There was no setting sun that night, only darkness as a storm moved in from the east. The thunder and the rain were almost on top of the city as Al looked for shelter. He thought of several places to go, Cred, Catherine, or maybe even Albane. But he headed in the opposite direction of all those places, instead of trying making way to the hospital in the Dregs. A place of free shelter for those in severe need. He was still emotionally numb from the letter. He wasn’t aware of his surroundings as he walked in the rain.
Al didn’t care about the rain nor did he want to even find shelter. No, his mind still recited the letter, searing it into his brain. Only his body moved to shelter as the mind was distracted with the other task. The unnaturally cold, rain soaked into every facet of his body. Water slowly chilled his body to the bone as he trudged through the rain. His backpack weighed down on him, every second that past it became heavier and heavier as it absorbed the rain. His clothes dripped at a constant rhythm.
Al walked farther and farther. Not noticing the piercing stare and the shadows moving towards him. The boy was lost in his own misery, and a popular saying was, ‘misery breeds more misery.’
A flair of pain exploded from his cheek as a fist jostled him out of his thoughts. He hit the cobblestone hard, the rounded rocks knocking the air out of his lungs stabbing into his ribs. Suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed his legs and his body started being dragged into a nearby alleyway. He closed his eyes and protected his head with his arms. This was when he noticed the laughter. The voices echoed as the rain fell.
“What in Onthranma is wrong with this kid,” a man spoke slightly in pain. “Boss, don’t touch him, he has some form of power,” the voice sounded out.
“Of course it hurt when you touched him!” a much gruffer voice yelled. “He’s a bloody Forsaken.” After a moment another voice joined the others.
“Nice catch,” the man who seemed to be the leader spoke to his compatriots, “why are you doing out in the rain, little boy.” The same man spoke to the prone Al. he didn’t speak nor did he acknowledge that anything was happening. When the silence prolonged, a foot impacted into Al’s stomach. He let out a sharp cry as bile started flooding his mouth. Even though he looked like he was being defiant, he was more paralyzed by fear than anything. He tried to move his legs, they only shook. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. The only thing he could do was keep his eyes shut.
“Well, it doesn't matter.” The voice sounded hurt like it mattered that the victim spoke. Swearing revenge and being all dramatic, but the bandits did not get any of that. “What’s in the backpack.”
“Nothing boss, just crap and more crap.” a much higher pitch voice replied, bags of rock-like material fell to the ground. More and more items fell out of the bag. All considered trash to the thieves.
“What about the coin pouch,” a third voice finally said, a ring of a blade being unsheathed was almost covered by the drops of rain. “There must be something.” A familiar weight left his side as the string that held the pouch was cut. A curse was heard as he started counting the coins.
“Ahh, looky here, what is this?” the leader picked up the canvas bag. Al stopped shaking as he realized what had been found. The cowardice was overtaken by a spark of rage. The ember was quickly snuffed out, though, by the overwhelming fear. He stayed down and did not unravel himself out of the fetal position.
“Oh blessed Androthi. What. A. Catch.” The man spoke mocking his victim. “Who would have thought that a freak would have a runebook. This will set us ahead months!” He was the only one to speak. Maybe the other two were lost for words. Maybe they were thinking about how to kill the other two. But there was a single sound that echoed in the Alleyway. And that was laughter.
“Thank you for your patronage, your donation to a worthy cause won’t be forgotten,” he said as if he was running a business. The sound of steps came towards Al, a hand grabbed his collar and his feet rubbed against the rough stones as he was lifted up. He opened his eyes without thinking.
A man with broken teeth and bright blond hair, waterlogged because of the rain, met his gaze.
“I’m a merciful man, and because I’m in a good mood. I’ll let you live to tell your tale.” Al’s eyes widened as the man slowly took out his knife, “Now, now, don't think you’re lucky, it’ll be a world of pain when you wake up.” The man spoke as the hilt of the knife rammed into his skull.
The sweet release of black came soon after.
----
A priest walked through the rain with a parcel of grain under his arm. An oiled cloak stopped the rain from soaking into his clothes and chilling his bones. The grain was for the priesthood, they ate it with a dab of honey in the morning. This was of course well inside the budget for the temple. They prided themselves for over half the yearly offerings going to charity and helping beggars have something to eat.
