“Come now, out of the cold you four,” he said quickly, ushering them inside with a swift movement of his blue-robed arm.
The Red City monks didn’t hesitate as they walked inside hoping for warmth. The large monk closed the door behind them before speaking again.
“You’re just in time for the feast, we’ve been expecting you,” he said jovially.
The grand nave was dark and cold, lit only by the candle in the monk’s hand. The faint yellow light reflected off the gold leaf and polished silver hugging the graceful pillars. Aeden strained to see farther into the depths of the nave but was rewarded with shadow and darkness.
“This way brothers to warmth and food,” the monk said as he burnished his candle through the cavernous depths of the lavish monastery.
Aeden trailed behind the others, feelings of curiosity tugging at him. It was already evident that Gemynd was different than Bodig. It was colder, grayer, and the monasteries seemed richer, displaying their wealth in a wanton attempt to convince the masses of Salvare’s greatness.
They arrived at a grand dining hall filled with oversized monks. A massive fire lent light, warmth, and a hint of smoke to the stone-vaulted room. Wooden tables lay side by side and were already covered in what appeared to be the first few courses of a grand feast. Servants were coming out with trays as they were greeted and ushered to seats.
Aeden was surprised. The others were in shock at the level of decadence displayed. An excessive number of candles were burning along the walls providing more than ample light. None-too-quiet discussions echoed off the stone surfaces. It seemed to be more an atmosphere of celebration and gluttony than quiet contemplation.
“Eat brothers!” One of the seated monks said gesturing to them with a half-eaten piece of meat dangling from his fingers.
Aeden glanced at Odilo and the others briefly before he reached forward and grabbed a chunk of pheasant. It was very mildly spiced, not nearly as much as some of the foods in Bodig, perhaps because of the weather he thought idly.
“Certainly different than Nailsea,” Aeden said conspiratorially to Adel recalling the runner Luke taking them immediately to the strict Abbot Gilbert.
Adel glanced sideways at Aeden then quickly to Odilo as if speaking during mealtime was frowned upon.
“The rules are different here, just keep Salvare in your hearts,” Odilo said only partially looking at them as if he knew exactly what they were thinking.
This seemed to be what Adel had been looking for. He dipped some horse bread into a bowl of beer before responding. “Nailsea makes me think of other things,” he said quietly.
“Thomas,” Aeden said, a sudden feeling of sadness welling up inside of him like a cold spring.
“Yes,” Adel said, pausing with a hunk of bread in his hand.
“I’m sure he’s been guided into the light,” Aeden said.
“Thanks to you for properly burying him and leading the monks in prayer.”
“I don’t remember leading anyone in much of anything, besides Odilo was the one who started the prayers,” Aeden said honestly.
Adel shrugged and dipped some more bread into his beer. The two of them remained silent for a time as a sea of conversation ebbed and flowed along the natural rhythms of dinner.
“Have some more,” a monk next to Aeden said emphatically as he pushed a plate of dilled potatoes toward him.
“Thank you,” Aeden said, remembering to grab the plate with his left hand supported by his right at the elbow. It was a tradition of strength and deference among the Gemynd according to Thomas.
“You’re not from here,” the man next to him suddenly said, with crumbs falling from his beard, and his blue eyes staring carefully at Aeden’s gray irises and shortly cropped white hair.
“I was struck by lightning when I was young,” Aeden said, remembering a story he once heard about a boy from a distant town.
“Graced by Salvare’s own hand, marked for something special I see,” he said slightly less seriously, “well, all the same, eat and enjoy. It is His holiday after all!”
Chapter 39
“And so the Calenites fell upon the merciless blade of Sancire.” Annals of Verold, Volume II - Anonymous
The days at the Treton Monastery passed uneventfully. It was a reprieve of sorts for what had happened in Nailsea and for what was to come. The time spent there was akin to sitting in the eye of a storm, firmly oblivious to the horizon.
