Father Talod came at the fourth hour with a cassock for Ezril and his brothers. He met them awake, and waiting, fully clothed with Sunders strapped in place.
Only Ezril carried a bow.
“Get to it,” he told them. “Best get you lot out of my hair.”
They left their rooms, their presence clothed in the darkness. The seminary felt smaller as they left, leaving through the west gate. The mist was different, heavier than it always was and with a visible shrug Ezril shirked its weight away, after all, even the Sunders on his back were heavier than they always were. But as always, his brothers showed no signs of suffering from the weight of theirs. They always carried theirs with a simple ease. It reminded him that whatever strength they had grown into, he had no growth in.
A carriage stood beyond the forest waiting for them. Its horses were reined by an Osun. Ezril often wondered if skill was the reason the seminary continued to make use of their employ or if it was a sense of trust. Skill was the logical choice. He couldn’t see the seminary trusting them. He couldn’t see the seminary trusting anybody, not even the church.
The ride was one done in silence. The carriage swayed as they sat with Father Talod. The sound of hoof beats slowly evolved to clacks against stone as they rode into the city. Talod seemed warier than he had ever been. Although he dressed himself in a pristine cassock, it was clear it was ceremonial. The aging priest couldn’t have looked anymore out of place in it than a fish on dry land. The beauty of the seminary was not for him.
Ezril observed him a while, discreetly. Talod had aged terribly in the seven years he had known the priest. His skin was almost as weathered as the Monsignor’s now. His eyes paled as though the light was slowly being snuffed from it. Or is it the thought of war? Ezril wondered.
There had been a time when he couldn’t observe the priest without being caught. A time when every action was a discretion and Talod was quick with the cane. A time when he had hated the priest. Now, he thought he understood the man. Even after everything, Talod’s face reminded him of a man who was to say good bye to his children. The priest may not have loved them, but he had cared for them. How exactly, would always remain a question.
First light saw them in the east quarter of Ardin. The Osun pulled the horses from a canter to a trot as the citizens seeped into the street.
The ordination of a priest was never a secret in the city, and the east quarters always suffered the brunt of the citizens when it came.
An ordination always drew a significant crowd, be it the ordination of a sister or a priest. Each forfeit their family the moment they step into the world of service to Truth. But only Sisters had their friends and families from the life they forfeit come to their ordination, showing love and happiness.
Priests had the rest of the city at the doors of the cathedral where the bishop sat. Despite their fears the people always came. Perhaps it was to know the men to be steered clear of in future times. The cathedral gates were surprisingly bland. They were made of metal that shone black from paint well-polished and taken care of. They opened to the carriage, and as their carriage entered the citizens dared not approach it.
The cathedral was different from its gates, however. It was made of stones and bricks, and fashioned in a beauty similar to the towering buildings of the city, painted in the brightest colors. A palace for the bishop, Ezril noted as they rode through the gates, straining his neck to see the top of the building.
Their carriage pulled to a stop behind a line of parked carriages and they came down, noting the ten carriages ahead of them.
“At least we aren’t the last,” Takan said.
Salem shook his head as he passed the brother. “There are only eleven carriages this year, brother,” he told Takan. “We are the last.”
Takan brows furrowed. Then he frowned. “Oh.”
They walked towards the church and Takan tried his best to not be caught staring at the priests running the compound. Ezril didn’t see what was special about Advocates. In fact, he thought them stewards of the Bishop running around doing his bidding. It couldn’t possibly be as fancy as Darvi made them seem.
A way from the church they noted three carriages parked a distance from it. There was no doubt that the people who came in them were nothing short of lords. However, two of them bore the insignia of the royal family. This information Ezril tucked into the back of his mind.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Bishop Bollis joined Mother Grenis, Arch-bishop of the church, in celebrating the mass. The church was filled with priests clad in white save two pews in front where the royal family occupied the first.
Ezril had never seen the king before. Today, he saw him. The man was past his sixtieth year, perhaps closing in on his seventieth. His clothing did not look anything like a king’s, compared to the rest of his family. Bearing the insignia of the royal family on his cloak, he carried himself with an authority that spoke of his power. An authority that did not need fancy clothing to be cast.
The queen stood beside him, her hand in the crook of the man’s arm. Or at least Ezril assumed she was the queen. There were three other men with them. Ezril assumed the oldest of them perhaps early into his thirtieth year to be prince Mardin and knew there was nothing that would make him like the man.
