Part One
Chapter 1
It was ever a daunting task, finding the Priorius and vessels. The smallest communities always lead to protecting one another with fervor. Like the wild animals they released, despite the recognition to the hand that feeds, they would guard their kits with abandoned ferocity. Don't they understand? Don't they understand that those children belong to a purpose, that those children are no more children than a wolf pretending to be a dog? Several attempts to establish a religion have failed in the last three millennia, but this time it seems as though our ordained laws have stuck. The core of the religion, named after the manifestation of Priorius, had been our own version of what had been established outside the center belt. Already, the centralized city, ordained this year as Gwendon, has willingly handed over some nine vessels and two Priorius. The agricultural district has been less forthcoming.
It will be the sixth time in the last four hundred years we've had to send out our self-proclaimed inquisitors. Ransoming their families to the children usually works, executing a few along the way was just another price to be paid. It's not as though they matter in the grand scheme of things. If anything, the family's small contribution was a debt to be paid.
I often forget the reason I'm here to begin with, time seems to ebb at the walls of my desires. It is our goal to fill the reservoir, so no death is without purpose. I simply hope the other six are as successful as I.
Like the steady shine of a new day, he simply was. The breath of that new day broke onto him with the stunning insight that he existed. Something from nothing. Feeling warm, and safe and happy, if only that were all life could be, then maybe he could have been happy. And for a time, he was. After that time, however, he slowly swelled, growing discomforted and cramped. Finally, he was birthed to the world, finding the first use for his eyes, his lungs. Breathing on your own takes more effort than one would think, and in the chaos that is birth, he was too excited to cry out. Until a more explicit reason became apparent. He honestly couldn't understand any of it, but he knew he heard the word circumcision.
Pain. He thought he knew the experience well, having fallen out of the sky and all. He was wrong. The experience of everything being new was more challenging than he thought it would be. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, wasn’t sure where he was, or what he was. What he did know, though the knowledge was slipping from him, was that he was in a memory. He was living his own life. Using his eyes for the first time, he opened them to the blinding light of the world. He cried, raising hands in exploration. For all that he was in this moment, he could feel himself, his real self, in that chamber, lying naked on the soil.
But this, this too is me.
Sensations for a babe can be overwhelming, and for a long time, he simply did as babies did. Dorian ate, shat, and at times, cried. Though, often, he didn't, which worried his true self greatly. In these earliest stages, little Dorian didn't understand what the people around were saying. He picked out his name immediately, which is why he thought it was so odd when his body responded to the name. “It's a good name, I think he likes it,” sounded a gentle yet exhausted voice.
It’s when he heard his own first thoughts. Odd sensation that, even without proper language, he could still understand those thoughts. “I, Dorian.” I am, you dolt.
As time passed, he felt part of himself becoming deeply immersed. Every rapturous experience became another taste, another flavor, to a child experiencing anew. Soon, Dorian couldn't tell whether his thoughts were his or his memory’s, whether he would think differently never became a question. Then, followed by a release in pressure, he was immersed utterly, he melded with his past and became lost in the experience of his own life.
When Dorian was eight seasons old, he knew something was different about him. The communal caretakers would speak to him in that jabbering baby talk, and it would disgust him. At first it was endearing, now it was annoying, he feared it would soon evolve to loathing. The cooing noises these people make are so strange, why did they speak to babies like this?
Despite his youth, he knew he was different than the other children. He understood that the other kids were more animal than human, they were still developing. So was he, though for some reason he felt he had something the other children didn't, or didn't have yet. Sentience was a hell of a thing. At his age, he knew he shouldn't have his own thoughts, but he also felt that he shouldn't try to draw attention to himself either. Fitting in wasn't really important to him but sticking out left him feeling vulnerable and unsure. Like the goofy looking toddler in the corner, picking his nose and acting like nobody noticed him wiping his hands all over the wooden toys. Everyone knew. He wasn't fooling anybody, especially not Dorian.
Understanding the language was another process entirely. He had thoughts, but associating phonemes to them was a process that took time. Firstly, it seemed the noises he made couldn't be controlled. Honing the skill of pronunciation took time in privacy, which was in short supply for the toddlers. Secondly, speaking when the other kids could barely walk would likely scare the hell out of his parents.
Loud voices were commonplace in his home, not in a bad way, his family argued like it was a competition. His parents, having lost their first child to sickness early in their marriage, and their second in birth, argued often over safety and care taking. He had one older brother, nearly four years older than himself, who often became Dorian's sitter when his parents argued, attended festivals or meetings, or made up. All of which was entirely too noisy to Dorian's sensitive ears.
