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 Posted: Fri Aug 11, 2017 3:32 pm
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Posted: Sat Aug 12, 2017 9:49 am
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Posted: Fri Aug 18, 2017 4:05 pm
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Posted: Sat Aug 19, 2017 6:49 am
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Posted: Fri Oct 20, 2017 1:53 pm
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Posted: Sun Oct 29, 2017 6:35 pm
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Posted: Thu Nov 16, 2017 1:42 pm
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Posted: Thu Nov 16, 2017 1:43 pm
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▼ An Entreat For Union ▼
Zekiel hadn’t recently had occasion to visit the Sanctum personally. Much had been afoot, where he was and elsewhere, and there hadn’t seemed time for visits far from his station. This persistent thought, though, had so overcome his focus that it eventually necessitated attention. As he looked out from his carriage window onto the approaching walls of Pajore, he felt a swell of—remembrance? Dedication? Nostalgia? Nerves?
He smiled as he breathed out.
He didn’t think he was nervous. Why would he be? He was only making an inquiry after all. Whatever answer awaited him, it was the gods’ intent. As his vehicle pulled before the expansive front steps, however, and he stepped down to set foot again on familiar cobblestone before the gates of ‘home,’ he could not deny the flutter of renewed awe in his chest to witness it. Though the Sanctum had sheltered him all his years, and would always be a place of comfort and familiarity, his loyalty to it had done nothing to diminish his appreciation for its magnificence and the significance of its role in the world.
He made his way in. His arrival had been announced and planned for, his appearance scheduled and intentions made clear beforehand, so by his own understanding, the making of his request and answer oughtn’t likely take long at all, barring unforeseen complication. To the limited degree it had been spoken of, some described it as a ‘formality’ if a necessary one, while others insisted that a number of requests were denied outright and the gift of marriage was a blessing, not a right, and wouldn’t be handed out to those who didn’t demonstrate the character for it.
It didn’t occur to Zekiel to foresee any difficulty on his part. He had served the church all his life, and though that wasn’t a great many years yet, he had progressed in rank such that he felt he must be advancing in someone’s eyes, or it wouldn’t have been given him. The responsibilities of his temple were significant, but he did not predict the taking of a wife to be a detriment to that. If anything, surely it would be a boon?
As he moved beyond the public sector, through the garden walk buffer, and into the inner Sanctum, the long halls clicked with the echoes of footsteps. It smelled like home. He turned to the left, and made his way up. Since he knew he would be in town, he had written several of his peers who remained yet at the Sanctum. Azlas, a cleric now himself, had agreed to meet him in the early afternoon, once his inquiry had concluded. By the time he stepped past the threshold and into the sunlit room from which five sets of eyes were immediately upon him, Azlas was the furthest thing from his mind. The door clicked shut.
“Zekiel.”
He stepped forward, hands clasped behind him as he dipped his head in a bow of greeting before raising his chin. “Mothers and Fathers of the church of our gods. It is…” He cleared his throat, but the impulse persisted, “…wondrous to be before you.”
“We understand that you come before the Sanctum with a request.”
“I do.” Zekiel drew a breath. “I have come to seek the Sanctum’s blessing on a proposal to wed before the gods.”
Silence hung in the air before him. Then: “You are denied.”
It had not occurred to him just how little he had considered the prospect of a denial despite, he thought, coming in with an understanding that each answer was entirely possible. He simply had not spent any time imagining this particular scenario, and Zekiel would have struggled to describe the sensation he felt then. A sudden, overwhelming impression in his gut that he would not be getting what he came for, and a bewildered sense of being set after a blindfolded trip on new ground, without direction as to how to proceed.
It was strange to consider then that though all his life he had served unseen forces and worked as a part of the system before him, never delving to question on any front the decisions handed down from the gods, he had not stopped to consider how very much his life — in all its aspects, beyond just the duties of his class — was in the power not just of gods, but men and women not much different than himself.
He stood still, for a moment speechless.
“Have you any other business to bring before us?”
“We would caution you to consider your words before voicing them,” a second among them added, “and your station.”
Zekiel took a moment. ‘Why,’ tempting as it was, did not seem to be the right direction for things. Unexpected as it was for him, what he really needed for the moment was a different answer altogether. “What advice would the council give to a servant of the gods seeking their blessing to start a family?”
“Don’t-” one of the men began with a sharp grunt, but an older woman at the right end of their table cleared her throat. Zekiel did not recognize her sharp features, but the glow to her gaze felt especially keen in that moment, as though she could read him like a ledger over the rim of her narrow glasses.
“You have done good work for the Sanctum and progressed to a station of repute despite your youth. No one here doubts your devotion. However…” Her nails tapped to the varnished hardwood of their desk. “Restraint. Patience. Attention to how your actions reflect upon the church. These are a few areas where your record reflects you could benefit from some…improvement. You are newly of title as a priest in our ranks, and you have a temple to tend, do you not?”
