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The Priesthood
Chapter Ninety-Nine: Be Not Afraid

Chapter Ninety-Nine: Be Not Afraid

Kanrel had found light anew. A discovery most scholars dream of their whole lives; one that is never reached nor realized; a dream soon lost as time withers and erodes the mind and body of the man, who hath only one passion—just this one, true love.

He observed the light that he had created with his new code. A blue light that he perceived to be what magic looked like to the naked eye. Something you could not touch, yet you could feel it, like the gentle rays of the morning sun upon the skin of your face.

This light gave a feeling. It made his skin crawl. It forced him to shiver as its rays touched him. It made him fear the discovery that he had found. It made him fear love itself, for what else had he loved since the dawn of his life as much as he had loved learning?

This was disgust. This was the thing that made him feel worthless. This was the light that made him into nothing. This was the force that governed all else, for surely there could be nothing stronger in nature than magic itself… Had it always felt so wrong? Had it always made men become monsters? Why did the abyss meet the eyes of men and make them do terrible things? Was this thing to be blamed for such evils of the world—the evils of Kalma and those that came before and after him—or was evil simply in the nature of a man—no, in the nature of all life?

Had it once been pure? For Kanrel had memories as Ignar, and to Ignar, the feeling had been that of bliss. For the Sharan, magic had yet to become what it was for humans. And for the Atheians it was something else; it was a cause of addiction, one that would leave them with a sense of hunger, a hope that they might go past their innate talents, that they might experience as they had felt it before.

It was alluring. Suppose one looked for too long into its hue. It became like the light of a candle lit for the rendezvous of two long-apart lovers as they once more found solace from the arms of each other… but only to awake the next morrow, the candle long lost its flame, the lovers no longer in the warmth of their shared embrace, but in the midst of their own regrets, with questions filling their minds… ‘If he loves me so, why will he only have me for just this one night and not all the nights that are to follow?’ The room is cold; it is empty; the light no longer allures. Kanrel shivered; to him, this light seemed not so different from the shadows that populated the Veil…

Kanrel let his code run out and left the cave. There were so many things he needed to do today: new experiments as well as a meeting with Gar, for he would visit him today. What Kanrel now sought to do involved tests ever closer to the Veil, for he had a question that needed an answer: Would this light, too, push away the darkness? Would it keep away the voices that sought to conquer the mind of the man who entered their abode? Would it keep him safe? Would it guide him through the darkest of nights?

Past the stalagmite forest, a few hundred meters northward, the lanterns awaited, keeping at bay the smoldering darkness. Kanrel walked toward it with only a few things in hand: a lantern of his own and a singular notebook, filled with observations about his new findings, but more so empty pages yearning to keep on its surface a newfound truth, or at least one perceived as such.

He stopped at the edge of it. His skin crawled, and his mind flashed visions of a violent rush of darkness, submerging him deep below it; a wave that covered all that had been lit. It wavered, it quivered... it smoldered... Then came the voices, so loud and quiet; the loss of breath; Kanrel on his knees, awaiting the moment of death as his eyes were soon forced open; a new light split the darkness through all the pain that struck him… He could see. He could see the darkness. He could see what they wanted him to see…

Fire. Dark flames covered the earth; there was no light. Wailing of death; corpses hung from the air as the flames engulfed them. They showed him the fire, the blood that spoiled the earth, untouched by that which would, through corruption, purify all; it crawled along the surface of the earth as if flowing uphill toward the originator of this hell. A whisper etched into his mind, a low wail that turned into a scream: pain, suffering, torment. I wish it could all end. I wish death would claim us. I wish for only death. Please. Why must we suffer?

But god gave no mercy; the flames grew only greater in height; a toll of blood paid full in price.

“Be not afraid, for from the ashes of an empire a new one will arise; from the blood of the martyrs, a wine shall be bled.”

“From hell, a new heaven; from death, a new life.”