The second pew proved confusing. Though they dressed as lords of a possible renown, they bore no insignia, and Ezril had never seen them before. He knew nothing of them.
The oldest and no doubt head of the family was a man in his seventies with a full set of grey hair on his head. He observed Ezril with open disdain. Beside him stood two couples unknown to Ezril. However, one of the women seemed vaguely familiar. She seemed in her fiftieth year but with less wrinkles than was normal for a woman the age. When she caught his eyes she offered him a warm smile. It disturbed him.
The ordination came after the mass. They knelt in front of the sanctuary through it, their Sunders weighing on their backs, and their knees pressed in discomfort with its time spent on the floor. The cassock and the trousers beneath it did little to dissuade the discomfort.
Mother Grenis held a lengthy prayer over them. She Hallowed them and reminded them of Truth’s love, and how they were as much a significant part of Truth’s plan as the mothers of the church were.
“…For where there is love, so also is there wrath,” she said.
Ezril knew the phrase. It was a part of the scriptures. “For Truth loves his children, those who would flock to him and those who would choose to rebel. And in his love, he would punish those who refuse him; those accepting to harm the innocent with their ways. For he is indeed a loving father. And where there is love, so also is there wrath.” The Scriptures of Truth chapter 6:1-4.
At the conclusion of her prayer her next words surprised Ezril but he kept his mouth in a thin line.
“…If there is anyone who has a reason why any of these brothers should not be ordained,” she said, “speak now or forever hold your peace.”
There was a brief pause. After it, Bishop Bollis rose from his seat and shuffled forward. It took Bishop Bollis what seemed forever to reach them where they knelt.
“Brothers of the seminary,” he began. “No longer will you be called brothers of the seminary, for on this day your training is over. Your time as greys and brothers have come to an end, and time in true service to the father begins. From today you are sacrifices of Truth. Your lives offered to the protection of the Credo and all who follow in its teachings and know themselves to be sons and daughters of Truth. You will go where the Credo requires you and, when you die, may Truth accept you into his embrace, and Vayla into her bosom.”
What followed was a lengthy procession which the Bishop embarked on with the support of two priests, calling out the names of the brothers and ordaining them priests.
“…Wrath of Truth?” he said to Olufemi.
Olufemi nodded his consent and bowed his head.
“Father Olufemi, Priest of Truth,” Bollis announced. “Father and Evangelist of the seminary.”
“Wrath of Truth?”
Ezril nodded.
“Father…” Bollis paused. His lips twisting in surprise, he spared Ezril a questioning gaze, one Ezril met without wavering. It was who he was, and he would carry it to the end.
Bollis sighed visibly. “Father Ezril Vi Antari, Priest of Truth,” he read from the paper in his hand. “Father, Evangelist, and First Bow of the seminary.”
Towards the end of the line the Bishop announced the first and only Reverend of their collective groups. “Reverend Father Baltar Taeval, Priest of Truth, Reverend, Father, and Advocate of the seminary.”
Darvi’s frown did not escape Ezril’s eyes.
“… From this day forth,” the Bishop continued when he had named them all, “you are all priests of Truth. And to the service of Truth…”
“…Our life is offered!!!” Every priest in the church chorused. It drowned out the collective voices of the ordained, and shook the church.
It sent a chill up Ezril’s spine.
Mother Grenis said the final rites and brought the mass to an end. The moment the celebrants exited the alter, disappearing into the sacristy, the priests trooped out of the church without ceremony.
Ezril rose from the ground, and cast his gaze back to the seats of the mystery family. The old man’s disdain remained palpable, but it was not the reason Ezril watched them. He hated the idea of not knowing what he was supposed to, and the woman’s presence grated at the front of his mind. How do you know her? he asked himself.
“Lord Edavi Antari,”
Ezril turned his attention to find Salem beside him.
Salem patted his back. “Special advisor to the king,” he continued, “and grandfather of Father Ezril Vi Antari.”
Somehow the disdain became mutual.
“I have no grandfather,” Ezril replied blandly.
Salem chuckled. “But you have a father?”
Ezril shrugged. He had a father whenever it was necessary, regardless of what the seminary thought.
The woman observed him with an open expression. It still disturbed him. It was an expression he did not see often. He found himself needing a moment to name it. Her welcoming smile. The compassion in her eyes… Love. It hit him like the taste of mist: subliminal and invasive. Worse, it brought aunt Teneri back to mind. Ezril wondered how soon the seminary would release him to his duties. He would venture straight to Green Horn to find her. He hoped she was still alive.