Zekiel dipped his head. “I do.”
“And does it not keep you busy in service of the gods?”
“It does…”
“Return to us in a year…or two. Focus your attention on your practice. You need not consider yourself forbidden from courting a woman if you feel so compelled, but remember to give matters time. And, Priest Zekiel…” Her gaze seemed to bear particular weight in that instant. “Be mindful of the fact that your dedication and station afford you trust, and you have great leeway to do as you see fit in Ilidan…but you are still governed by the same holy law that applies here. The sanctity of a union before the gods is no remedy for prior carelessness…”
A rumble from the man who had originally spoken up added, “There is no place in the clergy for the bringers and bearers of illegitimate children.”
Though he felt certain Malta could not be with child yet as a matter of course, Zekiel felt peculiarly as though he had already done something improper in their eyes. Still, he nodded.
“These are trying times,” the woman said. “There is much at work, be it the will of our gods…or creatures from worlds beyond. We need every able hand of the faith at ready and clear as to their duty in leading our people forward.”
After a long enough pause that Zekiel felt invited to speak, he did. “I understand. I will work to exercise more patience and be mindful of our people’s needs first. I will return if the gods so bid me, and I thank you for your counsel.”
On his way out, Zekiel was not of the mindset he had anticipated to be on his way to meet with Azlas.
Result: Zekiel requests permission from the Sanctum to wed and is denied.
Word Count: 1,275 |
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Posted: Thu Nov 16, 2017 6:14 pm
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▼ Matters Between Friends ▼
Azlas had always been particular about lengths, numbers, and distances. Zekiel had met him his first evening within the Sanctum, one of what ended up being the six of them total in that particular room in the north hall, where they had begun as younglings. Though they had undoubtedly grown over the years, they had maintained a friendship up until and beyond the day Zekiel left for his own temple. They saw each other less now, but it was no less of a pleasure to have occasion to see him. If anything, more so.
Yet, though Zekiel greeted him with his usual cheer, as Azlas surveyed him, he couldn’t help but notice that his friend looked as though he already knew the outcome of his meeting before he asked.
“So…” Azlas gave him a step of space. “How did it go?”
“I was denied,” Zekiel said. “But the evening is lovely, isn’t it? I think, after here-”
“Zekiel…”
Zekiel glanced to his friend, quieting to listen, though for a moment, Azlas only studied him again.
“I would say you are not as distressed as I would have expected, except that I suppose by now I shouldn’t expect it…” Azlas frowned. “But this was important to you, was it not?”
“It was tremendously important to me,” Zekiel said, but he smiled. “It will be well and is as the gods intend, I am sure. I need only be patient. I will return again in a year.”
His friend blinked, visibly surprised. “They’re going to allow that?”
“Why would they not?” Zekiel looked to him. “I was…surprised,” he decided, “that I was denied. But I was told if I were to wait and mind my station, I might return.”
“Is that…all they said?” Azlas asked, skeptical for reasons Zekiel couldn’t guess.
“I suppose they said some other things, but there was no one about to write it down,” Zekiel answered. After a moment’s consideration, it also seemed relevant to ask, “Why were you not surprised?” It was a guess, but if Azlas was surprised, this was not the way most people Zekiel was familiar with showed it.
After a pause, Azlas shook his head. “Do you want to go for a walk? The temple is a bit…” His eyes flit about the place, his lips a lightly pursed line, “busy.”
Though Zekiel wasn’t personally bothered by any passers by, particularly those in the Sanctum’s halls, as he was familiar with many of them, since Azlas had expressed a preference, he was happy to oblige, and nodded. “I would love to.”
It wasn’t until they were well away from anyone Zekiel could see, shaded by a braided white wood arbor, that Azlas spoke. “You must have known they wouldn’t approve you now…”
Zekiel blinked. “I suppose I did not know at all what would be decided, but before arriving, I admit I had not spent any time imagining they might deny me.”
Azlas frowned. “Have you really not heard at all…?”
“I hear many things within a certain nearness to me, though I do sometimes not hear some things because I am paying more mind to-”
“No, Zekiel, I meant about Edeline.”
Immediately, Azlas had his full attention, though Zekiel’s line of thought had shifted instantly with the topic. “I have been wondering about Edeline! Have you heard from her? Is she well? I haven’t managed to see her since I have been away, though I have returned on several occasions and asked, but…” Zekiel paused as he reflected on it. “It was strange to me, the expressions they gave. A friend told me I oughtn’t likely inquire about her too persistently and that she had gone away. I thought that perhaps…it pleased her more that I not speak with her. I think that I upset her in choosing to come to Ilidan…”
“I am sorry, Zekiel,” Azlas said. “I thought surely someone would have told you. I know you and she were good friends, which is why I thought…” He frowned, and then shook his head. “I must have been mistaken, and for that I apologize. Edeline was dismissed from the Sanctum and is no longer following the path of the church.”
