The Priesthood

"I must say, the very sight of you makes me feel disgusted." Said the young nobleman, holding his nose as if the very presence of the young man soiled the air around them, "The fact that we have to share with the likes of you... here in a place where the most rich and powerful people go, it makes me wonder if the world is fair at all."

This was usual for him. This was day-to-day life, living in the shadows of others in a highly privileged academy for the gifted. He was gifted and could argue that he was privileged as well, but because he lacked a name he was still treated differently.

Sure, he has a name, but that was merely a given name, not a birth name. There is no name of a father, nor is there a name of a mother. Only the name that was given by a gentle soul who raised him, and brought him here in the end. Kanrel. But mostly people called him “nameless”.

As is usual for Kanrel, he tried to ignore the comments of others, for they were right. This really wasn't for "the likes of him". The only reason he got in was because of the woman who taught him everything.

That woman was like a mother to him, and he was even allowed to call her mother. And he did, but not when others were around. It wasn’t because he was embarrassed. But because of the position that the woman held in this kingdom.

She is a Herald to the Gods. A priest who holds much power in this world; thus, she taught everything to him, and to further his abilities, she made him come here. To The Academy of the Heavenly.

As the young man tried to get past, the nobleman stood in front of him. Kanrel looked up – up at the much taller man than him, and waited.

"Just back up your things and leave... So, 'Nameless', what do you say?" The noble asked with a loud voice, as he eyed the crowd that had started to gather around them.

Kanrel looked up at the noble, straight into his eyes. “Sure, if you’re willing to tell my mother, why.” His tone sounded agreeable, for he was truly agreeing with him. He just didn’t have any hope that his mother would agree to the explanation.

Of course, not everyone knew who his mother was. But those who knew would be careful and not do anything overtly stupid.

"What does she have to do in this matter? It's not like she is even around." The nobleman said and laughed out loud; his laugh was bright and full of disbelief.

Kanrel smiled a little; one could not even call it a smile, but rather a twitch of the sides of his mouth. He lacked the talent of smiling.

Then he started to walk away; dealing with those who have no idea is a waste of time. He had a lecture to attend.

“Hey, Nameless! Where are you going?" The nobleman yelled at him, but a voice through gritted teeth him the noble stop what he was doing. "Drop it."

Someone was about to make his day. Kanrel thought to himself and continued walking without looking back.

What does one study at The Academy of the Heavenly? Everything. Science, history, culture, politics, and so on... But the one thing that the academy was most known for was magic: The power that the Angels bestowed on mankind.

Only those going into the Priesthood were allowed to learn magic, so not many nobles would. There were a few, but it was considered a waste for a noble. The mission of a priest requires much more time and study than something like the management of a city or even a kingdom.

Sure, magic was powerful. But the things one had to give up were many. You had to give up the joy of life. And feel nothing but despair; the collective torment of all of humanity.

To give up the feeling of being happy all together. That is what one had to give as they were bestowed with the power of the Angels.

But that happens after a long study of everything else. Most notably, the history of the use of magic and the Angels, who are Gods to the people of these lands, and the theory of Magic are also things a priest has to study. Six whole years of study are needed before one can gain the gift of magic and lose the gift of joy.

In the Book of the Heralds, there is a verse that tells us why humans had to lose the gift of joy to gain the gift of magic.

"Forget joy; understand what power brings. Power brings misery, and to understand what misery is, one has to forget all joy. Understand this human, for those who are powerful should carry the pain of the living on their shoulders and the pain of the dead in their hearts. So those who have no power can live with joy."

One might ask, "What is the Book of the Heralds?" And Kanrel would be able to give an answer.

"The Book of the Heralds is a collection of all the meetings that the Heralds have had with the Angels."

It's the textbook answer, and it's the correct one.

But for many, the Book of the Heralds is much more. It is filled with the wisdom of the Angels. To Kanrel, it sounds like something a human should aspire toward. To think and act like the Angels. Of course, no human would ever be able to reach such wisdom. That is why humans have to commit their lives to the Angels and to servitude to even get a glimpse of it all.

