Ring of the Or'tux, page 45
Stepping forward, Father Terrence said to Larus, “I am to take you both to a room where you can relax with food and drink until the rite is completed.”
“What rite?” asked Father Thomas.
“The Rite of Blessed Holiness,” Father Terrence answered.
“The Rite of Blessed Holiness?” questioned Father Thomas as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you sure?”
Catching a note of something untoward in the way Father Thomas asked the question, Larus asked, “What?”
Turning to the one time Qyaendri, Father Thomas replied. “It is simply the longest and most monotone ritual we have. Novices are at times forced to perform it as a punishment. It can take hours.”
“Hours?” asked Larus. Even though he couldn’t see outside from where they were now, he knew the sun had to be close to the horizon. “But…
Before he could say another word, from the other side of the door, a chime rang three times. “It has begun,” stated Father Bennon. Moving forward and forcing Father Thomas to accompany him, he moved for the door.
“Come along, Hunter,” Father Thomas said.
Hunter looked to Larus who said, “You better go with him. You are going to take part in some sort of ritual. Garin and I are to wait elsewhere.”
With a look of panic, Hunter asked, “But how am I to know what to do? I can’t speak the language?”
“I am sure they will be able to convey what they wish you to do,” he assured him. “Besides, Father Thomas will be with you.”
At the door, Father Bennon’s staff tapped, hard, three times upon the floor. Larus and Hunter turned toward the sound and saw him looking impatiently in their direction. With a ‘good luck’, Larus gave Hunter a gentle shove forward.
Nervous, Hunter joined Father Thomas and the aged priest as they passed through the door and into a corridor on the other side. Forty feet long with pairs of candles spaced every five feet, it bore neither door nor archway until opening onto a room at the other end.
The odor of burning incense grew stronger the further they went. Forms began to be discernible within the room ahead. Many priests and priestess stood in circular formation around a chair sitting in the center of the room. It soon became clear that the chair was to be Hunter’s destination.
Hunter grew nervous as when he emerged from the corridor and into the room, every eye turned toward him. A priestess of short stature wearing a robe bearing golden embroidery had to be none other than the High Priestess. Much more petite than Hunter had expected, yet she maintained an air of command and power that was hard to ignore.
“Hunter,” Father Thomas said softly. Laying his hand upon Hunter’s arm, he gestured with the other toward the chair. “Please, sit.”
As the old priest was led to his place in the formation of robes surrounding the chair, Hunter was led at a slow and stately pace by Father Thomas forward to the chair. With each step he took, a chime sounded and the assembled priests intoned a single, unintelligible syllable. Once at the chair, the priests grew silent as Hunter took his seat. Immediately, the voices of those assembled began chanting in a flat, and rather monotonous, tone.
He uncertainly looked to Father Thomas. One of two not participating in the chanting, he gave Hunter a reassuring smile. The second individual who remained silent was the High Priestess. She held a silver filigreed chalice which looked to contain a clear liquid. Hunter wondered if it was this world’s equivalent of holy water. She came forward, and while her priests continued chanting, anointed his forehead and each eyelid with the clear liquid.
Once his anointing was completed, she passed the chalice to Father Thomas. Then she raised her hand and the chanting suddenly stopped. Her eyes turned to Father Thomas who said, “Hunter” which was echoed by those gathered as they resumed their monotonous chanting, this time with the added voices of High Priestess Trystia and Father Thomas.
Ten minutes passed and still the chanting continued. Twenty, and Hunter did his best to suppress the yawn that had begun wanting to be released, the constant droning of voices only subtly varied in pitch and speed having its affect. At thirty and his head began to droop as the monotonous chanting continued. At forty his head drooped forward for the last and final time. When it became clear that Hunter would not immediately reawaken, High Priestess Trystia gestured for Father Thomas to follow her.
Through the ranks of chanting priests and priestesses, he silently followed her. Then before exiting from the room by a door other than the one through which they had initially entered, he cast a final glance to the still sleeping Hunter who was all but completely encircled by robed individuals.
Entering a short corridor, they were soon at another small room quite similar to the Silver Leaf Room at the High Temple though without the murals. This one contained only two benches and three alcoves, one which held a pair of burning candles. The alcove opposite the door through which they entered held but one.
Father Thomas crossed to a bench and sat when High Priestess Trystia gestured for him to do so. She took her seat opposite him upon the other. Silence hung between them, broken only by the drone of the chanting priests in the next room. This was the first time he could recall ever having been alone in the presence of the High Priestess. It made him decidedly uneasy.
“Father Thomas,” she began in a voice filled with compassion underlined with something else, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “Do you trust in our Lady Casdralla?”
“What?” he asked, taken aback by such a question. “Of course I do.”
She nodded. “You always did have great strength of faith in you,” she said. “Even before you were sent to Billin we knew there was a spark in you, something that many of us strive for but never fully attain. When Father Velryn passed on and Billin required a new spiritual leader, I and the Fathers gathered together to choose his successor. As you know, when a position of such authority opens up, there is usually quite a bit of wrangling as different priests are put forward whom the Fathers deem worthy. Only once has there been but one name put forward. Yours.”
