“Ouctun, eg’n ougnad.”

Ezril smiled at his brother’s words. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed hearing vrail. Given, there were a lot of priests around and he’d marched with them for a while. But the truth was simple; priests didn’t use their own language very often.

He turned to Olufemi and nodded. “Yes, brother. I point, you fight.”

Olufemi nodded.

The midday breeze was cold; not that he could feel it. But he had an idea of it. Winter was poking its nose around the corner and he’d lived feeling the heat and cold of Vayla’s seasons long enough to know when they came around. Plus, he could see the hot air escaping his lips when he spoke.

He sat on the grass just outside the encampment with his brothers. Despite the new arrivals, they’d been allowed their freedom. Under none of the reverends, they remained an isolated group for the simple reason of having operated that way in the fort the longest. Still, they were a group affiliated to Baltar’ command by virtue of Ezril being his responsibility.

The plan to help Levlin gather information faster had been implemented three more times in the past three days and it had been quite successful. It was why they were in one of the encampments two days earlier than scheduled.

Ghimasu’s team had gotten enough information to do what they needed. Apparently, somewhere on the other side of the wall; the side hidden from frontal assault; the side they still had found no way to get around, there was a hidden entrance. A kind of tunnel system. At least that was what Levlin had gathered. He assured them that despite it being extrapolated from random information, he trusted it. Reverend Ghimasu accepted it. Ezril, however, thought they were taking too high a risk trusting their plans on it.

If the Reverend’s team didn’t find a way behind the walls and open the gates, it was going to cost far too many lives; more lives than was already anticipated.

Darvi turned to him with neutral eyes. “Baltar has agreed to allow us march with him,” he said. “We’ll be in the second wave of the attack. Hopefully, Reverend Ghimasu would have found a way in by then.”

Ezril didn’t trust that hope.

“We ride as one, brothers,” Darvi continued. “Whatever happens out there, we have each other’s backs. I know there are a lot of priests riding into this war, but we are more important to each other than they are to us. Understood?”

They all nodded save Olufemi who was too busy occupied in his head.

Ezril turned to him. “Any problem?” he asked in vrail.

Olufemi turned to him with a frown. “What about Berlak?”

Ezril froze.

Takan stopped chewing the leaf in his mouth and turned to them. “Who’s Berlak?” he asked.

Salem turned too, and frowned. “Berlak?”

Olufemi didn’t answer them. He kept his eyes on Ezril. There was something in them; a look he hadn’t seen before, but he understood it. Still, he had to approach it with caution.

“Who is Berlak?” he whispered, not sure if he wanted his brothers to hear the answer.

His brother looked at him like it was a stupid question but still answered. “The one armed man,” he said. “What happens with him?”

Salem’s frown deepened and Ezril shrugged. “The Most Reverends will deal with him.”

“No!” Olufemi shouted. He got up and kicked the dirt violently. “They cannot have him!”

Ezril’s mouth hung open in shock.

“They can’t do this!” Olufemi continued, annoyed. “It’s not right. You know it and they know it. I can’t sit back and let them!”

Ezril continued to stare at his brother. The man was speaking in the realm tongue and throwing a tantrum befitting of neither his age nor his station. The last time he’d seen Olufemi in such a state was in their second year in the seminary when Unkuti had lain on his mattress and had refused to get up. It wasn’t the action itself that had thrown him into a tantrum then, it had been Ezril’s refusal to allow him rip their brother’s eyes out.

This was basically the same.

However, knowing what their brother was capable of now, and considering how he looked, there was something very eerie about the entire scenario.

Darvi turned to their brother, his voice was harsh but his posture was cautious. “And if Ezril does not allow it?”

It was Olufemi’s turn to freeze.

He turned to Ezril. “Do you forbid it?” he asked, timid, almost cowed.

Ezril didn’t know what to say. What did his brother expect him to say? The decision had been made by those above him. Such decisions weren’t ones he could take. Olufemi had to understand that. One look at his brother and he knew it didn’t matter to him. He doesn’t think there’s a decision I cannot take.

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He looked at Darvi. The young priest seemed cautious; too cautious. Did he really expect Olufemi to attack him? Their brother was unpredictable but he wasn’t a… berserker.

Ezril sighed inwardly.

If he said the word, then Olufemi would stand down. The priest wouldn’t like it, but he would stand down. Bavarest, he thought. It could still be worse.

He knew it.

He sighed and looked at Olufemi. “I don’t forbid it.”

Olufemi’s face lit up and he didn’t think his brother could be any happier. The rest, however, looked like they were going to resign from the priesthood.

“However,” he added when Darvi opened his mouth, cutting him off. “We will run it by the Most Reverends and try and fit you into their plans…” … which they will definitely refuse; no one wants to fight with a priest that might turn on them at any time… “… and if that doesn’t work, then we’ll make something happen. We,”—he raised a finger to silence Darvi again—“will figure it out. Is that good?”

Olufemi nodded. He was no longer smiling, but the residue was in his eyes. Walking over to Ezril’s side, he sat back on the dirt easily.