He was in the Dregs. An unsavory place where walking alone was a death sentence for anyone other than priests and truly fearsome men. The latter was obvious, the large and more dangerous you looked the less likely you to be attacked by muggers and thieves. But the former didn’t make as much sense. The answer was quite simple in actuality. A beggar was fed by the priesthood, the beggar then became a thief. Would he then attack and steal from the men and women who feed him and hundreds more? That was half true. There was another reason, the people of the temple are to be feared more than the truly fearsome men.
The rain began to die down, it was dark with only soma light to guide his way. There were already few to be found in the Dregs, but it was enough. Walk along the dark street without a worry in the world. The rain stopped also while he walked the shadowy cobble, fueling his good mood.
That was when he heard the scream, a sound no one wanted to hear, but all too common in this part of the city. The bald man stealthily moved towards the noise. A moment passed as he walked along a long alley. As he rounded the corner, he sighted three shadowy figures running out of the alley across from the one he just exited. They disappeared into the night. He did not follow, for they were not the reason he came. As he entered the opposing alley, the scene was laid out before him.
A boy with long dark hair no more than sixteen, head bleeding on the cobblestones that served as his bed. He was lanky with almost no muscle nor fat. Cloths, biscuits, bars, and empty pouches littered the street around the child. Such a scene made the old priest's heart hurt.
He knelt next to him, checked if he was still breathing, and sighed with relief. He retrieved a worn shirt and ripped it into bandages. He lifted the boy's head and carefully wrapped the cloth over the still bleeding wound. The priest took off the cloak and draped it on him, so he wouldn’t freeze to death. The grain would be hard to transport with the boy.
The man saw the empty backpack and set it on his knee. He squished the grain bag into the soaked thing. He’d make do with that, the priest saw a glint in the corner of the alley, two flasks shone in the darkness. The man pocketed them quickly. The few still edible foodstuffs, he picked up and placed them in a pouch. All clothes were soiled and destroyed. None of it was worth picking up.
After all that the kind priest finally picked up the boy and felt tingling. As if wherever the boy touched, there was a feeling of pins and needles. The priest learned the boy's identity at that moment but did not care. He ignored the discomfort and walked to the temple.
----
Al laid in a bed he had never laid in before. It was not the most comfortable mattress he’d slept in, but anything was better than the floor.
At first, the young man panicked because he felt nothing. Not the touch of the sheets, not the movement of his lungs, nor the pain of his injuries. He didn’t know if he was on his back or his stomach. Nothingness enveloped him and he was scared. There was a muffled voice that spoke, too disrupted to hear. Then the bandages around his eyes fell away, and he saw where he was. He was lying back on a small bed.
The spartan room had nothing but bloody rags and empty vials. A bald man sat next to him holding the bandage that moments before covered his eyes. He looked to be in his late fifties, he had no beard, meaning the only hair on his head was two tufts of light brown right above his eyes. His dark blue eyes piercing. He visually relaxed as Al’s arms and legs stopped flailing. Wait, why were his arms and legs moving? He couldn’t feel anything, not even when he saw his hands grasp for the sheets.
“Sh sh sh, calm down child, do not be afraid for you’re in the House of the Lost. You are safe.” The priest comforted the young man. His voice was a whisper that broke through Al’s panicking mind.
“WrAgh AgH Uhg?”, a garbled voice spoke out into the room. Al realized that it was his own.
“Ah, the numbing agent must be wearing off.” The priest was correct. A prickly feeling slowly crept up his toes, it would most likely wear off in the next hour. “A warning, I was unable to heal your abdominal injury. It will take a few months to heal properly, so don’t strain too much.” He smiled, his teeth were white as ivory. The sheen of the soma light reflected off his head as he got up. “I’ll be back in an hour, by that time the agent should have left your system and we can properly talk about your situation.”
He walked out of Al’s sight followed by the sound of a door opening and closing leaving him in silence.
——
The hour felt like an eternity, the ceiling was bare. With the boredom came small pains as the feeling of his body came back. It began with the tips of his toes and finger. Then it progressed down his limbs, each minute the pain increased. After fifty minutes he could feel the full brunt of his wounds and didn’t want to move anymore. The kick to the stomach was the worst of all. When he tried to look at it, the sight of a layer of purple bruises and the pain that came after caused him to wince. He couldn’t see his face, but from the lack of pain and the inability to see any swelling, the priest had healed his cheek.