“Mine?” he asked.
“That is correct,” she replied. “Quite often the debates around such decisions can grow quite heated, but for the post of Billin, there was but one name proffered. It received a unanimous vote.”
“Mine?” he asked again.
“Yours.” Giving him a small grin, she nodded. “At the time I felt fortunate that the decision was made quickly and easily. But now I think there may have been more to it than your being favored among your peers. Perhaps you were meant to be there at the start of this conflict.”
Father Thomas was amazed by what he was hearing. He had never considered himself overly pious or anything more than a common priest. During his tenure at Billin, he tried to serve Casdralla to the best of his ability, and didn’t think he had accorded himself better than any other priest would have.
“Why are you telling me this now?” he asked.
Sighing, High Priestess Trystia said, “Much will be laid upon your shoulders and I wanted you to know that you have the strength to see it through.”
Father Thomas didn’t know what to say. “What about Hunter?” he finally asked. “What part does he play in all this?”
She sat still for several seconds before saying, “We have much to discuss and very little time to do it.”
“About Hunter and the ring?”
“In part,” she said. Then she began to speak.
As Father Thomas listened, he began to understand.
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon. Larus stood impatiently staring out the window toward the wall in the distance where arcs of flame could be seen flying over as the enemy loosed its catapults. Even from this distance the cries and shouts of men locked in battle could be heard. The enemy had launched another attack a short time ago and from the looks of it, was assaulting a wider stretch of the wall than the time before.
Garin stood beside him as he too stared out over the city. Where could his brother be? Had word reached Stephen that he was within Xith? Did he still live? With the heated battles raging along several hundred feet of wall, he prayed that he did.
“It’s been hours!” exclaimed a very frustrated Larus. “What could they be doing?”
“Father Thomas did say that the ritual they were performing was rather long,” said Garin. “All we can do is wait until they are finished.”
“No,” stated Larus. “We cannot remain here much longer.” Gazing out from the window again, he could see the moon as it reached the top of the wall. Another hour, maybe less, and it would be at the horizon. In Hunter’s dreams, at least those in which he stood upon the wall, the Ullentites always gained the city when the sun was at the horizon. If his dreams were to be believed, then they had little time to do anything.
“Ftheril,” he said to the air about him, “if you hear me, we need to get out of here.”
“All in due time, Larus,” came the reply.
Turning around, he found the Qyaendri Ftheril standing just within the room by the door. A glance to Garin revealed him to be motionless, frozen in place.
“We must be certain that Hunter gains the wall at the precise moment,” he stated. “Not a second either earlier or later.”
“Why?” Larus asked.
“An important juncture of events is about to take place and timing is critical,” he explained. “Everything rests on two things.”
“What?”
“That Hunter stands upon the wall you already know.”
“And the other?”
“Father Thomas must survive this conflict.”
“Father Thomas?”
Ftheril nodded. “If either of these two events fails to come about, then the light of Casdralla will be extinguished from this world.”
“But…” he began.
Cutting him off, Ftheril said, “My time is up.” And with that, the Qyaendri disappeared.
He stood still and quiet for several seconds after the Qyaendri departed. Garin, now freed of the paralysis imposed upon him during Ftheril’s visit, saw the way Larus remained motionless looking into the room instead of out the window as he had been but a moment before. “What is it?” he asked.
Shaking his head, Larus said, “Nothing.” Turning back to the window, he looked for the moon, but found it to have already descended out of sight.
Just then, the door opened and a Novice stuck his head in. “High Priestess Trystia has requested your presence.” The lad was nervous, that much was evident from the quaver in his voice and the way he couldn’t remain still.
“Are they done?” asked Garin.
“You are to follow me,” was all the reply the Novice gave. Then without waiting to see if they were coming, turned abruptly about and disappeared back through the door.
“Come on,” Larus said to Garin as he quickly headed for the door.
Chapter 34
The chanting droned on.
High Priestess Trystia sat before him, eyes filled with sorrow softened by the love of a mother. For that was how she saw herself in the role of High Priestess, mother to all her people. And so it was with great sadness that she now looked upon Father Thomas.
Eyes red rimmed from tears, sobs continued to wrack him as he sought to come to grips with what had just been revealed. The weight of that knowledge weighed upon him like that of a mountain, seeking to crush him into oblivion.
Gently, she moved her hand beneath his chin and raised his head so their eyes could meet. His was a face of unendurable sadness. A smile came to her as she sought to assuage the feelings plaguing him. “You must be strong,” she said, eyes searching his. “Casdralla has much faith in you and knows you will not fail.”
“But…,” he began before sobs once again took him.
Coming forward, she knelt before him and embraced her aggrieved child.
Knock! Knock!
Two raps upon the door were shortly followed by “It is beginning, so you better not be dilly dallying in there.” The voice of the elder priest Father Bennon broke the spell of heartache that had hold of Father Thomas. The Father’s staff rapped on the door twice more before they heard him returning down the short corridor to the room in which they left Hunter.
