The Priesthood

Truly, there must be nothing better to do in the countryside during the winter. The even more bustling atmosphere of the tavern was a great indicator of that. Though there existing a village-wide alcohol problem might also be the cause of it.

But who truly knows, and who is he to critique such a thing?

The young men earlier in the day weren’t at the table they were at before; now they found themselves deeper in the tavern. Their expressions and mannerisms told the whole story: a few drinks too much.

They were at the bar, where a fellow, who might’ve been called Dan or Hernet, was trying to woo a certain assertive lady behind the bar. Her expression remained polite as she served another drink; it was clear that she had everything under control. The youth could try all they wanted, but the moment they took it too far, she would unleash a great wrath that would make even someone drunk question their own actions.

Kanrel approached the bar and took a seat. He listened closely to those that he would, in the end, call his neighbors and customers.

“Ya know, the thin’ about this!” Dar or Hernet said out loud as he lifted his class, “This! Ale, given by you, is like a proposal to me,” he then downed the drink; it wasn’t graceful at all as he spilled ale all over his clothes.

“See! And that is how I accept it; so, when can we elope?”

Vien just stared at the foolish man; she held her polite smile and said, “How about you have a few more? And don’t forget to pay, and then I might think about it.”

A wide smile spawned on the man’s face as he ordered another drink—the things one does for love or lust.

The interaction made Kanrel wonder if most people, in this case, men, would be so unrefined in such a state. So, embarrassing? Would most women have to deal with men who would drunkenly approach them, even when it wouldn’t be welcome or even attractive in the least? He figured that handsome men would have the same issue; thankfully, he wasn’t handsome at all.

Vien poured another drink for the drunkard and soon shifted her attention to Kanrel. “This is what I have to deal with; it pays well, but it can get quite annoying at times…”

“So, now would be the perfect time for you to set up your first-ever show,” she added. On her face now was another one of her scary smiles; the day would be long, and Kanrel could feel it.

There was a stage in the southernmost corner of the first floor; all inside could easily see it as it was positioned in such a manner. Vien forced Kanrel onto the stage as she said, “All you have to do is your magic, or whatever, and I’ll deal with the rest. Do you need any props? I don’t know, balls or knives or such?”

As he stood on the stage, he had no idea what he would do, how he would perform, or what he would need to be able to perform. All he had were tables, chairs, and people.

Chairs—such a simple thing, but so very useful. A chair, like an old friend, would always remind him of its existence. All those unassuming chairs. All here and at his disposal.

“I won’t be needing anything; I’ll use whatever I can see." He said, trying to remember the things that were done during their “challenge of creativity”.

Vien looked at him for a moment and said, “I pray to the Angels that you don’t screw me over here…” She muttered to herself as she positioned herself to face the people in the tavern. She cleared her throat loudly, but it was clear that not many would hear it. It really wasn't a surprise that not many would hear her.

“Friends! Patrons! And fellow ale-loving bastards!” She yelled loudly. Slowly, the tavern and its many patrons went silent and prepared to hear out what the fuss was about. All they saw was their beloved ale-maiden on the stage and a man dressed in a gray robe behind her.

“I have prepared a show for you today! A man, all the way from the capital, has come here!” She said and then stepped to the side so that Kanrel could take center stage. “Behold! A Priest!” Vien came down from the stage while quietly urging Kanrel to begin his show.

It was dead silent for a moment before Kanrel found his words, “Hello everyone; my name is Kanrel, and I will be the new Priest of this village; and this is my magic!” He improvised on the spot and began coding.

In confused silence, nothing happened at first. Some of the patrons had already grown bored and returned to whatever they were doing, but soon a sound could be heard in the tavern. A rhythmic march of wood hitting wood.

The crowd began to look around just to observe chairs slowly walking in unison toward the stage; screams of surprise filled the air, and again, Kanrel had the attention of the whole tavern.

The chairs gathered near the stage, forming pairs that then walked from both sides of the stage, climbing the stairs until they too were on the stage.

Kanrel quickly formed another code, causing the chairs to surround him from all directions, obstructing him from the view of the crowd; he took a seat on one of the chairs.

For a moment, nothing happened. The chairs had stacked themselves on top of each other around the priest, who was now gone from their view. The silence broke as Vien began to clap and cheer; soon the crowd followed in her example, and a deafening applause filled the room.