He made the mistake to sit up. The pain raged as his muscles moved. Not willing to give up, he leaned his back against the cold wall.
The priest came back with a tankard of water, three bread loaves, and a slab of butter. The sight of Al having moved, had him raise an eyebrow.
“That’s a surprise, shouldn’t you be resting instead of making yourself go through unnecessary pain, my son.” He spoke in a hushed manner. Not raising his voice even if he was a little perturbed. He set the platter on the bedside table and began pouring the water in a small cup, “now that you should be able to talk, what is your name?” He handed the cup to the young hunter.
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He took a sip to wet his parched throat. The water was cool, he gulped the rest down in quick succession. “Alvin Morrow,” he said simply. “What is your name?”
“Oh, sorry that I hadn’t told you earlier, my name is Seth.” He spoke reaching for the platter. “I want to know more about you though, where did you grow up?” Seth took one of the loaves and tore it in half. No nonchalantly butter the bread waiting for the answer.
“I have lived in the Bowood village since a few days ago,” Al hesitated and swallowed the little saliva in his mouth. “I left because of my curse, I try not to think about it.” The priest handed the buttered bread to Al, the young man gladly grasped the bread and bit into it. That was when he realized just how little he had eaten the entire day. After the first bite, the bread seemingly vanished into the young man’s maw. Seth chuckled at the sight and began preparing another.
“Bowood? Isn’t that the forest that manifested recently?” He asked
“Yeah, I went in right after it manifested,” Al spoke without thinking, he spoke of what led him to be in the Dregs at night. The priest's hand stopped buttering the bread. His brain took a second to catch up to what he had heard. The man stared at the boy in disbelief, unable to accept the simple truth of the matter.
The first thing that broke the silence was the incredulous voice of the priest, “You should be dead. Androthi bless you, boy. I’ve heard what they do to Forsaken in the villages and other rural areas. What you have been through, I can’t imagine.” spoke more and more somber, “the pain, the misery, and the loneliness. The horrors that Forsaken sees, that I’ve seen. Those poor children.”
He clutched the bread, grinding it in his fist. His face aged dramatically in seconds. Flakes of crust and crumbs falling to the ground, followed by the invisible tears of a holy man who had lost many and lost himself. He only let those feelings out for a few precious seconds before locking them behind a neutral facade. He looked at the now ball of buttery dough and chuckled.
“Sorry about that, I don’t let my emotions flow freely enough at times. I seem to have made a scene. I’ll leave you alone to rest. I don’t want to bother you any more than I have to.” he slowly retreated to the door.
“Thank you,” Al rasped, “thank you for saving me.” The Priest stopped the door ajar and with a somber smile turned around.
“It was not I who you should be thanking, no, it was just a duty I promised myself to fulfill.” He then exited the room. Leaving Al in confusion about what that meant.
——
After Al consumed all the bread and water. He was left in a desolate room with nothing to do but twiddle his thumbs. His body was still troublesome, shooting with pain with the slightest movement. He had slept, the windowless room had not allowed him to know how long. Seth came to the room several more times, usually to have small talk and bring food and water. The fifth time Seth entered the room he brought with him a bag. Al’s bag. With it was everything the Priest could scavenge from the mugging. Not much of value. Therefore, when Seth showed that he recovered two flasks of shiny greenish liquid, Al was relieved.
Later on, Seth came in with a flask of a different kind. A brownish liquid shifted inside the glass.
“A Potion of Expedited Healing, inexpensive solution to your injuries.” His eye glinted at his genius. He thought of it after many failed treatments to heal the injured young man. The massive problem with the injuries was the inability of Soma Techniques to make contact with the affected areas. The repulsive force that the ambient and even Seth’s soma has on the boy was making the process of healing take longer than it should. But not anymore. “This Potion should use the soma inside your body and what the soul naturally produces to accelerate the healing process, it is not as effective as a healing potion or soma treatments, but it should have you up in less than a day.” He handed Al the flask.
Al swirled the liquid and peered closely at the small particles caught in the motion. “Seth, why does it look like someone had a bad time on the pot and then bottled it up?” Al’s face scrunched at the potion sight of the potion.