“We need to return,” High Priestess Trystia said.
Father Thomas nodded. Then with a mischievous smile he asked, “Or he might come back and drag us by our ears?”
“You heard about that, did you?” she asked.
“I think everyone has.”
During her early years as a novice, the future High Priestess had lost track of time and failed to arrive for a time of study with Father Bennon. So piqued at her was he, that he searched the temple until he found her. When he did, he took her by the ear and led her back to his study on the most circuitous route through almost every major hall, berating her the entire time. It goes without saying that she never again, nor did any other novice for that matter, arrive late for a lesson given by Father Bennon.
Coming to their feet simultaneously, they left the room.
Once in the small corridor connecting the small room of quiet reflection in which they had just left and the room in which the priests droned on with the Rite of Blessed Holiness, the momentary alleviation of his sadness at the High Priestess’ expense vanished.
His steps grew heavy when they arrived in the room and saw Hunter still asleep in the chair. Father Terrence came forward with Father Bennon on his arm. To Father Thomas he said, “Your other two friends have been summoned.”
“Excellent,” replied the High Priestess.
Of his friend’s words he barely heard for his attention was fully fixed upon Hunter. No longer was the poor man sleeping peacefully. Instead, his arms and legs twitched, eyes moving rapidly beneath the lids, and intermittent small noises could be heard coming from him. Father Thomas recognized the signs, he had seen them before. Many times had he and Larus watched Hunter act in a similar manner just before awaking to periods of madness. At the time they assumed it to be a reaction of his translocation from his world to theirs. But they now knew better. It had been a reaction to the implanting of visions by Qyaendri, a thing rarely documented and almost never seen. Truly, what they were seeing before them was the hand of Casdralla. Only, Father Thomas couldn’t help but wonder if like the times before, Hunter would awake to madness.
Just then a novice entered the room quickly followed by Larus and Garin. Father Thomas waved them over, motioning for them to remain silent.
Larus too recognized the signs Hunter exhibited. Coming close to the priest, he moved his mouth next to Father Thomas’ ear and in the breath of a whisper asked, “What’s going on?”
Father Thomas turned eyes of deep sadness upon Larus. For a moment he debated about whether to impart the knowledge to him or not. When after several agonizing moments of weighing the consequences, he came to the decision that Larus had the right to know. Turning his head, he was about to answer when the chanting suddenly stopped.
Hunter awoke to utter darkness. He could feel the chair beneath him but of Father Thomas and the other priests there was no sign.
“Hello?” he said. His voice seemed to echo back to him, but of an answer there was no reply.
“Father Thomas?” he shouted, this time with a tinge of panic. “Larus?”
Then from out of the darkness before him, a silver light appeared. It grew brighter as it drew closer, its light banishing the darkness and allaying his fear. Soon it became apparent that a single man walked toward him.
A sword hung at the man’s hip and he was dressed in armor that was somehow familiar. The coat of arms emblazoned upon his chest was that of five stars forming a semi-circle. The light was coming from the stars.
“Are you ready?” the man asked.
“Ready?” asked Hunter, not sure as to what the man was referring.
“You have it do you not?”
Lifting his hand before him, he saw the ring upon his finger. Its oval shaped stone with a ribbon of red seemed to draw in the light of the stars. “Is this it?” he asked. Looking up from the stone, he gazed to the man.
The man nodded. “We must hurry for the appointed hour is at hand.”
Hunter saw the man hold out his hand. Hesitating only a moment, he took it.
The cessation of the chanting coincided with Hunter rising from the chair.
“Hu…,” began Larus when Father Thomas took him by the shoulder and shook his head. “Leave him be,” he whispered.
Larus turned his gaze toward Father Thomas and could feel the sadness radiating from the man. Before he could say a word, the sound of Hunter’s steps heading for the door commanded his attention.
“He must reach the wall,” stated High Priestess Trystia. “Let no harm befall him.”
Larus nodded. “Rest assured,” he said, “none will.” And with that he and Garin hurried after Hunter.
Father Thomas didn’t immediately follow.
“You must go with them Father,” said High Priestess Trystia. “It is upon you to see him through until the end.” She then approached and gave him a comforting embrace. After patting him upon the back as a mother would a forlorn child, she held him at arm’s reach. “It is the will of Casdralla. For Her, are all things done.”
Unable to speak, he simply nodded. Turning to follow his three companions, he was abruptly stopped by Father Bennon. “Take care young Thomas,” the elderly Father said with uncharacteristic kindness. Then his face did something that few had rarely seen. He smiled.
“I will, Reverend Father,” Father Thomas replied.
“Now get going,” barked Father Bennon, having returned to his former, grumpy self. “You would think it was time for tea by the way you are lollygagging about.” With a shove lacking in any impetus, he encouraged Father Thomas toward the door.
Moving quickly, Father Thomas hurried after his companions. He caught up with Larus and Garin just as they reached the crowded outer area. Hunter was standing motionless, the hallway before him was choked with people, citizens of Xith who had come seeking refuge.