The days were cold and snow fell about them in gentle sheets of silky white. The scribes worked with the attention and efficiency of neophytes, only half-hearted in their earnestness to complete the task. Chores were accomplished by a small army of servants as the glutinous monks ate, slept, and prayed, mostly in that order.
Aeden spent a lot of time in the library reading by candlelight. Adel was more withdrawn than usual. He was taking the loss of Brother Thomas harder than Odilo or Neri. In fact, Neri seemed to be unaffected, save for spending more time with the pigeons and the monastery carrier.
It was on the second week there, a particularly cold day that Aeden stumbled across an interesting bit of information in a well-hidden book. In particular a set of passages that related Dominer the Pure’s attempts at gathering a following. The passage read was the following:
It is heretofore unknown and unheralded in account, but anonymity requires certain annals to preclude facts for their very nature may be deemed threatening to those vested in the current state of affairs. Therefore, it was upon the First Age of the Imperium, the Second Age of Man, and the hundred and fiftieth year of Calenite Law that Dominer, son of Galvin of Chur began an ambitious campaign in the view of self-pious belief. His actions could be seen as a response to the oppression of belief in all things ethereal. For history records a bloody time of persecution, fear, and mistrust. Agents of Calen were hidden by fold and cloth, devious to the point of absurdity. It was Dominer son of Galvin that spoke out against the atrocities of power, the trappings of wealth, and the deceit of the ruling class. His word echoed grandly upon the plains to profound effect; for followers swelled upon the earth in droves to hear his sermons, oblivious to the hidden demons of powerful men. Words of self-denial, restraint, and discipline, followed a call to greater action; so then a dichotomy of belief was founded, rooted in the efforts of a few to overcome the power of the pervasive. Dominer son of Galvin met Sha’a of A’sh and begot four sons, Sha’ril in honor of the mother, Gemynd to honor the mind, Bodig to honor the body, and Sawol in honor of the soul. As Dominer’s children grew so too did his affection for the people and the land, whilst his desire for change and liberty from Calenite Law swelled. It was upon the eclipse of the sun during the hundred and sixty first year of Calenite Law that the following of sancire began their destructive emancipation from those who wished to continue their iron rule; cities were burned, lives were lost, and a religion was born. With each victory Dominer grew in stature. Ballads of greatness were cast to stone and sang upon the lips of men. Even after his death upon the flames of Tretun were the songs sung. Those who did not sing wept at his loss but none more than his wife, who had drew unto him unlike any other; Sha’a fled with her favored son Sha’ril to the deserts of the far south, Gemynd in his infinite wisdom deemed the north to be of greater safety and took refuge amongst the windswept mountains, Bodig chose to fight and stay in the land of his birth, leaving Sawol to wander south of the mighty river in search of creating a land of peace. And so it was on the First Age of the Imperium, the Second Age of Man, and the one hundred and sixty ninth year that the Empire of Calen fell.
Aeden’s mind reeled with questions. If this was an accurate account of history it flew in the face of all other accounts he had read thus far. It contradicted Blaise’s words and was likely condemned by the Church. He was surprised to have found it.
At first the book’s old dusty cover beckoned to him, the yellowed parchment and old flowing script begged to be read. He was careful with the pages for they felt ready to break at the
slightest touch. He read as quickly as he could eager to devour more, yet many of the pages were beyond repair, their words lost to the ages.
When he finally read what he could he delicately closed the book with the gentleness of a first kiss. Aeden ached to know more, to uncover the hidden secrets of history to better understand the present. He thought it equally strange and fascinating that such different accounts of the same history could be told. At times he felt as if the very house of god whisked the wind from the lungs of the faithful, casting the light into shadow.
The more he thought on it the more curious he became. Among the Thane there were numerous stories, parables his master called them. They served the purpose of delivering a moral principle, yet most people knew they weren’t entirely true. This differed from the texts and words of the monks he met. Most monks seemed to place greater faith in the words of their books and the stories of the seniors, as though they were more than parables, they were living embodiments of what had truly occurred.