The creed of the priesthood often involves such themes as servitude to the Angels and their ideals, servitude to humans and their needs, and responsibility of the powerful.

These are the common teachings for those in the priesthood.

Of course, it is not as simple as it seems. A priest always has to fight with his inner evil, as do all humans in these lands. But priests are men and women who have power. Such great power to use and exploit… Therein lie the ideas of Good and Evil. Both are necessary, but a priest should never fall to Evil. A priest should always hold the creed above himself. Always do as the Angels wish.

Kanrel had never spoken to an Angel. But his mother had, and thus she was The Herald of the Gods. There are even passages written by her in the Book of The Heralds. Some of the newer passages, but her passages talk of something more scary than the earlier ones…

They talk of war. The return of the "Otherkind", as the Angel told the Herald, a warning of something that brings war.

Many have speculated that those writings are about the end of the world or the destruction of the Angels... The latter is considered heretical, and not many dare reference such ideas in public. How can something so divine even be killed? It truly makes no sense.

But Kanrel was worried about the possibility. Worry often filled his mind; he worried about things that may happen hundreds of years in the future. Or even thousands.

But still, he worried. Is it not the wish of all men for humankind to succeed far into the future so that there can be a kingdom of heaven, something that follows the ideals of the Angels.

Kanrel took a seat, the same seat he always took, at the front of the classroom. This was something he enjoyed more than most would. Listening to the lectures of their teachers and professors about various topics. He even wrote down detailed notes as the lecture went on, and then again, so did most novices studying to become a priest.

He never said anything during a class. There wasn’t need for him to say a word, since there were always those who would ask the most interesting questions in his stead. The questions and ideas of others would always come from a different point of view than the ones that he could ask. So Kanrel would always write down their questions and the answers to those questions.

Later on, he would review his notes, add minor details, and even come up with answers of his own to the questions asked. This he enjoyed in particular.

But that wasn’t the only reason. When one asks a question in a classroom or a lecture hall, they are supposed to stand up and clearly state their question. Doing something like that didn’t sound enjoyable to him. Thus, he sat in silence and listened.

Kanrel did meet some discrimination from his teachers because of his lack of a name, but less than from other students. He had been formally introduced to them by his mother when he began his studies, which was most likely the reason many would not dare to treat him differently.

"He is to be treated fairly, not as someone who is better or lesser." The Herald had told the people who taught at the Academy.

This, of course, was more than fair; at least, this is what Kanrel thought.

Although he had first lived a life of poverty and now lived a life of luxury, often he felt that he was undeserving; well, to all of this...

Imagine having a mother who is all-powerful, someone who can make even kings bow to herself. Imagine never feeling hungry and being able to study wherever you wish. Imagine that, in theory, you could do anything you wished.

Of course, the latter was untrue in Kanrel's case, but one gets the point. Power in your hands, but no desire to use it for evil. Power, which is only used for the desires of the gods, and never for the self.

This had always been curious to Kanrel: if The Herald did things only for the gods, why had she adopted him? There are no laws for priests not to get married, but it often didn't happen unless it was a marriage with another priest. So one could have her own children.

But why go down the path of adopting someone who isn't even related to you by blood? Had it also been for the desire of the gods? Had an angel commanded Kanrel's mother to adopt him?

What an amusing idea. Him being someone important was the amusing conclusion Kanrel had come to. Such a thing made no sense unless, in the future, like a thousand years from now, someone who was related to Kanrel does something great. That was much more likely than Kanrel being someone of importance.

Well, technically, Kanrel was someone of importance, in the sense that he had been given that importance by his mother.

Magic truly is a wondrous thing. It bends the laws of physics—the things that those without magic have to abide by.

Magic in itself is part of nature, but it's not something that can easily be explained with physics. Sure, one could explain why, without touching a stone, a priest can move it. "A force, which is magic, holds the physical object in its place."

Okay. Now what? It doesn't really explain "how." It just says that it's magic, but not what that magic is.

A priest knows that magic is given by the Angels, but the angels have not told anyone, or at least not written down, what that magic really is. Is it an invisible hand? Or is it just bending the very fabric of reality?

