The next day, one of the younger children found Divine seated against the wall of a building in one of the courtyards. It was a courtyard that was used for sword practice. Specifically, it was the one Ezril and his brothers had ceased to use since the completion of their test of the pathfinder. The younger seminarian found their brother peaceful and quiet, clothed in the full regalia of grey. Dead.
Divine had slit his wrists with his hunting knife. When Ezril and his brothers found their brother’s body, the boy’s expression seemed peaceful. It was the most peaceful they had ever seen him since the test of awareness, and it was the most broken they had ever seen Salem.
Ezril and his brothers built a pyre themselves in that courtyard under the instructions of Father Talod. The work of gathering the freshly cut timber and transporting it saw their practice for the day forfeit. Although it was the day of Sentiff, Ezril found no sadness in being unable to practice the bow. He found that there was enough sadness amongst his brothers to consume him in what had happened.
On the completion of the pyre the priests came carrying Divine. Clad in the official black regalia of the seminary Ezril and his brothers would wear once they are ordained, the priests placed Divine’s body on the pyre. When all the children were present, the priests gave way for the Monsignor.
“Today, we gather together to put an end to Divine Enuvie, our brother, and a Hallowed of Truth,” Monsignor Crowl announced, his croaked voice neither strained nor elevated but, as always, carrying itself around the children for them to hear with a grace strong enough to baffle Ezril.
“He fought and trained alongside us,” Crowl continued, “and now he has moved on from this life. And so we are here to see his journey ended. He may not have gone through it all, but he is one of us, a seminarian of the holy church, and may he find his way to join our fallen brothers of the seminary who have left their vessels for greatness in Truth; greatness that will eventually come to us all.”
A moment of silence was observed during which Father Ulrich brought Darvi a flaming torch; an acknowledgement of his place as their leader, it seemed. The silence coming to its end, Darvi offered the torch to Salem who—taking it—stepped up to the pyre. After a moment’s hesitation, Salem set it ablaze. In all the motions of the ceremony Ezril could not help but feel it was not the brother’s first time.
With the rising flames came the smell of incense added to the pyre. Eventually the smell mixed with that of burning flesh. Together it churned Ezril’s stomach.
The Credo believed that those who took their own lives rarely ever made it back to Truth. Instead their souls would rot with their body as Vayla took her gifts without mercy. The force of her anger would be so fierce that the soul would bear no power to ascend. Remaining in the dying body, it would engage in its rot.
Thanking the Monsignor for wishing Divine a safe journey despite this, Ezril found himself praying. May you find in Truth the peace you couldn’t find here.
They went through the rest of the day in silence, eating their meals and retiring to their rooms after. Salem shed no tear the whole day. From the moment they’d seen Divine’s body to the moment it was consumed on the pyre, he had been quiet. Sad but stoic. Ezril knew Salem had seen the boy’s face. Salem knew as well as he did that he was at peace in that moment. It was an odd knowledge to possess, but somehow Ezril knew Salem would be happy to have Divine haunt him for the rest of his life if Vayla allowed his soul wander the world.
When night came and darkness fell, Ezril and his brothers sat awake in the dark. Their presence was a silent consolation as Salem finally wept. It was silent and controlled but the emotion was loud. To the seminary, Divine died on one of their courtyards. To Salem, Divine died where they had met for the first time.
In hindsight Ezril realized that he should have known. Divine had insinuated leaving them but he had been too naïve to understand. He had thought their brother sought to leave the seminary, to escape into the world beyond it. In his short life, he had never known of people who killed themselves. To the Credo it was a taboo, its punishment too grave for any to seek to attempt it.
Ezril had never known the possibility of a pain so strong that a person would choose death over it. But he knew now. For the first time in his life, Ezril learned that not all pain was endurable.
Would things have been different if I had said something to him that night? Ezril asked himself, plagued not for the first time by the thought. Would it have been different if I had not kept my word; if I had told Salem immediately?
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Regardless of the concept of hindsight, one thing was an absolute truth: he would never know.
A week after Divine’s death, Father Talod introduced them to Father Nemael, the blacksmith of the seminary. He was a rather small man yet he seemed to exude a strength despite his frame. He possessed burn marks old enough to be nothing but scars now. It left Ezril wondering just how much pain the man had been in during each infliction.