Be not afraid…

Kanrel blinked at these memories, these visions that he could now at last remember. If only he had seen more; if only Vaur’Kou’n had let him see it all. If only a prolonged touch from the Veil weren’t a certain death…

He lit the lantern in his hand and let shivers run through him. He was afraid. It was the most sensible state of mind given the situation, for all men fear that which they do not know. Be it a dark forest during the darkest month of the year; be it another man he had no prior contact with; be it a strange mushroom or a berry that might as well seal your fate with a poison far too sweet for the filthy maw that had devoured it.

All men fear. All men must fear, for all men are fragile; their lives as faint as those of flowers upon a field of many. Beautiful and colorful, a wondrous existence not any lesser than the brightness of the sun. We fear everything, even our own shadow.

He swallowed this sense of terror; his heart, which had been beating at a steady pace, was ready to run away.

“Be not afraid…” He muttered to himself and spat the residue of fear from within; he pushed forward into that darkness, and as he walked forth, the shadows, they feared the touch of the holiest of lights; the shadows parted and hugged the edges of the light, a perfect globe that began to form around him.

He stopped after just a few steps; if he now looked behind himself, he’d see the line of lanterns and their light, the wall behind which he’d run if all else failed. But he couldn’t look back; he couldn’t avert his eyes from the eyes that must’ve been there. They must’ve seen him. Kanrel knew what they wished; he almost could hear their whispers again, the softness of their screams, the pain of their last moments. Would they ever forget?

Kanrel stared ahead a moment longer; he couldn’t stop shivering. The fear that he spat out still remained. One cannot lie to himself and claim to not be afraid when one so certainly is. But even then, a man ought to be brave, even when said bravery would inevitably lead to foolishness, for how else is one supposed to cope with all the things that one is so afraid of?

He formed the code, the manifestation of magic; light, which one could claim to be holy but equally claim to be evil itself. He released it, and in the air just before him, blue sparkles rapidly emerged and then merged into one, and soon it flashed like that of a newborn star with so much light and life to give. He couldn’t stand the sight of it, even less so than the light produced by the lanterns. This light was more pure; more corrupt. It was more potent…

The smoldering darkness was pushed in an instant further back, as if more afraid than before, as if this very light could perish the shadows of the Veil, as if this light could bring an end to the memory they held… They do not wish to be forgotten…

Surely this moment was meant for awe? Surely he had achieved something great; something so unimaginable that no mind had perceived such a possibility before this moment.

It didn’t matter.

He pushed the light forth; he jolted it into the awaiting darkness like one would cast a fireball at his own enemies: it pierced through it, a sudden tunnel forming in its way as it made deeper and deeper into the Veil, the shadows receding away, averting the touch of it; their imagined eyes closed, but their choir of many voices becoming a wailing of a flayed slave, a poor creature whose tears wet the ground beneath, a creature so afraid of the next strike, of the pain that would follow, and even of the pain of healing. Why must we brutalize our brethren in such ways?

The light dissipated as it disappeared deep into that tunnel of its own creation. The veil remained as such for a moment. Kanrel could witness the scar that he had made. The pain that he had created. In this moment he felt no less a monster than the moments that he had killed. In this moment he knew that the shadows were sentient. Not like most men are. But as a collective memory that could feel again the torment it had once gone through before. The light that he had cast toward it and had then scarred it. All he had done was open an old scar, one that had not healed, one that would never heal.

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What he now had within was not fear but regret. An old familiar bitter claw that laid its sharp nails of shame onto him and left long streaks of red within. Before him, the tunnel began to merge again, the shadow recollecting itself, recoiling into a singularity of dull edges and sharp shapes: smoldering darkness. Kanrel looked into it, and it looked into him. He had found success, yet it was regretful that he had. Even if through this he could find his way back home. He sighed and turned to leave…

A light flickered.

Kanrel turned toward the wall of lanterns; fear had returned. But the lights there were even; they were whole and without imperfections. He would be safe there. Shivers ran through him again. He began taking hasty steps toward them; he didn’t wish to spend another moment so close to the veil. There were notes he needed to take, thoughts that ought to be recorded.

But the light flickered again, breaking his new cycle of thoughts. He looked down at the source of the light that he carried with him, just to see it perish right before him; just to feel the rush of shadows coming from behind, he performed a code; he needed to use the light that only tore old scars open. He needed to live; he needed to survive.