These questions that Kanrel has have no real answers. They bothered him. It all made him excited, though, because if there was no answer, then discovering the answer and making theories was more fun.

For a few thousand years, humans have used magic, and in that time, there has not been a good explanation for that which is magic. Only that it was given by the Angels, to humans as a means to survive in the harsh world.

A world that was trying to get rid of them. There are stories from ancient times. Stories of the Wildkind, creatures that almost wiped all of humanity into extinction: what were those creatures? Why did they try to wipe humans away? And why did the angels help humans? Of course, in benevolence, but were there hidden agendas?

And what about the Wildkind? Why did the angels not help them instead?

Kanrel was thirsty for this information. All of this and more.

And for those reasons, even though Kanrel felt undeserving, he wanted to become a priest—not only a normal priest but a Herald. That, of course, was unlikely or maybe even impossible since no man had ever become one. But what if, this one time, the Angels made an exception?

Of course, he had asked her mother if she could ask such a question, but the Herald had answered truthfully, "I would never dare to ask such a question; I am only there to listen to their wisdom. Neither to argue or question."

Kanrel understood why, and he also understood that she no longer had the desire to ask that question. It would not bring her happiness; it would not make her feel less miserable. It would probably cause even more misery…

Such was the life of a priest and the Herald's even more so. Suffering, agony, torment... All words that were often used by the priests. This is why they were so respected. They lived while holding all the misery in the world so that others would feel less of it.

Of course, there were still such things for those who weren't priests, but not many would be brave enough to feel even more of them. And continue living without killing oneself.

Suicide was an issue that normal people went through. The priests didn't have such an option. They had to suffer until the day they would die.

Kanrel believed that all this, and even more, and even worse, would still be well worth it. He felt no joy either way, so what was there to truly lose?

Days for many are mundane, but he was lost in the pages of that book that held all the knowledge one could ever need and more. Lectures given; theories becoming something he might see with his own eyes. Magic...

Few of the teachers at the academy were priests, men and women who wore their faces bare and gray robes with no details in them. All of them knew who Kanrel was—well, they knew who his "mother" was.

They gave him no special treatment, but their eyes were on him. Emotionless eyes observed an anomaly: a child, barely a man, so focused on his studies that he was just like them.

Those who had met his mother would say that they were alike, not in the way they looked but in the way they held themselves. An outsider would think that it was humility that made them not care, but those who knew the truth knew that they just didn't care.

Not about the things that were said about them behind their backs, not about the fear in the eyes of those who knew what they were capable of. Nothing. They cared for nothing.

Except for one thing: duty to knowledge.

This was the most important value that the Herald of Gods taught her son.

So dutiful he ought to be, dutiful he shall be, and dutiful he was.

And that duty would become a reality for him, more so than before. He and others who were studying the priesthood would soon take part in a ritual. The very ritual that would make them priests in the sense that they'd be able to use the gift of magic, the very curse that many were afraid of.

Their studies would not end there; they would continue until every single one of them learned to use this curse. They would learn the rules, the responsibilities, and the duties of those who were in the Priesthood. Their minds had to become accustomed to the cold logic that would guide their morality. They ought to learn to become tools for the faithful and for the Angels.

The students had no idea what would happen or what this ritual truly was. They wouldn't know anything about it, just the fact that it would happen, and after it, they'd be able to use the curse.

Kanrel had not asked his mother or anyone else about the things that would happen during the ritual. It was taboo to ask this very question, and it was more of a taboo to answer it. There was no access to the writings about it, even though there must have been someone who wrote about it. Be it the first Herald or those who came after.

Maybe the Angels did not want the humans to know?

Questions, yet no answers until one goes through it themselves. But it wouldn't be far off... Since the beginning of their education, they have started preparations. Since the beginning, they have been taught to look at the world from a certain perspective. Again, from a logical point of view.

Yet they were also forced to witness suffering of all kinds. Torture and the loss of a loved one; they were forced to see people in suffering; they were taught that this, all of this, would be for them to carry.

It would be for them to cure it, to help those who went through this suffering, but not themselves or others like them.