“That is because it was in the bargain bin, no one wanted the stuff. So I got it at the great price of five crowns!” He smiled at the young man as he slowly realized that he was not slack-jawed because it was a great price.
“What! That’s expensive!” Al winced as the pain erupted from his stomach. On second thoughts, maybe it wasn’t. He looked at the purple and brown bruises that covered his abdomen. Slightly better than it was, but it was a slow recovery.
“Ha! It is fine. That was a small fraction of what we bring in from the nobility and wealthy merchants. And I’m using the money for a good cause, so I rather see it as a gain than a loss.” The man smiled as if that wasn’t one-fourth of the coins Alvin originally had. Al looked at the flask again, a small smile cracked across his lips. He uncorked the glass vial and knocked it back like it was a shot of liquor.
Oh, it tasted putrid. Like the smell of burnt toe fungus. Immediately, his wounds started to burn, the skin around the bruises turned a bright red and swelled. A feeling of dread came over Al as he realized that his soma started being consumed at a rapid rate. He reached over and pulled out one of the two flasks of lesser soma, and also chucked the contents in his mouth. As his soma reserves slowly leveled out, his panic dissipated.
“That was close.” Al sighed quietly. The healing could already be seen and felt. The discoloration had faded little, but the progress that was maybe three days was now surpassed in a minute.
“With that out of the way, I can now talk to you about the second reason I came here for. Al… I want you to become a priest.” The old man said this like it was the most natural thing to do. Al stopped marveling at his wounds, to then look at the Priest in astonishment.
“Why should I do that?” the young man responded as his voice cracked. Being a holy man was a life of frugality and servitude. They helped the less fortunate and the needy. Their whole life was in service to their chosen deity, and they would take that vow to their graves. This was not a small decision, this was for the rest of that person’s life. One does not walk the path of the priest lightly. As others have realized. He was perplexed on why? Why does Seth want him to become a priest?
“Boy, do you think that you have other paths to take?” The Priest stood from his stool, “you have no home, you have no coins, AND you have barely anything to your name. Al, you have no chance of apprenticeship. Any beggar on the street has a better chance of getting a job than you! They at least can protect themselves from common street thugs!” Seth took a second to breathe, sat back down on the stool, cupping his head in his hands. “Why wouldn’t you want to become a priest if we could supply you with everything that you can need and more.”
Al was stunned, in his few days in the temple the priest never once raised his voice towards him. His mouth finally opened to respond, “I don’t want to be a leech anymore. I don’t want others to take care of me! I’ve tried, I’ve tried.” His knees pressed against his chest.
“Son, you will not be a leech here, take my hand.” Seth reached out to the boy, “you will work every day, you will have earned you the right to be a priest at the end of each and every day that you are here. So please, take my hand.”
The boy hesitated, he did not want to become a priest… But did he have a choice? It was this or death on the streets or years as a beggar. So he made his choice and took the priest’s hand.
The old man smiled, then yanked the boy on his feet. For the first time in three days, Al stood not on his own, but it was good enough for now. The priest held him up, with Seth’s support, they left the room.
——
The moon was out, pale pink light filtered through the clouds. Stars could be seen behind those wisps of vapor. Shadows flowed above the House of the Lost, darkening the courtyard therein. Two shadows walked across the empty space.
A bald, old man in the robes of a priest and a jolly aura around him. He stepped carefully over the muddy grass. His saddles plopping quietly in the depths of the knight.
Following him was a young man whose bruised face was barely visible in the pale light of the moon. He limped but was walking on his own now. He also wore a robe, it was different from the robes of the priest. Instead of the whites and golds that the old man walked in. The boy walked in a grey and red robe, a belt was around his stomach to keep the skirt close to his body and not free-flowing.
They headed into the far back of the temple into the main sanctuary. Once there, Seth opened a door to go farther into the holy place. A corridor welcomed them, as they walked through it the Priest suddenly stopped and turned towards the young man, with soma light in hand.
“I promise you that this is the correct path for you.” Trying to push any doubts away from the boy's mind. This was the best path, the one with the least hardship, with the least death.
He grabbed the boy forward in front of him and said his last few words of comfort before the vow. “I’ll be out here, nobody will be with you once you take the vow. This is supposed to be an intimate moment between you and the deity. Also, be prepared to have a strange event happen within your soul.” He stepped back and was silent. He stayed there as Al stepped forwards towards a small oak door.
