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Much time had passed since his encounter on the hill, and Anton was certain the sun had dropped and night had fallen by now.
He couldn't tell since he had secluded himself in one of the Church's many private windowless cells within the cloisters of the Church, used by members of the Holy Order who needed complete silence to contemplate and pray to Aeremon.
The room was sparse out of necessity, to keep the mind from wandering. The cold, mostly unworked gray stone was covered in a few places with common place tapestries depicting the glory of Aeremon when he descended from the Heavens to instruct humankind.
Anton was kneeling before a plain wooden altar. Two candles burned on the altar and Anton concentrated his attention on the flames. They were the Eyes of Aeremon, and he needed their wisdom now.
Surely the God must be displeased that the influence of the Holy Order was waning. It was true. Anton could not deny it any longer. Someone had to restore the Order to the glory of past days, for the greater good of Aeremon.
Though Anton, being a mere 16 years old, was not even alive during those glory days, he still longed for them.
Walking into the Church today, he was forced to work his way through the still large crowds that attended the services each day. There was a time that even he could remember when a Brother of the Order need not slow his pace in his own Church. Those lesser in station than him knew immediately to clear the way.
Some of the commoners even felt that they should address him, and somehow bestow the God's blessing on himself. It was absurd. These days were strange and unsettling.
Without warning, the heavy wooden door swung open and a gust of wind blew in that quickly snuffed out one of the candles at the altar. In fury, Anton whirled to confront the intruder. To interrupt another's prayer time, and in the process blow out one of Aeremon's Holy Eyes, was a travesty!
At the door was a young boy of perhaps ten years. He was dressed in the plain, undecorated dark blue robes afforded to one of his station. Judging by the look of horror on his face, he knew the gravity of his transgression. Anton was just about to unleash a verbal assault on the youth when he saw that the boy was holding out a crumpled parchment towards him.
Still angry, but now curious to see what message the boy thought important enough to interrupt the prayer of a superior, Anton stalked across the room and snatched the paper from the flinching child.
Immediately, the acolyte moved to exit the room, but without looking at him, Anton said one word. "Stay."
Now resigned to his fate, the acolyte stood quietly with his head held down, so as not to offer further offense.
Anton quickly read the missive. It was a summons.
After seeing this, Anton decided that he could not blame the young Acolyte for his actions. Anyone, even himself, would have no choice but to follow this order.
However, there was the matter of Aeremon's Eyes.
Anton swept out of the room, and as the Acolyte moved to follow him, he whirled, blocking the young boy inside.
"Stay in this cell and offer up your prayers to Aeremon. Ask Him for His forgiveness for blowing out His Eye prematurely. I will return to let you out in two days time."
Anton was slightly surprised when the boy's mouth opened as if he were about to speak. Then the young acolyte's training took over and he thought better of it.
With only the most minor of spells, Anton closed the door on the boy and sealed it. Just a few years ago, it wouldn't have been necessary, but in Anton's opinion, some of the newer boys were a bit loose with the faith these days. Let a little fasting purify this boy's prayers.
Anton only tarried a brief moment. When the Most High Brother of the Holy Order of Aeremon summoned you, you appeared without delay.
Anton nodded and gave the God's blessing to other members of the Holy Order he passed on his long walk. The offices of the Most High were located far away from the areas that one such as he normally had access to. Sometimes Anton forgot how large the Holy Church really was as his duties usually kept him confined to a small part of it.
He made his way through the upper levels of the Holy Cathedral, growing more and more worried as he did so. Perhaps his altercation with the Soryan earlier in the day had gotten back to the Most High?
If it had, would he be angry? Would he applaud Anton, or condemn him? In these strange days, he just couldn't know for certain.
He had been meaning to come forward to his immediate superior after his prayer, if only to tell him about that treacherous, smug outlander Deven Trathe toadying up to the Soryans. Would this information be enough to save him?
Those that displeased the Holy Order could find themselves in any number of unpleasant situations, with forgiveness a long time coming. Anton would hate to find himself banished to the outlying provinces.
He walked up the final white marble stairway that led up to the long, windowless hall before the chambers of the Most High. At the top of this stairway stood two of the personal bodyguards of the Most High Brother. They called them the Wrath of Aeremon.