Many of their stories conflicted with what he knew to be true. This awakened a greater curiosity and set his mind aflame with questions. Were their stories true or were the stories he grew up with true? Part of him wanted to reject all that was not Thane, but he could almost see his friend Devon playing devil’s advocate just to spurn him. The conversation played out in his mind as if the ghost of his deceased friend were there before him.
“You always questioned our stories, traditions, and methods, why would you stop now? You feel guilty for leaving me, leaving S’Vothe the way you’d found us? Burnt and exposed? Or is it you’ve come to your senses? The kovor’s son finally acting as he should,” Aeden imagined Devon smirking as if he had made an irrefutable point.
“I will forever deal with my guilt, but I’ll make it right. I will do all in my power to set you free. As for my changes. I have grown. I have learned that patience begins with the self before being extended to others.”
“So the Temple of Boredom worked!”
“Maybe. But if I’ve grown why do I feel so angry,” Aeden replied to the imaginary Devon.
“I don’t think you’re angry enough! You always were soft like a woman. But what did I expect from a boy raised by grandmothers. I’m sure you will soon forget all of us who perished while you watched from safety,” Devon’s eyes turned cold.
Aeden’s heart beat strangely in his chest. Guilt surfaced like bile. The feeling tasted bitter in his mouth. He rubbed his forehead and struggled to bury his memories.
As he opened his eyes he glanced down at the dusty book. He picked it up gingerly and replaced it in the hidden spot behind the other books. His guilt slowly subsiding as questions bubbled to the surface. As the Evening Prayer bell rung out its deep reverberating song Aeden thought of the ancient Calenites and their once vast empire.
Chapter 40
“Inspiration can be taught to those with an open mind and willing heart.” Canton of Sawol
Inspired by the texts he had read Aeden spoke with Adel. He was curious about the different accounts of history, wanted a fresh perspective, and most of all he wanted to see if he could convince a friend to join him in speaking out against the atrocities that had occurred at the Nailsean market.
“What did you think?” Aeden asked inquisitively.
“It contrasts Blaise’s story and would likely be considered a blasphemous account of Dominer the Pure,” Adel replied carefully.
“I know, but the reasons for his struggle make sense. Why else would a man be driven to violence,” Aeden saw Adel’s face twist into a look of disapproval.
“It may seem to make sense, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. Dominer was inspired by Salvare himself, the one true god, to take proper action, to save the people,” Adel said.
Aeden eyed him for a moment feeling as though he was losing Adel’s interest before he even had a chance to begin. What was it about certain beliefs that made people abandon all logic, Aeden wondered. It angered him.
“What are you afraid of? The truth? Why couldn’t Dominer have both been inspired by Salvare and acted in response to the events of the time?” Aeden said pleadingly.
Adel’s composure changed as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“I live with the faith of my god in my heart, I’m not afraid,” Adel responded defensively.
Aeden pressed on in the hopes of still convincing him.
“Perhaps god inspired him at the right time, it was all part of Salvare’s plan to have Dominer rise up against the oppression of the Calenite Empire. How do we not know that Salvare isn’t testing us, seeing when we will take action, to make positive change?” Aeden said, his mind searching for words to convince the doubting Adel. “Monks have already been demonstrating as I saw when I first came to the Red City, but there has to be a more effective way,” he continued.
“I don’t know. What can we do but pray and set an example?” Adel intoned.
“Pray louder so that groups of people hear. Set the example through words and action to let the people know that it isn’t right for those with power to simply squash those without. Why kill a marketplace full of monks and townspeople if not to send a message? We can be even louder and make ourselves heard.”
“And what message would you send?” Odilo asked as he stepped into the room, a look of intense interest written upon his face.
Adel and Aeden turned to look at him. Aeden was startled and it showed, whereas Adel looked moderately guilty as though he had been caught conspiring in some illicit scheme.
“That the emperor cannot be allowed to kill without cause, without repercussions,” Aeden said his voice trailing off.