It was expertly carved with the images of a woman on the hunt, it was familiar to Al, but he couldn’t place where he saw it. As he opened the door a flood of light welcomed him into the Inner Sanctuary. After he walked through the door, it shut behind him.
He stood in a strange place, a place where wilderness seemed out of place, but was welcomed within the building. If anybody else was here, they'd realize it was also a place with high soma concentrations. But Al couldn’t feel the soma, so he did not notice the odd nature of this place. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the center of the Sanctuary.
There laid an old granite temple. Not like the massive complex that was the House of the Lost. No, it was a humble thing, just larger than his parents’ cottage. It had seen the elements at some time, but it was now protected by the dome of the Inner Sanctuary. Al had never seen such an architectural marvel as this, the Library was close. Compared to this, though, it looked plain. The whole underside of the dome was engraved with thousands of images that glowed. He wondered how it had not collapsed, or how the engravings glowed with such ferocity.
He slowly made his way along a path that led to the temple. He was instructed beforehand on what to do and what to say, and he was reciting them in his head as he walked.
When he made it to the entrance of the temple, he realized he should have asked for a soma light. The inside of the temple was dark with the only light shining through a hole in the ceiling. It shined upon a pedestal and a staired alter. On it was a bowl that seemed to glow with its own light. In between him and the pedestal was dark and moss-covered with vines weaving across the floor.
He treaded on the foliage each step slowly placed so as not to slip. The sound of his steps did not echo or even heard. Each step was muffled as the smell of the moss finally reached his nose. The darkness dissipated as he approached the stairs. As he climbed the stairs, he started the first line of the oath.
“O, thee, the maiden of the night, I am lost and bring nothing of value,” he spoke the first line of the holy vows. Once he was on the altar itself he spoke the second line.
“Thy guidance and help, may I be that to others.” Then with that, he stepped over to the pedestal and spoke the third and fourth line.
“For I am more lost than they, but with you, as my guide, I shall be the hand that is offered, instead of the hand reaching.” He dipped his hand into the bowl. He spoke the last line of the vow.
“Thy will be done, for I shall…” he choked, his throat enclosed upon itself. he had not forgotten the last line. No, he had it memorized. He looked at himself in the water, the bruised face of a child appeared in front of him. No man could be seen in the reflection. As he looked at himself, he felt a sense of despair fill his mind. Why was he doing this? Why couldn’t he have died in that mugging? Why did his parents take care of him for so long? Why was he even born?
The water in his hands began to be met with his tears. Then he had a sudden epiphany. He remembered where he had seen that engraving on the door. It was an image straight out of his childhood. The temple on the outskirts of the village. The ruin which he prayed to in despair. The child who was lost had wanted guidance back then too and had watched a falcon catching a rat.
That was when he had become a hunter. But it was not the route that had happiness at the finish line. No, it had this, him at an altar becoming a priest.
The boy felt rage like he never felt before, the anger he felt towards the thugs couldn’t put a candle to this… vitriol that welled up inside him. Years of trauma, self-hatred, and abuse flowed out of his mouth, he saw red as he wept in the bowl. The will to keep moving forward no longer there, only pain.
He spoke of things that he never said out loud, even in private. The emotions that had stagnated in this heart. The dark muddy fluid finally released. He did not stop speaking, the word becoming more and more heinous as his true feeling was heard.
Then he felt like something was watching him. He heard footsteps, then she yelled, the words that he would dread for many years.
“HOW DARE YOU PROFANE IN MY TEMPLE!” a feminine voice echoed in the temple. The walls shook at each word, the floor quaked at each syllable. His ears rang from the sudden blast of noise and startled he looked up to see who spoke.
The first sight of her would have enchanted any man. Her hair was like a flock of ravens on a moonlit night. A beautiful contrast to her nightgown and her pallid skin. What truly frightened him was not the horns, but her eyes. Green with a golden glowing ring around the pupils. They looked at him with such disgust, such rage, he felt himself being crushed by the gaze. The fear he felt at that moment was that which he’d never felt before. For even when he was being mugged, lynched, and attacked by monsters did he have those moments of disbelief. Here, in front of her, he did not. The reality of the moment had been made clear. He had done something unforgivable inside this temple.
And the price must be paid for his sin.