Dorian's home was made of stone. Not stone bricks, or of multiple stones, but all one stone. Like in the middle of the woods, someone found this one boulder and said, “Yep, this will be my house one day.” The walls weren't overly thick, but thick enough to support the roof. Dorian suspected there was a basement, though he could never find the entrance. There were several rooms in his house, a general area with a hearth, dining room with a large oval table carved out of the same stone the house was made of another room dedicated to cooking that had to have additional ventilation installed to make room for all the cooking stations, four bedrooms, and most importantly, a privy. There was a pond behind the house, most of the vegetation had been cleared, leaving plenty of space for him to play about. The forest, however, kept him from straying too far, as it was so dense past the tree line that extraordinarily little light made its way through.
His brother was a little bastard. Little big bastard, he should say. His name was Kurtis, was always well to do in front of his parents, and an ass otherwise. In the land of giants, his brother was small but not as small as Dorian, which made Dorian the object of Kurt's cruelty. Albeit, playing pranks on a babe takes a certain kind of malevolence, like swapping out the fresh goat’s milk with milk that was old or curdled. What a bastard.
Kurt was the primary motivation for Dorian to continue practicing his speech, he wanted more than anything to tell him off but couldn't make the right sounds come out of his mouth. It was incredibly frustrating and took a great deal of time. In the interim, he studied the masters of argument, his parents, as closely as possible. Nobody could tell someone off like his mother, so when she spoke, he paid rapturous attention.
The house wasn't terrible, but it had its strife at times. During the early spring that year, the leader of their home, his mother, became the chief trapper for the village, and suddenly her responsibilities doubled. It made for some hostility in the house as his father, the cook responsible for estimating the total usage of food for the town, now had to work with his mother. I don't get it, Dorian thought to himself, you would think being around each other more would help their relationship, not hurt it.
Fortunately, Dorian's family was well-off, able to provide for themselves and contribute to the village in their roles. They enjoyed regular meat—more than needed, according to his father—and received a share of hides from the tanner. This ensured that Dorian and his brother Kurtis stayed well-fed and warmly clothed.
The village's monetary system was based on "Vega," a chip that could be exchanged for linen, vegetables, or grain from the Priorius Monastery. From what Dorian had overheard, the monastery was more than seven days' journey up the valley and supplied food for everyone, including Gwendon, Kresson, his own village with surrounding settlements and the monastery itself. The Priorius didn't like it when others tried to grow crops in the valley, claiming that the local habitat would collapse if the villages expanded their farmland. Each homestead was allowed a certain amount of farmland, and there was one large communal field to support the town's needs. Dorian's parents both thought the rule was nonsense, but they still managed to argue about it, even though they agreed on the matter.
Dorian's family lived in a village called Metan, named after Metae, one of the three primary gods. A day's travel northwest was Kresson, named after Kressor, while Gwendon, named after Gwendos, lay almost a few days travel to the northeast. The valley's furthest points were just ten days apart, and beyond them lay the wastes—a rocky expanse of granite and basalt that leveled out past the valley's jagged edges. It was said that the nearest habitable area outside the valley was over a week's journey away and only ever visited by ascending Priorius acolytes.
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The monastery only required ritual attendance twice annually, at the eve of both the spring and autumn equinox. Every year it was required for all the townsfolk to bring offerings for the ascension celebration. The celebration itself involved an entire fair during the day, swaths of people, but became solemn at night. The solemnity was, according to the bald Priorius elder, to pay respective prayers to the ascending Priorius acolytes. At dawn, on the day of the equinoxes, everyone would return to the announcement amphitheater where each of the acolytes would be announced and sent out of the valley. The amphitheater was a massive structure, large enough to seat the entire valley, located between the monastery and the campground. After the name of the acolyte was announced, she or he would walk a path from the center of the amphitheater out of the valley via an ascending pass. The metaphor was never lost onto the crowd.
Of course, Dorian didn't get to experience any of this himself, during each festival so far, he had been coddled by either parent almost consistently. It wasn't terrible, he was soaking up information about his environment. It's amazing what some people will say in front of a child, assuming that the kid would never be able to understand, they would yammer on endlessly about this or that. Whether the game would be good this year, how quickly the elks were repopulating, how the bears and cougars never seemed to stop repopulating even after several attempts to purge the valley of their presence. All of this was like fresh air to Dorian, as anything was better than the circular arguments at his homestead.
