The Priesthood

You could say that it was nice—the interior of the building, the warmth that so wonderfully surrounded them. The warm cup of tea was poured into a lavish porcelain cup by an older gentleman with many years behind him.

There was also an older lady in the room, but she seemed to much prefer spending her time with a book in her hands. Thus far, she hadn’t paid much attention to the visitors, but then again, there really wasn’t much reason to.

Out of sheer politeness, Kanrel took a sip of the substance, which looked like any good tea, but was left disappointed as the not-so-tasty ashy flavor filled his mouth. He slowly set down his cup and said, “So, about this 'understanding'... You want me to help you elevate the status of this village into a town?”

“Yes,” the man said; he was none other than Ulken Reven himself, the self-proclaimed mayor of this village. He seemed to enjoy his tea greatly as he gracefully took a sip. His gray eyes had this sense of desire in them.

Kanrel looked at Vien, who slightly rolled her eyes. It did seem that their understanding was not so understanding at all.

“And how exactly would I be able to help with this goal?” Kanrel asked, and he took out his notebook, opening an empty page just so that he could take note of their ideas. He wasn’t opposed to Ulken’s ideas yet.

Ulken put down his cup and leaned forward. He had a smile on his lips as he pointed out what he knew. “You’re the son of the Herald; it is obvious that you’re sent here for a reason... Are you not?”

Kanrel stopped writing and gave up on taking notes at that moment. He put his notebook and pencil away while almost muttering things about them wanting to benefit from nepotism. Instead, he said, “If you wish me to directly ask her to influence the politics of the kingdom to achieve something like that, then I can only apologize; I don’t have that much sway in such things. And it is unlikely that the Herald would much care for my ideas.”

“Do not fret, my boy; I would not dare to suggest such a thing!” Ulken promised, “I was more so referencing how your and really any priests writings of their time in a given settlement will affect its status.”

“All I want from you is to do the things as any priest would do; I just want you to be slightly more liberal with the compliments that you give." Ulken’s eyes glittered with desire and passion for this one thing.

Kanrel let out a sigh; it had become almost a habit. Why does communication with people make one sigh so often?

“May I at least know why? Why do you want this village to have the status of a town?”

Ulken smiled. “I am glad you asked, for the reason is quite simple! Are you perhaps aware of how the power structure of the kingdom works?”

Kanrel was in fact aware of the "how,” but it was obvious that the man would go on a rant about the topic, a topic that seemed to be a source of great passion. So why not indulge in the things he is about to say? Thus, Kanrel shook his head.

“Villages, towns, and so forth, are usually under the jurisdiction of a count or a duke; or at least the lands are owned, in one way or another, by counts and dukes; all that land is of course leased from the crown.”

“But, in the case of a remote village, such as the village of Jersten, it is not so simple. Technically, all this land is under the direct control of the crown, but at the same time under the jurisdiction of the nearest town.”

“That town is so far away, that information quite often is lost on the way here, and most of the time, we are just forgotten all together until something is needed out of us. “

“I find this to be unfair and inconvenient for all parties involved.”

“Another point is that villages get less of a budget from the government, which can be seen just by the fact that the last priest we had was over a decade ago! Is this not outrageous?”

“So, naturally, if we are given the status of a town, we would no longer be under the jurisdiction of another town; we would get more resources altogether and the presence of the Priesthood at all times.”

Kanrel couldn’t help but agree with his reasoning; it was true that villages like the village of Jersten were often neglected by those who owned the lands. Life was already rough out here, but when there was seldom outside help, it was surely more difficult than it needed to be.

“How much has this lack of resources affected life here?” Kanrel asked.

In an instant, Ulken’s very presence sifted. He leaned back on his couch; his face told a story of emotions, and prying further might only bring him more pain in the form of memories.

“I’ve lost two children half a decade ago, both during the winter.” His voice was suddenly so deep as he looked at Kanrel, but through him, “The cold kills; the hunger kills; and so does everything else.”

A silence grew in their midst.

“And we aren’t the only ones that have lost a loved one when it could’ve been so easily avoided,” said another voice, the voice of the woman who had not long ago had her eyes on her book. Kanrel looked at her, but she only looked at Vien.

Vien had a frown on her face. She stared at the insides of her cup and soon smiled slightly. “Life is unfair, and we are all aware of it… but maybe, just maybe, it could be just a little more fair; is that much to ask for?” Her voice didn’t tremble, and the hurt didn’t show through her words, but it could be seen so clearly in her eyes.