Both wore black robes with a red and yellow trim that marked them as protectors of the Most High. Each one had no hair on his head save for eyebrows. They stood so still. Anton wondered if they grew bored standing here, but he dismissed the thought. What joy they must feel to have such an important task!
Anton could feel the collective power of these two Holy Brothers. It was very intimidating. These were sorcerers of such knowledge and power that Anton could not even dare to imagine. The feats they were said to be capable of were legendary in the Holy Order.
Of course, these guards did not speak to one of his station. They would either allow him to pass, or they would not.
He was certain that they knew he was summoned, but he still felt a slight tremor of fear as he passed between them. They did not even look at him. Between the guards and the other magical warding surround the Most High's offices, teleportation was not an option. You must come through this passage in order to see the Most High.
Continuing into the long hall, Anton slowed his pace and studied the large paintings lining the walls on both sides. Each one depicted the visage of former Most High Brothers from ages past.
The art was arranged chronologically, so Anton first viewed the image of Tristain the Founder. A man of such wisdom and power, he successfully united rival clerics and sorcerers under the blessed banner of Aeremon. All to stand against the brutal attacks of far-off nation Kelland.
Anton knew that "united" was a gross over-simplification. To unite the semi-tribal, fiercely independent clerics and powerful sorcerers, Tristain would have had to battle most of them himself and overpower them in some (probably very bloody) way.
In those days, reason and diplomacy were not the order of the day. Power and force were all that were understood. Even so, the man managed to found the Holy Order, and basically the entire nation as a whole. Before then, they had been a collection of rival territories, ripe for the picking by the Kelland.
Having passed several other depictions of lesser, unremarkable Most High Brothers, Anton found his eyes drawn to the image of Holy Bedard the Fat.
In the painting, Bedard was depicted as a large man with tight-fitting robes sitting in the Holy Seat. It was really nothing more than a man in a chair, a quite boring piece actually.
But in those times, it was another story. Bedard was never called "Bedard the Fat" during his own lifetime, at least not to his face. Legend had it that he was very sensitive about his weight. What was known was that painting this image had cost the artist his life, and no copies of the painting were allowed. The artist's name was stricken from the work and indeed even from existence. There would be no record of the man anywhere. This was the only image of Bedard in existence.
Finally, Anton reached the large double wooden doors. There were golden overlays of metal crisscrossing the dark wood. Holy Symbols of Warding protected against evil, while at the same time words of the God's blessing were engraved into the gold.
Before he knocked, Anton looked over to the left. There on the wall was the portrait of Most High Durgan Jobe, the previous Most High. He was revered for giving his life personally taking the war to the Soryans when it was at its most heated.
The old man's white hair seemed majestic to Anton. His white hair while he himself was in the black robes of the Order, calling down lightning from the sky, presumably to smite Soryans with.
At least, that's what Anton liked to think. He imagined himself calling down the lightning and smiting Soryans. It would be glorious!
Except, his attempted Soryan smiting this morning was decidedly not glorious. He came back down to reality.
Finally, able to stall no longer, Anton knocked on the large door. As he did so, the doors swung open before he could knock twice.
Inside was a view of opulence. The large circular chamber was ringed with twelve ornate stone columns, creating an outer walkway of sorts. Large stained glass widows, depicting many of the glories of the Holy Order, took up a large portion of the wall space.
Some of the windows were open, allowing unfiltered moonlight to stream directly in. As Anton walked forward into the room, he could see just how high up above the massive city they really were. Somehow, except for the guarded stairs, he didn't feel the sense of climbing when he took the meandering route through the Cathedral.
Opposite the door was a very large, heavily worked wooden desk. The wood was so dark brown it was almost black. This giant slab seemed to suck up the light. On top of the desk were two lit candles at either end.
The Eyes of Aeremon, thought Anton. In between those eyes sat a balding older man, his age probably near the end of his middle ages. Anton guessed he might be close to 300 years old. The Most High Holy Brother Maethias Duraine.
The Most High was busy writing something, and said nothing as Anton followed custom, moving toward the center of the room. You move to the center, stand under the glass ceiling and allow yourself to be judged by Aeremon and his Holy Messenger, the Most High.
Anton said nothing. He stood with his eyes slightly downcast and waited to be spoken to. He had never really been this close to the Most High, and he couldn't help taking in every detail of the man.