It was on the way back from the spring festival that year, while being toted on his mother’s back in a linen baby carrier, when Dorian overheard a conversation between his mother and the head smith of Metan. The day was clear but felt humid. The trail they walked was wide enough for three or four to walk side by side but was cut off sharply by dense forestation. Dorian knew it was the smith approaching because he always had dark stains on his hands, even after being away from his work for several days. Also, as one of the village heads responsible for the welfare of the rest of the village, he had the right to speak to his mother on a first name basis.
“Hello, Rita!” The smith bellowed from afar. He was waving. Dorian instinctively tried to wave back but couldn't with how his arms were constrained to the sack. His mother beckoned the man forward and stopped her walk.
“James, what can I do on behalf of Metan?” His mother asked when the smith caught up.
“Can't you simply greet an old friend?” He replied, smiling broadly. Dorian couldn't see his mother's flat stare, but he could still feel it, it had a weight to it. After a moment his mother said, “Yes, I suppose. Good day James Smith, of the Metan Smiths, fourth of the line and ninth to the house. Pardon my lack of formal address.” The sarcasm in her voice was thick, which was odd because she never took that tone with his father.
“None of that,” James said chuckling. “I'm not here for all that either, though I would like to address an issue that I'm sure your trappers can help with.”“Oh, do tell.” Dorian's mother replied.
“If you don't mind, let’s hold for the caravan tail. It's nothing concerning, but I don't want others getting any unsafe ideas.” They halted their walk and waited for a time, chit chatting idly over the recent festivities. When the last few people walked past them, the two began walking again, keeping their tones muted.
“What I really need is Steelfyre. Apparently, the stores at the monastery are running low, and there isn't any resupply expected. The only viable craft are the trappers, so I am petitioning you. If we could begin scouting the forest, and the valley edges for any sign of it. It could change everything, and for the better.” He paused for a moment, a frown on his face. “I know that look, Rita, and I know why. It's not pleasant, but I figured the safest way to do this was with the trappers. My metalworkers and tinkerers don't know any woodcraft. They'd be as likely to get attacked as your trappers would likely burn down my forge. It's a matter of practicality that I bring this to you.” Quiet followed for a time, only the sounds of the padded leather boots hitting the ground to fill the air. When his mother spoke, it was with stern certainty.
“We'll look as we set traps and alter our locations for the traps. I was planning on updating the maps, the forest has changed in the last generation and it's time for an update as is. That will take some time, and I’ve been dreading it for that reason. In the meantime, you will have to show us what to look for, and we won’t be doing any deep cave exploration.” James' face was bright until she said the last bit.
“But that's exactly where we need to be looking,” he said, stammering.
“No.” She replied sharply. “You know it's too dangerous.”
“Okay, I know what happened to Garrett was tragic. I know that was a hard time and it has left its mark on you, and understandably so. Which is why I have a solution.” He seemed to hold for a moment to see if his peer would interject. She didn't.
“Anybody that does find any, and most likely it will be inside a cave since the forest vegetation is so thick, will receive one quarter of the total expected expenditure, in Vega, for Steelfyre in the last year. This is entirely accounted for, as we've only had half purchases in the last two years prior, and this last year we couldn't buy any. The Vega would be enough to start a definitive line, and we could establish a new trade for Metan. Nobody would be required to inspect the caves unless they chose to, and as a bonus, the remainder would go to the trappers, half Vega, half credit to the smith's trade house.” He lowered his voice then, “It would be enough to establish the Cooks, you could have legitimacy again.” He stalled a moment, “And if you had legitimacy, I would be inclined to shift my support of the Weavers as village head. I owe the Hunts that much and more.” He grew more somber as he spoke, and by the end his face seemed pale. A long moment stretched, and even though Dorian couldn’t see his mother, he could feel her calculating look.
“Fine, but not for a few years.” The other adult moved to speak, but Rita cut him off. “Not negotiable, the terrain has been changing overmuch in these last few seasons. Cave exploration is dangerous, cougars and bears alike are a constant threat, there will be safety ropes made in case of sink holes, and none of this happens until we have an updated map with markers and a schedule. Three years at the very least.” Rita said, picking up her pace. As it became apparent, she was leaving the conversation, she turned her head and said, “Gare would have done what he did ten times out of ten. I take no debt over it, furthermore I'm no Hunt. Not in earnest, not anymore.” She sped up and before twenty strides the smith seemed to be consumed by the other travelers walking the forest road.