Kanrel's room was mostly empty; only the things that he needed were there: a bed, a wardrobe, a table filled with papers and pens, and a bookshelf. This bookshelf held all the books they would have to study and all the books they'd have to learn to understand.

Books about the Angels, and books about the heralds and priests that came before them. Books about the history of the peoples, books about the cultural differences in different parts of the kingdom, books about magic used as medicine, books filled with maps of the world, of cities, and different places in the world—a priest would have to travel, and they would travel a lot.

But the most important books were those that were empty. They were books used for writing. Books, which ought to be filled with words, memories, and thoughts—knowledge.

In fact, all the books of the self were meticulously written by Kanrel. As were all the books on the bookshelves of the other priest trainees.

Writing was so important; it was their duty to remember, observe, and collect all the information they might find. When a priest would cure another man, they would write down this fact and all the facts around it.

All this information, some so very mundane, but all important in its own way.

An observation of emotions the night before the ritual: I feel as I've always felt; there is not much fluctuation in the emotions that I am feeling; the only difference is the slight excitement for the curiosity that will be satisfied tomorrow.

This is the last entry with such an emotion as "happiness", so the next time will be different; I will no longer be the man I've always been.

Kanrel put his pen down and left this book open with his thoughts and emotions; they would dry out by tomorrow morning. He removed his clothing and entered his bed. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep.

Sleep just never came.

And the next morning, he was tired yet excited for the ritual; he wanted to know; he needed to know. So he got up and dressed himself in the familiar gray robes that he always wore. He left his room and made his way to the cathedral, a place he had visited many times.

The insides of the cathedral reminded Kanrel of the priests that he had met thus far: it was bleak and dark but filled with history, culture, and knowledge. The architecture of the building was grand, even though it tried not to be; it was beautiful despite the bleakness.

Each collumn that held the high ceiling up was made to look like an Angel, their faces grotesque, each one of them holding a different weapon against their chest. They were beautiful—scary even—and they looked down upon the men and women who had entered.

Above them was the great arched ceiling, which was adorned with elaborate paintings of the angels, all of them more beautiful than the others, as the pupils walked further into the cathedral.

There were no chairs, no benches, and no carpets on the floor, for it was plain and cold. It was empty, as were those who walked on it.

At the very end of the massive cathedral, there was an altar near which the highest-ranking priest would hold their sermon; from their lips parting words of the ancient wisdom of the Angels. The acoustics of the cathedral would make their voice carry easily to the ears of the believers who would come to listen, to pray, and to learn.

But their way made them go even deeper into the cathedral, below it. On the wall that was at the end of the cathedral, there was a painting depicting the first Herald of the Gods, kneeling before an Angel that had granted her wisdom and the very first words of the Book of the Heralds.

You could not see her face, just the clothes she wore and the long hair that she had. But the angel and his grotesque face and his magnificence could be seen by all. He wore scaly armor, and his wings were spread to their fullest.

He looked down upon them all, past the Herald that was kneeling, at the humans that had entered the cathedral. In his eyes, they were nothing, but even then, he had given them everything.

Merciful was that creature that looked down upon them. His eyes peered deep into Kanrel; every time he saw this, he couldn't help but feel religious fervor rising within him. If this was the correct time for it, he would fall down on his knees like the Herald in the painting and pray for the wisdom of the Angel.

The Grand Priest of this cathedral and the principal of the academy touched the surface of the painting. The picture disappeared, the colors fading, just to leave behind a continuation of the cathedral.

Now before them are steps, a stairway, and the darkness that lies deep down below. Without words, the Grand Priest went ahead, taking the first step, and all with their own eyes could see him disappear. As if he never was.

Kanrel looked at the many trainees before him braced themselves, stepped on the first step, and disappeared like the Grand Priest.

He swallowed and followed suit.

On the other side, there were just stairs ahead. They went down; behind him, there was nothing, just darkness; around him was just the darkness that was behind him. There was no one there with him. None of the many students that had gone before him. Not even the Grand Priest who had gone first.

