by Kris Hiatt
“When we do find The Calm, what emotions will we avoid?” he asked.
“Anger, Sadness, and Fear,” the class said. It was something Kelvrin had ingrained in them for the past couple of months after a few students seemed to be able to find The Calm.
“Why do we avoid those emotions?” Kelvrin continued.
“To avoid being stone-faced,” they replied.
“Which emotion is the most dangerous?”
“Anger,” the class responded. It was the same mantra every night for at least six weeks.
“What is the safest emotion?”
“Love.”
“Why is love the safest emotion?” he asked.
“No one has ever been stone-faced by love,” the class answered.
Treace wondered why this was true, but by everything the magister had said, not a single brother in the history of the College had ever been stone-faced by using healing magic. Trying to use it and, while in The Calm, finding another emotion instead could result in being stone-faced, but the actual act of using the healing magic never produced a single stone-faced brother. The use of anger, which produced heat, had been the number one cause of all stone-faced brothers since the beginnings of the College. A brother trying to heat a pot of water using magic could be stone-faced from the use. It was dangerous and that was why anger was the final emotion brothers were allowed to master.
“What happens to the stone-faced, Magister Kelvrin,” someone asked.
Treace realized he had never heard an answer to that question before, and hadn’t ever heard the question. He wondered why no one had asked it yet. He let his concentration drop so he could focus on Kelvrin.
“Class, attention,” Kelvrin said loudly. He clapped his hands many times until everyone broke from their efforts in trying to find The Calm and instead focused on him.
“I wondered when you would finally ask,” he began, speaking softly. “You see, we live off from our emotions. Everything we do is tied to them. Our memories, the way we learn, even our future is tied to our emotions. They, along with the quality of our character, guide us. Without the feeling of love, or sadness, or fear, or even anger, there isn’t anything to sustain us,” he said, looking at the floor.
“What do you mean?” another asked.
“I mean that if a brother becomes stone-faced, they will die.”
People gasped at that and murmurs traveled the room. Treace was shocked. He had never heard that before. He supposed he understood why. It probably wasn’t very high on the list of things the brothers wanted to advertise. Dying wouldn’t exactly encourage many people to sign up. As a child he thought there would be many stone-faced brothers walking the halls, he just now realized that he hadn’t seen a single one since he joined the College.
“Some die within days, others weeks. The strongest willed brothers live for a few months, but, eventually, they all die. The body cannot sustain itself without emotion.”
“Can it be reversed?” Treace asked.
“I’m afraid not,” was Kelvrin’s reply.
The door to the room opened and again Brother Drevic entered. The cold air was refreshing.
“Greetings initiates,” he said as he walked toward the corner, waiting for Kelvrin to join him.
“Greetings Brother Drevic,” half the class said in response. They were getting used to greeting and saying farewell to Drevic; he was there frequently.
Kelvrin joined Drevic and they quietly began their frequent discussions. They looked his way once, but Treace couldn’t be positive they were speaking about him; there were too many initiates in close proximity to be certain.
Treace was too far away to hear them this time. He was sitting in the opposite corner today. He tried to get the corner closest to where he knew the two would speak, but he was late coming back from lunch and someone else took his spot.
“Good day initiates,” Drevic said as he went to the door.
“Good day brother,” they replied.
“That is all for today class,” Kelvrin said.
#
“Can you believe what Kelvrin told us last night?” Heral asked when the trio was in Treace’s room again the next day.
“I know,” said Moff. “Did you hear about Brother Jespin?”
“No,” Treace replied.
“I did,” said Heral. “He was caught stealing a few pieces from his roommate’s purse and was dismissed.”
“Caught as in caught in the act?”
“Yeah,” Moff said. “He admitted to it to the Archmagister too.”
“Stupid,” Heral said.
Treace agreed.
“Back to what Kelvrin said,” Treace told them. “Do you know of anyone that was stone-faced since we have been here?”
“Two that I know of,” Moff said. “But they don’t like people to know about it.”
“Then how do you know?” asked Heral.
“I don’t know, people just tell me things. I don’t know why, they just do,” Moff said.
Treace knew what Moff was saying. He had found himself telling Moff the entire story about Emiah and didn’t really know why. He just felt like he could tell his friend anything. He supposed it wasn’t that hard to believe that others could do the same.
“Does it scare you,” Heral asked, looking at Treace.
“Not scare me, but I’m definitely concerned. Aren’t you?”
“Not yet, we haven’t even learned The Calm, and some of us probably never will,” Heral said, looking at Moff.
“No, but I’ll have fun trying,” Moff said, still not fazed by the truth. “Even if my trying is drinking while the two of you try to find The Calm. Wine makes me calm.”
Treace had thought about their friendship many times over that last several months. The three of them had become close friends and did many things together. Yet their backgrounds couldn’t have been any more different. Moff was beyond wealthy and loved to show it while accepting the truth at his apparent lack of skill in finding The Calm. Heral was from a fairly wealthy family yet completely avoided talking about them. Treace was from a lower class family and worked as a smith for a couple years before coming to the College. Both his friends never worked a day in their life and Treace doubted Moff ever would. He appreciated the College a little more then, knowing that he never would have forged a friendship with either of these two men without joining its ranks.