A year later, Steelfyre-seeking became the talk of the town. Hopes for riches and fortune had the village in an uproar. Dorian could hear the adults discussing it all day, and when his older brother came to pick him up from community care, he too spoke about it. Albeit, only with Dorian. "What do you think, Dorian? When you get old enough, we can go find it ourselves; we could be part of a recognized house!" Kurt's voice grew louder as his excitement mounted. When people started staring, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "We could be present with the rest of the village's proper houses, get an extra set of fine clothes from the monastery, and maybe you could even get lined up with one of the local houses. Since I'm the oldest, they'd probably send me to Gwendon to marry in one of the high houses. I hear that the Gwendon Tanners are all quite attractive." He seemed to drift off then, contemplating his own future and the uncertainty of hope. Maybe he's not so bad, Dorian thought as he was carried home.
So, for a long time, longer than he'd been alive, time passed with regularity. His parents didn't argue as much as Dorian grew, however they seemed less passionate. Not that they weren't middle-aged and in love, but that their responsibilities to the town and working towards their goal had them mostly occupied. For Dorian, that meant he could listen to his bedtime story, and was left to sleep, his parents trying to steal away any time they could in private. Of course, Dorian stayed up late trying to get his vocal cords to agree, and at the proper time he was successful.
Every morning he was taken to be watched by the dreadful harridans of the village and was picked up by his ever-growing brother a few hours before sunset. Usually, Dorian would waste time wandering around the nearby playground. He wasn't really interested in the obstacles, so he would climb the tallest structure, waiting for Kurt. Often, he would think to himself about the few lessons he received from the caretakers. Not that they were neglecting any lessons, just that the lessons were mostly things he had already picked up. He tried to pull the books down from the stone shelves in his own home but was frequently swatted at for attempting it. Until he was tall enough, or his lessons caught up, he would remain illiterate. It frustrated Dorian, which made him wonder if he should just ask his parents. It hadn't been long since the sounds he made resembled the words he wanted. Though he wanted to talk, every time he thought about it, he heard his brother in his head, mocking him. Until, one day, his brother surprised him.
Kurt still spoke to Dorian every day, about his hopes, his secret crushes, and what little he learned of woodcraft from the house. It was neat the way he would grow so excited about it, especially the insignificant details he learned that helped him puzzle out what kind of animal passed by.
It was in the middle of one of these tirades that Kurt stopped and looked down at Dorian. Dorian was old enough, by this point, that he could walk himself home and nearly keep pace with his older brother. “Why haven't you spoken yet? I mean, you're more than old enough. Mom and Dad are starting to worry that you won’t be able to. The other kids I've seen your age say a few things, but Dorian, you're so quiet.” A moment passed. Two moments, three. Kurt looked down at the ground, sighed, and began to walk away.
“What do you want me to say?” Dorian asked as his brother was walking away.
Eyes wide as both moons on a clear night, Kurtis Hunt turned, mouth agape. “It's not like you ever asked me anything, you always ramble on about what you want to talk about. I mean, you could have asked sooner, I could always interact. But every time I tried when I was smaller, you would just laugh and mock me. And what about the sour goat’s milk?” Dorian said, questioning. Though Dorian didn't think it was possible, his brother's eyes grew even wider.
Kurt, nearly shouting, said, “How much do you remember?!” Then, checking is volume, he ushered them to some trees off the side of the town road. “Dorian,” Kurt asked, voice tense. “Do you understand everything? Like, everything all the time, even when you were a baby?” Somberly, not sure why, Dorian nodded.
Kurt's breath hissed inwardly through his teeth. He took a deep breath after looking for eavesdroppers. “Dorian, you can't talk that much. And you can’t talk like that, at least not yet. If you do, they'll take you away to the monastery.”
Disbelieving, Dorian said, “that’s not funny, Kurt. I've heard the caretakers talking about it. They said the ones that show the signs go and never come back. And they must live at the monastery until they ascend at eighteen. Nobody ever sees them after that.” Looking Kurt in the eye, Dorian saw his brother's bright blue eyes tearing up.
“I know Dorian. You can't tell anybody that you can talk like this, it'll break Mom and Dad. When Melanie Weaver's little sister Wendy started speaking out of the blue, like you just did, they took her. Said she was a Priorius and had to be prepared for Ascension. They took her and told her parents to forget about her, and the rest of the town should do the same. Just forget, like she wasn't ever there to begin with. Dorian, our parents weren't happy before you came. You can't tell them, it will ruin them.” Kurt reached out, grabbing Dorian by the shoulders and looking him in the eye. Tears fell openly from his older brother's eyes, when he asked, pleading. “Please, little brother?”
Eyes wide, Dorian nodded slowly and quietly said, “Okay, big brother.”