Odilo merely nodded and looked thoughtful as he looked to Adel, “and your thoughts?”
“Brother I don’t know what to believe,” he responded more quietly, “but I think that if Salvare wanted reprisal he will do it in his own way in his own time.”
“We can’t be so swift to assume to know the will of god or be so quick to assume it is upon our shoulders to carry out his justice. Remember that in the shadow of ignorance further ignorance is born.” Odilo said looking to Aden.
“But we were there, you saw them cut the people down, you saw the banners and armor of the emperor, the bodies of the dead,” Aeden said in frustration.
“You speak of inciting the people to act out, this is very different than drawing attention to an idea, and letting Salvare sort out the rest,” Odilo said gently.
“What if it’s Salvare’s will that we speak out, we tell the people what we saw,” Aeden said.
Odilo drew in a slow breath and looked at them both with compassion in his eyes, “because it is never Salvare’s will to cause harm or be the spark that leads to death.”
Aeden almost spoke again, for he knew in his heart that Dominer had led the people to resist Calenite Law. Instead he chose silence, knowing there was no use debating Odilo. He had no desire to step upon the friendship of either monk, despite the anger of the injustice that simmered within.
The days grew shorter and became colder. Snow blanketed rooftops and rested lazily in rifts next to squat stone buildings. Time passed without much discussion of rebellion, death, or the empire. Instead idle talk of the cold weather, prayer, and the slow progress of Treton scribes touched the lips of the small band of visiting monks. The laziness of the monastery became ever more evident as another holiday passed and yet another feast of glutinous proportions was forced upon already full stomachs.
At first Aeden had wrestled with the idea of talking about the massacre to others. As more time passed he found it harder to stifle his anger and to resist the temptation of action. He found it increasingly difficult to sit quietly; to pretend nothing happened. In the name of Thomas he swore an oath to Salvare that those who perpetrated his death and the deaths of the other one hundred and eighty eight present that day would suffer an equal fate. More quietly he swore an oath to the older gods of the Thane Sagan Parthenon that he would avenge his brother and
help his soul find peace. He felt that by helping them he would be one step closer to helping his own family, his fallen comrades of S’Vothe, attain their much needed salvation.
Aeden finally had enough of idly waiting within the confines of the bejeweled monastery. Without asking for permission or letting the other monks know, he slipped out into the cold grip of Vintas. He ventured into the city of Trenton and listened to the people talk at taverns and inns. People would approach him asking for blessings for themselves, their children, and their businesses.
Aeden happily obliged and enjoyed feeling useful. He needed a purpose in life. And part of him hoped that this distraction would allow him to let go of his anger. If not, it would show him the path he needed to take to fulfill his oaths.
As he deliberated and cast judgments he listened. Many of the citizens would offer money in return for blessings. Aeden would refuse, telling them they needed it more than him. The looks of appreciation, surprise, and as time passed, respect, became more frequent. He realized he liked the attention. He enjoyed the level of respect that he lacked as a novice in the Order and the respect he had lacked as a student of the gevecht back in S’Vothe.
Aeden made his visits more often and word spread of the honorable Bodig monk who would freely give blessings and judgements for those who asked. Despite the cold weather, lines began to form whenever he entered an establishment. People were reserved, yet eager. They didn’t jostle or push, for he would not have tolerated that. Instead they waited patiently for their chance to speak to the young gray-robed monk from the kingdom south of the Dath River.
Complaints of high taxes, the recent epidemic of consumption, and increasingly unsafe roads were common. Trade was being stifled by the need for more money to combat the rising threat of mystics that had grown ever more organized in their attacks of the capital city of Gemynd. Imperial soldiers were camped in the north, often residing where it pleased them in their attempt to root out the mystics and squash any potential rebellion. This often meant soldiers occupied residences, fine stone-built houses of the merchant class, as the families they displaced sought shelter in their businesses or among the peasants, or on the floor of the great keep of whatever lord they served.
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