“You all will work with Father Nemael in the forging of your Sunders,” Talod told them. “The next two weeks will be spent under his guidance, and you will all make blades that will serve as your companions until your service to the Credo is complete.”
Each of them watched Nemael with varying expressions. They wondered collectively if the forge was to mark them as it had clearly marked Nemael. Whatever the answer, the seminary was determined to have them learn it through experience. And so was the blacksmith.
“Come with me,” Nemael instructed after Talod’s conclusion, turning to leave without ceremony or delay, as a man with better things to do would.
He did not seem like a man who said much. Ezril had grown to understand that the more silent the priest, the more torturous the punishments they were capable of doling out.
“Vi Antari, come with me.” The command from Talod caused heads to turn, Darvi’s and Olufemi’s to be precise, as Ezril left his group and headed after him.
…………………………………
Talod led Ezril through the keep, and Ezril, knowing the path, understood exactly where they were headed.
Priestess Ellenel was present in The Monsignor’s chamber when they entered, and Ezril had no preconceived notion of what was to transpire.
Crowl sat at his seat with the same blank expression and piercing eyes Ezril knew him for. He said nothing as he leafed through the book before him. The books in the room had grown in number since the last time Ezril was here. The three swords that hung from the wall behind the Monsignor’s seat stared at him from their place behind the Monsignor.
“Vi Antari,” Crowl finally addressed him after a period that seemed to go on for too long. “Priestess Ellenel believes you have a talent with the bow. And she should know; she has a talent with it herself.”
Ezril offered no response.
As if disappointed at his absence of response, Teneda Crowl sighed. He rubbed aging fingers against a wrinkled forehead.
“Go and pack your things,” he said. “You will be going on a trip with Priestess Ellenel for a while.”
That was as far as the Monsignor was willing to say. With simple words spoken in a simple way, Ezril found himself on a journey that took him outside the seminary.
It was an old trip, it turned out. A long trip. An unmemorable trip.
The rest of the day was spent on horseback alone with Ellenel. They rode through forests and the occasional busy streets of the kingdom. They stopped only once for a meal before continuing on their journey in silence. Ellenel made no attempt to initiate a conversation, and at some point Ezril found himself missing the walls of the seminary. The outside air was not entirely special as Ezril and his mates had received the grace of leaving the keep on the first Frostiff of the second month at their choosing since the test of awareness. It was an offer they took to engage in simple sight-seeing around the city. Olbi proved himself more fascinated than the rest of them, despite having grown up in the kingdom’s capital. On that day he talked to too many people and stared at alleys and corners and buildings for far longer than the rest of them.
He had either missed the world outside or he was searching. The former seemed more probable. Sadly, the latter was not without possibility.
Ezril’s journey with Ellenel came to an end in a village hidden in the Elken forest of the kingdom. It was a stretch of woods situated within the forest that most people knew very little of. Even fewer ever got to enter it.
As they dismounted from Ellenel’s horse, the adults came to welcome them. Ezril could not help but notice how familiar they were with Ellenel. She seemed genuinely pleased to see them and yet uneasy at the same time.
After a moment spent returning warm greetings, Ellenel took Ezril to a tent. It had the smell of a strange mixture of lavender and jasmine and was situated in the middle of the village. Inside was an elderly woman waiting for them. She was shorter than Ezril, and Ellenel greeted her with a familiarity found between mother and daughter. But Ezril could note no discernable resemblance between the two.
Beside the woman stood an elderly man, evidently younger than her. He stood tall with his hands folded across his chest, his black eyes scrutinizing Ezril with every move he made.
“This is lady Ilena, leader of the village,” Ellenel told Ezril, her first words to him since the beginning of their journey. “You will give her the same level of respect here as you would Monsignor Crowl.”
With a jovial smile, Lady Ilena added, pointing at the elderly man, “And the grouchy old man over there is my brother, Felvan. He will be teaching you more on the way of the bow, and it would be advisable to be a good pupil… not that you people never are.”
………………………………….
After, Ezril and Ellenel were shown to a tent where they would both spend the night for the duration of their stay.
As they settled in for the night after a hearty dinner, Ezril couldn’t help but notice Ellenel seemed to feel at home in the room.
What am I going to be taught here that the fathers of the seminary cannot teach me? Ezril wondered as the night grew cold and old. He afforded Ellenel a discreet attention. What am I to be taught that you cannot teach me?