Maethias Duraine was a solidly built man, and had skin much darker than Anton. Where Anton was really more of a dark tan, the Most High had skin as dark a brown as it could be and still be brown. That made the patches of graying hair in the man's beard all the more striking, and even more so to his eyes. Dark eyes that could focus on you with piercing intensity.
Anton tried to keep his composure but he was beginning to get a bit fidgety. Was he here to be punished or not?
Finally, although he did not look up, the Most High spoke. "So you are Anton Marryn?" The tone sounded as if he had been expecting more, or better, somehow. Anton felt slightly embarrassed for being only himself.
"Yes, Most High. I am he." Anton thought he would volunteer no more than asked. He might get through this yet.
"You come highly recommended by your superiors."
"Thank you, Most High." Recommended for what?, Anton thought.
Now the Most High raised his head. "Brother, I will ask you plain. Were you on the grounds now belonging to the Soryan Order this morning?"
Damnation. Anton's mind was racing. He was hoping to dance around this some more, but there was no more room to wiggle. He resigned himself to the truth.
"Yes, Most High." It came out sounding weaker than he intended. Anton hoped his fear didn't show.
"Did you engage one of their member in combat, and attempt to practice our Holy Rites on their land?"
"Yes, but if you..." Maethias Duraine lifted his hand and immediately Anton lowered his head and fell silent. Now his heart was beating very fast. The Most High wasn't willing to listen. There may be no chance to plead his case.
Most High Duraine didn't say anything for long moments. To Anton these were long, torturous moments. His life could take a different and unpleasant direction based on what happened next.
Finally, the Most High leaned forward across his desk, captured Anton with his dark eyes and spoke.
"Did you win?"
Anton was expecting anything but that to come out of the Most High's mouth. His jaw dropped open but he couldn't formulate a response.
He didn't need to. The Most High filled in the empty space with his rich laughter. Now Anton was really embarrassed.
"I'll take that as a no.", He said between chuckles.
Anton felt the need to defend his honor. "Most High, if you'll listen..."
The Most High cut him off. "You tried a spell of silence, didn't you?"
Again, Anton was taken aback. "Why, yes...how did you..?"
Maethias Duraine laughed again. "It seems so easy doesn't it? Simply stop them from singing and their magic should disappear. Do you not think we tried that over two centuries ago, child?"
The words and laughter made Anton feel ashamed. Of course, this was the man who had fought the Soryans side by side with Most High Durgan Jobe, the man he succeeded.
"Forgive me, Most High. I feel shamed." Anton hung his head.
"No, no, child. Do not feel shame. Your pride and willingness to fight in the name of the Holy Order is naught but commendable. In fact, it's why you are here today."
"It is?" Anton felt very stupid and off balance. What was happening here?
"Yes. These are strange days, my child. The Soryans appear to be in ascendance, while our Holy Star is fading."
"No, Most High, surely that is not true..."
"Oh, but it is, Anton." The Most High spoke over him, this time with passion.
"Attendance to the Holy Churches is at an all time low, the tithes are falling ever short, there is much talk of separating the teachings of Aeremon from the schools and limiting it to the Houses of the Order."
"Indeed, the Order of Nine is as likely as not to take advice from our Order. Many times lately we are not consulted at all. Laws are being passed without deference to Aeremon, and everywhere I look, there are Soryans, interfering in all aspects of life.
"They teach women, Anton. Women hold positions of power among them. Strange days, indeed."
Anton felt he should say something. "Most High, I also saw Ambassador Deven Trathe with the Soryans when I was there."
The Most High shot up out of his seat. "That traitorous..!" His voiced boomed and echoed in the circular room. Anton shrunk back a little. Then the Most High seemed to deflate somewhat and regained his calm.
"No. This is the way of things now, and we must all learn our new place in the world. That is why I don't punish you for your transgression this morning. However, there is a way that things must be done, and what you did is not the way."
"My apologies, Most High..."
"Anton." Most High Duraine cut him off again.
"I need you to do something for your Order. I know you're ready for this."
Anton was wary, but curious. He somehow felt like his life was about to go a different way. His stomach began folding itself up in knots but he forced himself to ask the question.
"Ready for what, Most High?"
Most High Duraine's eyes seemed to flare up in the moonlight, and he smiled just a bit when he spoke.
"A question, Anton. What do you know about dragons?"
Click to read Chapter 3 - Soryan Morning |
Chapter 2 - A Holy Orders