Perhaps the way she sought wealth and valued it so much had better reasons than just a simple desire for it.

“I see no reason to decline, and I will see how I can help—not just with reports I might write but with work that any priest ought to do; I will be of service,” Kanrel promised. He could only do so; what else could he?

They came to multiple agreements on that day about how Kanrel would help them and how the village would help him. They would provide him with anything that he might need, primarily food and shelter, and, of course, any information that he might seek.

Kanrel still chose not to share too much about the things that he was investigating. But he believed that he would either find nothing or, in the end, hear something—anything. But only time will tell if there is anything at all here.

But at least, based on the little information that he had gathered thus far, there was one lead: The previous priest of this village, his possible belongings, and anything that he might’ve left behind. Also figuring out what had happened to him: Was he dead? Was he appointed to another place? Or did he perhaps desert?

Life is indeed rough here, so it would not be a surprise if he had chosen to desert and leave these lands for anywhere that he could go.

Before returning to the tavern with Vien, he went to visit the house of a certain mason. He had a message to deliver. Vien demanded that Kanrel should return to her tavern before nightfall or she would get “very disappointed”. There was no way he would want to disappoint a person who scared him way more than was needed. Besides, he was supposed to stay at her tavern until the end of winter. He would have to maintain good relations with her; anything else might cost him dearly.

The son of Rank Jenkse, Isbit, could only be described as the stoic kind. His expressions changed less than Kanrel’s in the past, and he seemed less keen to uphold useless conversation. Things ought to be prompt in his world; wasting his time was a sin.

Though he was very courteous and the way he spoke was more or less pleasant, there still remained this awkwardness that almost soiled the air around them. Their encounter wasn’t quite unpleasant, but it surely wasn’t enjoyable either.

So to make the most of their time and to return to the tavern as swiftly as possible, he decided to go straight to the point of the matter instead of forcing the man or himself into small talk.

“Your father sent this letter with me; I hope you visit him as soon as you can; he seems lonely,” Kanrel said as he offered his notebook.

Isbit observed it with uncertainty so clearly on his face, then he accepted it. Kanrel could see as he quickly read what was written once and then a few more times. Even then, his facial expression remained calm, yet a slight frown could be observed on his face.

“I ought to, but visiting that house is..." Isbit said, his facial expression becoming more disturbed as he continued, “It is difficult; he probably told you about what happened.”

“He just told me that she was no longer around; he didn’t go into details.” Kanrel said, “Is there more to the matter than just that?”

Isbit’s frown deepened, and he shook his head, yet said, “She disappeared; she went to the forest to pick some mushrooms during the fall... She never came fully back.”

“What do you mean?”

“She… her…” Isbit swallowed. “Her head... just her head came back; her eyes were so... gray, yet her head... her head was so... alive.” He stuttered through his words and soon closed his eyes, as if not wanting to see what he saw, just to open them again, his expression more horrified than before.

“I cannot forget... I see it... so often, too often.”

Kanrel listened intently and took his notebook back. “May I ask anything else about the matter, or would you rather not do so right now?”

Isbit again shook his head. “I wish to not remember; I wish she was still here. Come to me another day; I need more time to forget."

Kanrel nodded his head and put his hand on Isbit’s shoulder. “You can anytime come and find me at Vien’s tavern; I am here to help the people of this village.” He then left the mason and his family of four behind; there’d be another time for him to press this matter and find out more. This just wasn’t the time for it.

Kanrel could feel his insides burn as he listened to Isbit’s words; when he heard the words the mayor and the little which Vien had shared. He burned within, like he had burned when Yirn… did what he had done.

As he walked back to the tavern, he slowly formed a simple conclusion: compassion and the ability to love others had never left him; he had only thought that they were long gone, but death will always make you realize your own humanity. And how much it hurts to lose someone.

Only joy had left him, and when those he loved the most were gone, would he be reminded of that reality again? He would never feel the joy that was love for those that were most important to him.

Walking toward the tavern was like taking steps on that stairway during the Ritual; it was like the fall that seemed not to end; it had yet to end; he was still falling, but now as well he was burning.

Kanrel knew what would wait for him inside; he could so easily guess it. It would be time for this clown to perform for his right to sleep in a bed and for his right to eat. Soon he saw the tavern, and before he would enter, he secretly practiced his expressions; he practiced his smile.

He wouldn’t want to make the crowd think that he was a sad clown; such a paradox would only be amusing to a select few.