The light burst before him; it became whole and pushed away the darkness that had almost taken him with it, that had almost paid the fool for the pain that he had caused it… But it had already touched him… just for a moment, and what filled him was a sight, a vision; thoughts of another creature that had once lived so long ago… He kept walking forth, past the wall of lanterns that would keep him safe, and collapsed.

As the meadows withered, I stood silent and bore witness. When the fields burst into bloom, I waited. And now, as it dies, I search for a new meaning.

There was no life left to love. The valley was now filled with the dead, and I wished to be part of it. I wished to be among them.

When the first flower bloomed, I was already waiting for its death. They all wither in the end, and so I bore witness. I spoke not a word—for we all die. And when they were but carcasses, fallen wretches, it would be time to find a new meadow. Time for the same cycle to begin anew.

Bless them, the sinners. Their time is short, their world small, nothing more than another meadow. Their bodies are fragile, like the flowers of the field. Surely they too deserve peace, even if in the end, they bring about their own destruction. Even as they drain the meadow’s soil dry, leaving behind a barren earth, as they are left under the mercy of the sun.

Death is but a step for them. Something that leads toward eternity. It is not a conscious step for them; for them, it is a step that, while perhaps sorrowful, is also joyous. Their pain is over, their thirst for life quenched.

And as my tears nourish the next meadow, I see a flower bloom. There is only one, but soon there will be two. When these two flowers meet, the beginning of the end will commence. When these two flowers meet, everything that could ever matter will finally come to pass.

With the first flower’s bloom, death had already begun. With the second flower’s bloom, life would continue, if only for a moment longer.

The garden is withering, the one I watch and guard from the shadows.

He awoke. Not next to the lanterns that kept the Veil at bay; not in the shadows devoured and flayed by them; not upon a field, one where flowers bloomed; but in his little cave on the bed that he had made his own; with eyes familiar, ocean blue, looking down on him, in them a question one might ask a fool…

“Are you looking to die?” Gar asked; the tone of his voice was dry, and he seemed far from happy.

Kanrel shook his head. “I succeeded.” He muttered. As he tried to get up, his body felt weak, and the world seemed far too bright for what it was worth.

Gar scoffed, “Yet here you are…” He shook his head but soon smirked, “I suppose you already heard the news then?” He asked.

Kanrel managed to sit up and blink his eyes in confusion. “Heard what?”

Gar’s smirk widened. “Our good friend Y’Kraun is getting married… So fair enough if you did try to perish a little earlier than one usually would; I’d also do almost anything to skip such a jolly occasion.”

Kanrel remained still and processed what he heard. “Married?” He muttered, “That makes no sense. How?”

Gar rolled his eyes. “Beats me. He probably used a love spell or something.”

“No, no, I mean, didn’t he just confess his love to her?”

“Kanrel, that was months ago—keep up!” Gar pulled Kanrel from the bed. “I take you know nothing of our so-called ‘wedding traditions?’”

Kanrel shook his head.

“Well, then you’ll love it. Nothing beats standing in line—and sometimes sitting—while you wait for your turn at the Forum, just so that you can watch your friend ask for a certificate to stamp…”

“Then wait in another line with said certificate in hand to get it stamped again by a different clerk, no less. Then you’ll wait a week or so for the good news. A marriage, so beautiful…”

“I, for one, can’t think of anything more romantic than the bureaucratic process of applying for marriage and then awaiting in great anticipation if your request might be denied or granted.” Gar explained, “And what we can do for them is wait in line with them; a marriage needs witnesses, now does it not?” Gar forced Kanrel up from his bed; he let his gaze go up and down the rather messy clothes and unkempt hair, not to mention the beard that had conquered his face.

“This won’t do.” Gar muttered, “You look like a hermit that has lived in a cave for years!” He chuckled, “Worry not; when this date of sitting in lines comes, we will buy you some new robes… But when it comes to all the ‘fur’ or ‘hair,’ as you call it, you’re on your own…”

“Try to at least look presentable, for I did manage, after much correspondence, to get an appointment with the council. They are eager to hear of your wishes to enter the Sanctuary…”

Kanrel scoffed, “It is as if I’ve played the part all too well… But very well, I’ve not seen Y’Kraun’s ‘wife-to-be’ for quite some time; I wonder if I’ll be able to converse with her without the need of a translator.” He muttered.