Before him, there were only stairs and just one option: descend. He braced himself and took another step. Nothing happened, so he took another.

So he continued. Step after step, a hundred steps and nothing happened. There was no change in that which he saw before him, just more steps going down and nowhere else.

Time went by, or did it? Step by step, there was nothing to count than just steps and his beating, restless heart. Maybe hours, maybe minutes, maybe a mere second. Yet the steps remained. And he continued; there was no change.

At last, he looked behind him and saw just the darkness—not a single step behind him. Just the awaiting, endless darkness; nothing.

He had started sweating long ago, and that sweat was as cold as ice on his body. Yet he felt warmer than he had ever felt before. His legs were feeling weak, so he must have taken many steps thus far. But he couldn't give up.

So he continued his descent, which seemed to never end. More hours, or just moments, went by. All this did was make him feel like a fool; it was as if there was no way out of there. But he had to continue going down; there had to be an end to these stairs; nothing could last forever...

Whilst taking a step, he looked behind him, and there was just darkness. Suddenly his view started to tilt, his legs gave way, and soon he was falling down the many stairs. His body hitting each of the stairs; all of him was in pain. He went around and around, and around and around.

Until he fell off... His eyes open, but his world spun, and he looked as if the never-ending stairway was above him, becoming smaller and smaller until it was no longer there—just darkness, just nothing.

Yet he continued falling.

His body ached, and he felt humiliated and useless. What a fool he was. A useless thing that just ought to die, a failure in the eyes of the woman he called mother. He was not worthy to call her as such; he was too lowly. He was nothing. Nothing.

At last, he closed his eyes and accepted that this would last forever. There would be no end to it—not the stair, not the fall. There would be nothing. Nothing.

He fell, his arms wide open. Now he had just one thing to do; he had all this time to think. He kept his eyes closed and began accepting the fact that he had wasted his time. The very little time that he had had in this world.

He had devoted his life to duty for knowledge, yet he would never truly achieve that. He had disregarded the need for companionship and for friends, and now he knew regret. How wasteful is a life with nothing to live for? What a useless thing he had done, and this was his end, if it would ever end.

Who knows, maybe he would live forever with just the regret of the things that were left undone and all the things he could have experienced. Now he felt just thirsty—thirsty for life. Nothing could quench the thirst he now had.

There was no hope; he could never experience those things, not even in his memories, for he never gave it a chance. Now he just felt bitter, until even that passed as he began to accept his mistakes. It left him feeling hopeless and sad.

This was suffering. The answer to his curiosity was suffering; it was just pain. This ritual, which he had failed, was just pain. Physical pain, and now the suffering that had affected his emotions, which were like a fog surrounding him in his own mind.

Soon his heart returned to its normal beat. "I guess this is what I had wanted all this time." He said it out loud; he could hear his own voice. It had no emotion in it; it just sounded bored. This was boring.

He exhaled and opened his eyes. Maybe another kind of darkness would excite him; it was doubtful, but why not try?

Above him was a ceiling. Paintings of Angels; now they were more gruesome than before; their faces were grotesque. He looked around and saw others like him—priests lying down—but they had their eyes closed. He saw the columns that held the ceiling of the cathedral up, the stone angels looking down on them.

Foolish, so foolish we are.

Kanrel exhaled and then got up to sit. At the end of the cathedral, he saw an altar, and the Grand Priest was looking at his pupils. They looked at each other; they both had the same look on their faces, and the emotions they felt must've been the same. No joy, even though Kanrel had succeeded.

He looked up and saw the painting. The once beautiful Angel was horrifying, and he now knew why they had not painted the face of the first Herald; she would've had the very expression he had on his face. There was no wonder, no joy—nothing. There was nothing.

Just the suffering that was to exist.

Kanrel stood up and went to the Grand Priest, who just pointed at the door behind Kanrel; he was dismissed. So he left the cathedral behind, returned to his room, and locked the door behind him.

On the table, there was an open book; it held the words of yesterday, the words filled with naivety. He walked over and sat down. He baptized his pen in ink and wrote down his thoughts:

Now there is nothing but thirst, which will never be quenched.