“I know it’s my turn to buy, but I’m not going out tonight guys,” Treace said.
“Sure, your turn to buy and you leave the other two of us wolves to fend for ourselves?” Heral teased.
“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Treace said.
“Oh, I know I will,” Moff said. “But Heral may cry.”
“I’ll cry laughing when that lovely brunette turns you down again tonight like she has the last three.”
“But the hunter prizes that which is difficult to catch,” Moff said.
“Sure, your prize for the few seconds you’ll last anyway,” Treace said, earning a high-five from Heral.
“You wound my pride, sir,” Moff said in feigned anger.
“Treace couldn’t have, Moff. Your pride is still in Kadenton where you left it,” Heral added.
Treace gave him a high-five.
“Both my best friends turning against me,” Moff said. “I suppose I’ll have to drink my worries away.”
Treace wondered how long before drinking his worries away would no longer work for Moff. He was hard on the outside and didn’t let people near him long enough to see the truth behind the man as Treace did; he was lost and alone and wanted nothing more than his father’s love. All the drink and jokes in the world couldn’t change that, although he used both to try. He realized they weren’t alike in that regard after all. Moff was seeking the love of a father that didn’t love him, and Treace had the love of a father that gave up everything for him. As much as it pained Treace to lose his father, he knew that between him and Moff, he was the lucky one.
Chapt
er 12
Archbishop Vrindel walked through the halls of the Onneron Priory silently cursing those wretched brothers of the College. First they continued to refute his claim that the Church should control them, which was preposterous; healing was done by God and God alone, even if those stubborn brothers wouldn’t admit it. He would make them see the error of their ways. Now they were sending a member of their order to meet directly with the baron, something Vrindel had advised against, and had been doing so for over a year.
At first, he only hinted that he didn’t think it was the right choice, not wanting to upset the baron. But later, knowing that his cause was right, he actively voiced his concern to the baron when they were in private. He hadn’t said as much in public, but thought if things got any worse, he may have to go that route.
He had heard another Onneron Brother had met with Liernin yesterday and had left this morning. He was on his way to meet with the baron and hoped to garner some information from the man as to what the brothers were up to.
“Pardon me, Archbishop,” Acolyte Yelsn said as he approached. “Brot- Acolyte Pinstrom has informed me that the College member will be coming back in a couple of months.”
He had forbidden the use of the word ‘brother’ in the Church, even though up until a year ago it was the usual greeting the members of the Church referred to each other as. He didn’t want anyone confusing his Church with the members of the College. All lower ranking members of the Church now referred to each other as Acolyte; something that Vrindel had decided himself and was quite proud of. He decided not to berate the younger man for nearly saying the word.
“Thank you, Acolyte Yelsn, that is all,” he said, never slowing his pace.
The younger acolyte bowed and went about his business, leaving Vrindel to think about how to convince the baron to assist him in ensuring the College comes under his control. He had tried the approach of healing being God’s work, to which the gentle baron agreed, but he still wouldn’t help him force the issue. Baron Liernin was a man of God, but Vrindel couldn’t use his faith against him. The man’s character was too strong for that.
He thought of leaving Haven and making the Onneron Temple in Kadenton the new Priory, hoping he could bend Shamir’s will to his own, but knew that to be useless. The College was closest to Liernin’s city of Kilindric and knew, too, that Liernin would take that for the slight that it was, no matter the explanation.
He kissed his fingers and pressed them against the statue of Kaden on his way out; something he did on every occasion that he left the confines of the Priory. Whenever he returned he would again kiss his fingers, but this time he would place them on the statue of St. Zivon. He wrapped his voluminous robes tightly about him and braced for the cold as two young acolytes opened the large doors for him and bowed at his approach.
The baron’s palace was close to the priory, but Vrindel knew it would be a while before he was able to see the man. He wouldn’t have any problems getting through Leirnin’s security forces; they knew his face well enough to simply allow him to pass, but the pathways and the sheer number of steps it took to reach the palace was so designed to make the visitor feel as if they were very small and inconsequential. There was no direct path to gain entry to the palace, unless you were to trample the flowers and disturb the meticulously kept grounds. That is something no one wishing an audience with the baron would be stupid enough to do, for doing so would surely put the man in a sour mood, or cancel your meeting altogether.
Vrindel knew the ploy would work on many of Liernin’s visitors, and even admitted to himself that he was in awe the first time he traversed the paths to see the baron. He was no longer in awe and despised the fact that the baron wouldn’t allow him to use a different access route. He knew there were several that would cut the time to reach the baron in half, but only members of Liernin’s forces could use them.
“I wish you would let me use one of the shorter access routes,” Vrindel told Liernin many minutes later once he completed the walk and the wait to see the baron. His robes were damp from the melting snow, so he walked to the fire to warm up and dry off.