Everyone watched things play out with a scrutiny. Darvi had a frown on his face. Ezril wasn’t surprised; he had just signed his brother up for a meeting everyone had acquiesced to not ever happening. Of course, he could do it alone. He spied a glance at his brother. No, he won’t let me.

“How did you know his name?”

Ezril turned to Salem. The question was on everyone’s minds, so when the others bore a look of relief, it came as no surprise. However, there was something in the way Salem had asked the question; a caution that was unbecoming of him.

He turned to Olufemi, and naturally, the priest made no indication that he was going to give them an answer. Salem opened his mouth again. Ezril waited for the question. At times, Salem couldn’t hold back his curiosity, regardless of how petty whatever had caught it was.

Salem’s mouth closed soundlessly.

Ezril’s brows furrowed in confusion. This was wrong. He studied his brothers and didn’t like what he saw. There was an edge to their visage. Salem still wanted to know how Olufemi knew what he knew, Darvi wanted to object to his decision, and Takan… well there was rarely much to the priest. The man simply sat chewing on a leaf, a new habit whose origin Ezril was unaware of. Then it hit him.

They’re afraid of him.

When their pastoral year had begun they’d learned to be wary of their brother. Still, they did and said whatever they wanted to him, regardless of how it made him feel. Then they had at least trusted him. But now they didn’t want to impact on his emotions in anyway. Whatever he’s done while I was gone, they fear him for it. Ezril looked at Olufemi, solemn. Just what did you do, brother?

He considered repeating Salem’s question but there was much he feared. Knowledge was power. But sometimes power came with a burden not all were ready to bear.

Ezril said nothing.

As expected, none of the Most Reverends were accepting of the idea. Darvi had requested an audience with them to Ezril’s satisfaction. It would have proved a more tasking feat had he made the request himself.

Darvi made his proposal and no thought was given to it. The Most Reverends disagreed unanimously; all remaining six of them.

Their counter offer was that they keep Olufemi away from the one-armed man. Ezril couldn’t make any promises. However, he made it his business to assure them it would be in their best interest to include Olufemi in the plan. It was simple; if they couldn’t account for a portion of the young priest’s action, them there was no understanding the possibilities of what could go wrong should the priest involve himself in the end.

“Keep him in check!” one of the Most Reverends barked. “It is why you are here, is it not?”

When Darvi had addressed the man, Ezril hadn’t been giving the events much attention, his mind having been riddled with thoughts of how he could convince the Reverends to do something they were united against.

“I can’t.”

The Reverend shot him a look of irritation. “Then tell me; why are you here?”

“Because the seminary believes I can.”

The Most Reverend turned to Bratvi. “This is not what we were told.”

Bratvi shrugged.

“My brother listens to me.” Ezril drew the Most Reverend’s attention. “But if you have me push him away from what he wants, how long do you think he’ll continue to listen?”

“He’s obeyed you before. He’ll obey you again.”

Ezril shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. I control him because I show him a compromise. But this,” he spread his arms, “I’ve never seen him want anything this bad. You all said it yourselves; they have history. Father Olufemi fought this man and survived; not in a bed, but on his feet. You take this away from him and he decides to take matters into his own hands out there, and no one knows what will happen; not even me.”

The Most Reverend sat back in frustration. After a while he turned his attention to Darvi. “What would you suggest, Father Tenshaw?”

Darvi took a moment to think. “We march tomorrow, correct?”

The Most Reverend nodded.

“Then,” Darvi continued, “I suggest we come up with a plan that involves the berserker, quickly.” Ezril shot his brother a look, puzzled at his use of the title, but Darvi went on. “I say we simply integrate him into the pre-existing plan.”

Bratvi shook his head. “How much do you know of the story of Father Grude, young priest?”

Ezril remembered the tale. It was the one Olufemi had used for his test of speech.

“The seminary’s berserker,” Darvi said.

Bratvi nodded. “Yes. But not the only one. Every now and again a priest chooses that path. Once, the seminary had a number of them.”

Ezril’s brows furrowed. They hadn’t been taught this at the seminary.

“Father Grude,” Bratvi continued, “was the most prominent. He was berserker that truly made impact. Now, I have studied every text concerning berserkers in the history of seminary, it is reason I was sent here. I know them more than most. Berserkers aren’t people you work with. Working with one reduces their efficiency. If you want to use berserker the best way possible, let them work alone. Working with berserker is counterproductive. They aren’t the kind to follow plans. So making one with them in it is waste of time.”

“Unless there’s someone to point them in a direction,” Darvi interrupted.

Understanding presented itself in Bratvi’s eyes. The man rose from his seat. “I cannot say I don’t see a possibility in what you have said,” he said. “We will make room for berserker. However, my understanding of berserkers isn’t the only reason the seminary sent me.”

Ezril held back a sigh. All men thought themselves irresistible forces until they met an immovable object.

“Should things go wrong, I expect you will do what you must, Most Reverend,” Darvi replied respectfully.

Bratvi returned to his seat satisfied with the response.

A simple plan was concocted; one Ezril conveyed to Olufemi in the simplest way possible. To the best of his knowledge, his brother understood what was required of him.

However, when evening came, Ezril felt nothing would go to plan. After all, this was war.