Kanrel wasn’t done quite yet. He formed new codes; the chairs now began floating, flying away from Kanrel in many directions, just to be gently put back where they came from. Only one chair remained as Kanrel sat on it, looking at the crowd.

For a moment, cheers of wonder filled the room, and now it was already over.

“Woo’s” and cheers could be heard; an applause far greater than the previous one filled the room, but then a coin was thrown at him; he could see it, and before it hit him, he made it stop in the air, just ten or so centimeters away from his face.

This was followed by an excited crowd throwing a barrage of coins at him, with most of them landing near the stage, while some of them found their way suspended in the air by Kanrel. He wasn’t too keen on getting hit by any of them.

For an hour, he came up with more-or-less safe things that he could showcase to his eager audience. Be it small fireballs slowly dancing around him or levitating ale as it is to the mouths of some even more eager audience members.

After each little trick he did, he was awarded with some coins, which he collected with already-prepared codes and placed them out of the eyes of the audience. Vien herself could collect the coinage and count how much she—or rather, Kanrel—had made in those few hours.

As evening came, Kanrel found himself in the company of more than curious villagers with many questions for him. Some were more drunk than others, with questions that often made no sense, as it was difficult to even understand what they were saying.

He didn’t much mind it, as he could always just politely nod as an answer, and if people got too touchy or too adamant with their many questions, Vien would take care of it, either by offering more drinks to already drunken customers or by giving some harsh words.

The atmosphere changed quickly throughout the day; people got more drunk, some started to sober up, and many had already retired, either to their respective homes or to the rooms that were available at the tavern.

The later it got, the less chaos there seemed to be, and soon not many stayed. Some remained where they had been the whole day; for example, the man who had drunk Kanrel’s drink still sat near the bar on the very same seat as before.

But his sly smile that he had showcased mere hours ago was long gone; the man was no longer drunk; perhaps he never was, and his demeanor had changed from jolly to a constant frown. A solemn atmosphere surrounded him.

A man who had pestered Kanrel since the end of the show noticed Kanrel’s stare and pulled Kanrel’s sleeve slightly. So the young priest turned to this man, who had yet to name himself.

“He lost his wife not too long ago; he has come here every day since,” the man whispered. He then looked around at the people who were still left at the tavern and continued, “Many of those so late here have such stories, though some are just lonely.”

Kanrel looked around as well; there were just a handful left. He made a nod; he wasn’t surprised by this fact, as, after all, the words of the mayor’s wife were still stuck in his head.

“Say, how could I help those who have lost someone?” He asked the man sitting next to him, “My duty as a priest binds me to help, to find ways to alleviate pain and suffering, yet I don’t know how I, a mere man, could help with pain caused by loss.”

The man glanced at Kanrel, but soon his gaze found the bottom of his glass; there wasn’t much left in it, but he swirled it around, looking more deeply at the vortex that formed.

“I don’t know; if I did know, you would be the first to know. I think that not many can help with that; I think there isn’t much that others can do… Perhaps only time heals those who have lost someone…” He said, his tone was very gentle, and then a slight smile appeared on his face.

“You know, you are the very image of a priest I’ve had since my childhood: a bookish type with neither social skills nor facial expressions,” the man said. “It is somehow comforting—your presence, that is—and I just don’t know why.”

Kanrel stared at the man who still had his gaze deeply set in the vortex of his own glass—the hypnotizing motion of ale going in circles. Had the man himself lost someone dear to him? Was he one of the lonely people that he had just described? He couldn’t even begin to guess, as he didn’t even know his name nor anything else about him.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

The man stopped the motion of his hand, and the vortex quickly spun in his glass. “My name is Dar, just Dar.” He said after a while, his voice was low as he introduced himself, as if his name was a secret no one was supposed to hear; as if it were embarrassing, the very name he had.

But Kanrel knew why he introduced himself as he did. Dar was nameless. So he went ahead and offered his hand to the solemn man, reaching toward him, accepting him for who he was. “Pleasure to meet you.” He said so with the best smile that he could conjure; he hoped it wouldn’t seem creepy or unsettling.

Dar stared at the hand and shyly accepted it; he didn’t smile much, but that was alright. It didn’t matter, as smiles were so complicated for Kanrel either way. Smiles held so much in them. All of them held some sort of emotion behind them; all smiles had a reason.