“So then have you brought me a key to your private chambers?” Liernin asked from a seat near to the fire. He was sipping a glass of wine and motioned to the carafe with one of his large hands.
“Of course not, but you can hardly say they are equal,” Vrindel told him, declining Liernin’s offer of a drink with a shake of his head. He didn’t like where this was going, but since he started it, he wasn’t going to let Liernin off so easily.
“Very true, anyone can access the priory at any time, yet I say who accesses my home. So, you see, they are very different. I have access to your building whenever I want, save your private quarters, yet you want direct access to mine?”
“Fine, fine,” Vrindel said. He waved his hand to wave away the idea, deciding that letting him off easy was the smart choice. It was the same routine every time he asked and he was certain Liernin would tire of the question sooner rather than later.
“What can I do for you on this fine day, Archbishop?”
“Oh, I merely wanted to check on the well-being of a friend, that’s all. Isn’t that what friends do?”
“Oh, they do, but I also know you well enough to know that you were informed of a visitor I had yesterday from the Onneron Brotherhood. Your visit isn’t just a coincidence, so don’t play me for the fool,” Liernin scolded.
“Fine, fine, let’s displace the pleasantries then,” Vrindel said, again waving to wave away the subject. “Did you tell him you were siding with the Church, since you are, after all, a man of God?”
“I did nothing of the sort and you know it. I don’t know why you are so set upon destroying what they have worked centuries to become.”
“Liernin, I have told you countless times. The members of the College use God’s power to heal yet do not claim to be men of God. How do you think that makes the populous look at the Church when none of my members have the ability to do so?”
“Then perhaps instead of trying to destroy them, you should have members of your order join theirs.”
“Preposterous! And borderline blasphemy if I do say,” Vrindel spouted.
“Vrindel, my good friend,” Liernin said in a kind, gentle tone. “I have met with their ambassador many times. He is a good man and I have heard nothing but good things regarding the Onneron Brothers.”
“You can’t possibly know everything about their order. Perhaps you should investigate them to know the truth,” Vrindel said, hoping to convince his friend to find the truth. They were hiding something, he knew it. He didn’t know what they were hiding, but his faith told him that the Onneron Brotherhood was definitely hiding something. Whatever the sectret was, it was dark.
“I don’t know everything about yours either. Should I send a group of my men in to investigate your order?”
“Alright, my friend, I give up for today. Let’s talk about a better subject. How’s little Liern?” He knew not to push his friend any further. Once the baron decided on something, it took a tremendous amount of effort to change his mind. He thought by asking about his son it would soften him up a little and lead their conversation to a more positive place. He could tell it was going to work because the baron’s face lit up whenever his son’s name was mentioned.
“He is growing up so fast, Vrindel. It’s hard to believe that he is eleven. His birthday isn’t for almost half a year, but do you know what he has already asked for?” Liernin asked. He was quite excited and animated when he talked about his son and he sat up, moving his large frame to the edge of the chair as he spoke.
“What?” Vrindel asked, feigning interest. Liern was a decent young man, but he didn’t think that whatever the baron’s runt of a son wanted for his twelfth birthday was anywhere near as important as the situation with the Onneron Brotherhood, or the one regarding the current lack of trade with Kadenton. But, he knew Liernin talked enough about the latter already.
“He wants me to get him sword lessons,” Liernin said, smiling.
“Oh, so he’s going to be a leader of your men then?” Vrindel asked.
“I don’t know, and I know he doesn’t know either. But I will let him choose when the time comes. I won’t press anything upon him other than he must educate himself in something.”
“Has he mentioned the Church?” Vrindel asked. He knew the answer was no, but it didn’t hurt to plant the seed. He was hoping the young man would decide to join the ranks of the Onneron Church, thereby strengthening the bond between the baron and the Church. So far, however, the young man has not shown any interest in the cloth.
“Sorry, my friend, he has not. Perhaps I could mention it to him?” Liernin asked, just as Vrindel hoped he would.
“No, no, thank you, though. If it is meant to be, God will speak to him,” Vrindel said, kissing his fingers and raising them skyward.
“True enough,” was all Liernin said.
“So will you let him train with the sword as you did?”
“I will, as long as his mother agrees to it,” Liernin said in a voice that showed he wasn’t so certain it would happen.
“I will pray that he gets what he deserves for his birthday,” Vrindel said.
“Save that prayer, Archbishop. If you wish to pray for something, pray for his health or for that of my people. Pray the talks with Shamir go better so the trade routes will open in full.”
“Of course,” Vrindel said, wishing he could get the kind Liernin to use the Church for more than mass once every fourteen days.
“If you have nothing further, I have other matters to attend to,” Liernin said.
“Nothing further, my friend,” Vrindel said and walked out. They had done away with the pleasantries of bowing to one another in private years ago. One was the governmental leader of the area and the other was the chosen leader of the Church. Vrindel viewed it as the baron should bow to him, since he was the chosen of God, not Liernin, but he let it go.