Gar smiled, “I am sure she’ll love to finally hear the truth about her future husband; the bastard has gotten far too confident…”

“How so?”

“He glows… It… bothers me… To see him so happy.”

Kanrel scoffed, “Are you jealous?”

Gar grinned, “Absolutely.”

Kanrel shook his head. “Then get married; instead of being jealous, become the target of someone else's jealousy.”

The Atheian let out a bright laugh. “But Kanrel, the only one to be left jealous of me, would be you.”

Kanrel blinked his eyes. “I’m so sorry; I had no idea you had no other friends…”

Gar sighed, “I’ve no time for new friends, nor for lovers that could be; no time for could-have’s or would-have’s; hypothetical marriages and so forth… I, for one, have dedicated myself to pen and paper, the pursuit of knowledge, which is my truest love.”

Kanrel was left staring at him for a while. “Normally I would agree, but I would rather not share the warm embrace of my lover with another soul, less so with someone as weird as you. I do not wish to know what you do with your pens and papers.”

The Atheian was left silent for a moment, then a slight chuckle escaped his lips, “One of these days we ought to duel; I, too, am a jealous lover. But I’m not afraid.” He said and again let his eyes observe Kanrel and his outlook, “Since my competition looks like this, I suppose that knowledge will remain in the loving arms of yours truly.”

They continued their banter for a few moments longer before Gar bid Kanrel farewell, promising that the next time they saw each other, they’d either duel or go to a wedding together. The rest of the day, Kanrel spent with a pen in hand, writing down the earlier observations that he had made, further advancing his plans, but with new questions in mind.

Did he really need to visit the Sanctuary now? Did he not have all that he needed to enter the Veil and traverse as far east as one could go? Could he risk such a journey so early on? He felt doubtful. For he did not know for how long he could hold on to that perverse light; for how long would it push away the darkness and show him passage? He still believed that he needed more time. More information before taking the reckless step of entering the Veil and getting lost in its horrors and uncertainties. He’d still enter the Sanctuary and find out what they knew; he ought to, lest he never find his way back home.

Hours went by, and soon Kanrel fell asleep, not on his bed but instead against his table in the midst of the many notebooks that lay on it; pen still in hand, the last word written nothing more than a scribble not even he could understand the next morrow. Tonight, he was a butterfly that flew from flower to flower, awaiting the moment of death, that somber moment when the flowers would wilt and wither away, leaving behind a grave for the memory of life. The golden sun setting as the butterfly fluttered its wings when life still existed… Darkness then burst from below, piercing the earth and the heavens alike, veiling the sun and its golden rays, as the butterfly was left in the cold, and the field with its flowers frozen in pain, in death.

Kanrel’s eyes burst open, and he heard hurried steps that soon turned into the sound of running. He got up from his table, with pen still in hand, and prepared deadly codes that he could fling at his enemy. He stepped outside the cave and looked around, soon seeing a figure running away to the stalagmite forest; the figure wore a cape, the only thing that really caught his eye…

The cape was as gray as were the stone floors, walls, and ceilings of the Atheian lands, but embroidered on it was a symbol he hadn’t seen before. A chained eye, opened wide, with a red iris as if during the sunrise. Kanrel contemplated releasing a code to take out this perceived enemy but decided against it.

What good would it do? What if he accidentally ended up killing this unknown figure? How would he explain this to the council or even to Gar and Y’Kraun? Would he be perceived as a murderer afterward? The figure was so far by now that Kanrel was uncertain if he would be able to catch him without causing considerable damage to them; besides, he didn’t know how skillful this figure was at the use of magic; he could soon find himself spread upon the stone floor. A victim of what one could claim to be self-defense.

He let his code dwindle and stared as the figure disappeared from his sight. In his mind, he kept repeating the symbol that he had seen, and soon enough he ran back in and drew the symbol as well as he could. In the end, he was left staring at it. He was left wondering, what does a chained eye with a red iris mean?