. And, maybe, that man isn’t the first one.
And isn’t the last one.
Isak might just be the next.
He shakes his head as if it would scatter the anxious thoughts.
Trying to gather the resolve and not show that his hands tremble, Isak picks the antique from Iveta's cold hands, feeling the still-damp pages from the perished man’s sweat. With hesitation, he steps inside.
The rumble of the rusty door. The key twists in the lock. Now — there’s no escape.
“Now, read,” with a lamp, illuminating her emotionless face, she announces in front of the closed cell. “There are only three rules: open the gate; come to a solution; and leave. The Excellent Deuron won’t let you wander any further in that world than required.”
Isak sits down on the damp floor, his back leaning on the stone wall. In the faint light of Iveta’s lamp, throwing shadows inside the cell, he could barely recognize the already-murky letters in withered ink. Yet, a few phrases can be made out here and there:
“...it was a bright winter day… and… Deuron gathered us… proclaiming… what she discovered… we couldn’t comprehend… and yet… it was real…”
Next page:
“...a sunny morning… we tried… but yet failed… only Deuron could do… could see… what’s there…”
Another page:
“...she couldn’t explain… but said… she’s not the only one… there is someone else… but she should… heed the call… and we have to… listen to her… and follow…”
The words become even more blurry.
They whirl on the page.
Get stuck together.
Shift their place.
Turn backward and upside down.
The ink gets bolder and spills on the paper.
Covers the diary.
Page after page.
The amount of ink grows.
Soon, it covers his eyes.
The full vision.
There is nothing else — it’s pitch-black. Isak can see no source of light.
* * *
“We can go.”
After making sure that Isak’s mind isn’t here anymore, Iveta calls out to the ostiary. The prison turns back to darkness as they promptly leave. Shallow cries grow frequent and stronger. The sound of the body that's being dragged up the stairs is echoing through the underground.