Some smiles were lies, some the truth, others a mask of sorts, or an awkward reply to an uncomfortable situation. To find a genuine smile was beautiful; to find a sad smile was heartbreaking; and to find a smile filled with lies would leave any man questioning all of the other smiles mentioned before.

For Kanrel, maybe it was better that Dar did not smile in this situation, for his lack of a smile was enough to express his emotions or lack thereof.

As night soon befell, the rest of those that had remained left the tavern or went upstairs. Now only Vien and Kanrel remained downstairs. Kanrel helped with cleaning the place as Vien carefully calculated the profits of Kanrel’s show and the overall profits of today. Multiple sets of ten coins were placed on the bar counter. Then she took a booklet that she kept in the backroom; it served as records of her daily profits and expenditures.

Each page was filled with numbers, but Kanrel dared not look at them; the profits, spendings, and whatnots weren’t any of Kanrel’s business, so after cleaning, he just sat across Vien and observed as she worked.

It didn’t take long for her to do her calculations and mark them in her booklet. She closed it with a wide smile on her face. “You’re, as the saying goes, a goldmine—a gift horse; this is by far the most my humble establishment has ever made in a single day.” Her expression was radiant as she began collecting the stacks of coins into the purses she had.

This didn’t much matter to Kanrel. After all, it was just money, and as a priest, Kanrel had no use for money. Sure, he was allowed money; such a thing wasn’t forbidden for people like him, but he just didn’t have a desire for it, not to mention he could always pay with work, with his magic.

“That is just wonderful, and I am most pleased that you’re pleased, but I would love to know where I might spend my night," Kanrel asked instead. He had so much to do, mainly notes that he had to write down. There are so many things that he ought to remember later.

Vien took her little purses and said, “Let me secure these first, then I’ll lead you to your suite.” She said it with another sly smile on her face. Why would this woman never smile in a normal way? Why should her smiles always be so scary to him?

A few minutes later, Kanrel was following Vien into the back rooms; apparently, he wouldn’t be spending his nights upstairs, which could only possibly mean that he would have to spend his night in a small room, perhaps a closet, instead of a “suite”.

The backrooms were where Vien lived; they were her living quarters, and all the most important things in the tavern were located there. Even if Kanrel would have to spend his night in a small closet, he still could appreciate that she had so much trust in him as to allow him to be so close to those important things, like her money. Or she had no trust in him at all.

The interior of Vien’s backrooms was probably homely and perhaps very relaxed; they were surely a lot more luxurious than the little dorm room that he had had to live in for multiple years. And the room that Vien ended up bringing him to was probably a lot more comfortable. Unless the bed was a magical torture device, one could never know.

“This is my guest-bedroom; I would normally give you a room upstairs, but that would mean that other people wouldn’t be able to rent them, thus I would lose some possible profit.” She explained, “So, this way I can both house you and keep the possibility of making more profit in the future.”

“Color me not surprised at all,” Kanrel muttered. He carried his backpack inside and placed it on the floor. He then observed the things that were inside the room more clearly. There was a soft-looking bed, a table with a chair, shelves with nothing on them, and a closet.

“This will do perfectly.” He said and turned toward the woman who was standing at the doorway.

She gave a pleased nod. “Do whatever you will; just don’t make too much noise with whatever you might do.” Vien then gently closed the door, leaving Kanrel in a dark room with not a single source of light.

He was tired, but there was still so much to do. He formed a code to bring light to the room. From his backpack, he got his writing equipment and all of the notebooks that he brought with him. They were all filled to a different degree; some were completely empty.

He made sure that his ink was liquid enough, took one of his notebooks, and began first writing down all the people that he had encountered in the past day, their occupations if he had such knowledge, and the context of their encounter.

After which, he began writing down all the codes that he had used impromptu during his little show, but suddenly stopped in the middle of it. The chairs and the codes that he had used. They were just so... familiar?

He picked up another notebook—this one held codes from his times at the academy. He browsed through the pages as he found what he was looking for. He read through it multiple times, and each time he read through it, a wave of increasing sadness ran through him.

A name was mentioned a few times. The moment in which that code was used; the words of Oidus, "creative". Everything that happened before, during, and after—everything—flashed through his mind.

He gritted his teeth, put the notebook down, and stared at the wall before him. If only Vien hadn't asked him to not be noisy. Instead of screaming, he got back to the task at hand; there were the rest of the codes that he would have to write down. Not to mention points of interest—things that he ought to investigate first: the disappearance of Betty and what happened to the previous priest.