It took Zekiel a moment to comprehend. “She…? But why? Did it no longer please her to serve?” He had never heard of such a thing with anyone he knew, but he was also aware that not all those chosen made it to the peak of their studies. Still, it was never something he imagined for Edeline, who had always been studious and diligent. More so than he, he had thought. “I do not understand,” Zekiel admitted.
Azlas seemed to hesitate, and after a time he sighed. “It is…more speculation at this point than fact I am sure. You know how rumor spreads among the long halls. I think, if the council did not seek to involve you further, it is probably best we leave the discussion at regret for her parting and speak of your new hopeful bride to be instead, since the gods apparently so smile on you. It would be a pity to waste perfectly good fortune with too much gossip.”
Zekiel felt then a tipping point, as though though he had not been thinking on it actively, two previously separate facets of information given to him prior made connection in his mind.
There is no place in the clergy for the bringers and bearers of illegitimate children.
“What words have you heard, Azlas…” Zekiel said. “What do you think was her reason for departing?”
“I think she became with child.”
Zekiel felt, for a moment, that the gods had changed the atmosphere about him, that the air was slow in his lungs and his pulse quick with a tumult of conflicting thoughts. “That’s not-” Yet, ‘possible’ wasn’t the right word, was it? “We didn’t-” He could feel heat in his ears. “It cannot be mine.”
Azlas eyed him, and then shrugged. “You needn’t argue your case to me. Evidently our superiors agree with you, since you haven’t been brought into it. I just knew you were close, and assumed…I apologize. I would like to hear of your newest chase, however, if you have the time…”
Zekiel felt he ought to have welcomed the subject as he did most things. He enjoyed Malta’s company greatly and should have been happy to discuss her with a friend as he was on any other occasion he’d had the opportunity. In this moment, however, he felt such a great many things that didn’t feel as though they were designed to all be felt at once, and he was supposed to be smiling. So he did.
“Azlas…I would love to speak of her with you, and for you to meet her also. For this day, though, if it would please you as much, I would hear of how things have been here with you. Much has happened since I have been away…”
Result: During an afternoon walk with Azlas, Zekiel learns something of Edeline's silence and is left with more questions than answers.
Word Count: 1,180 |
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Posted: Mon Nov 20, 2017 10:07 am
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Posted: Fri Nov 24, 2017 9:46 pm
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▼ A Test of Faith ▼
Dawn came slow over Ilidan’s cliffs and crept in dim yellow strips over Zekiel’s sheets. He had been up for some hours yet, but as he saw the light, he blew out his candle and rose from his desk. Paperwork was difficult to focus on even in the best hours of morning, and it would be a wasted opportunity to miss a sunrise over something that could always be done at another time.
The temple was quiet. Now almost a year since he had first come, the elderly priestesses who had been stationed before him had taken to living outside of the grounds in a space of their own. They still coached him and provided guidance when necessary, giving the occasional appearance even in church—but not so much as before, and more by the day the space seemed less theirs and more his.
And with that came a quiet Zekiel was not certain how to compensate for.
Ever before in his life, his routines had been filled with the interplay of other people near to him, from morning, through his meals, and into night. He hadn’t but once had a companion through the night of intimate variety, but he had never felt a shyness — rather the opposite — for sharing a bed simply for comfort’s sake and so that much was not a new experience. One he missed in particular of late for some reason.
A skittering of scales on stone drew his attention down, and he tisked, calling for the long, dark shadow along the wall that was Babasa and kneeling to offer an arm.
“The temple floors are cool in early mornings, you’ll chill yourself,” he cautioned, waiting as she climbed his arm and up, onto his shoulders. Once she settled, he stood again, and continued towards the temple entrance.
Since he had been keeping it, he left his doors open, taking visitors at any hour of the night should they need it. It wasn’t something often called on, but something that he was sure to make known was available just the same whenever he gave sermons or spoke with the villagers through other means.
Today, however, he was alone, and the morning air was shrouded with mist as he stepped from the temple walls out into it. Babasa’s tongue flicked, just visible out of the corner of his eye as she tasted it. One could truly smell the surrounding jungle on such mornings, and the glow of Zekiel’s eyes lit the mist just around them with almost ethereal effect. He drew a slow, deep breath of it. No matter how he tried, he could not keep the wandering of his thoughts away from his conversation with Azlas. Whenever they strayed there, however, he never knew what to think first, and which of them if any were in line with the gods’ intention.
Was all of it a test?
Had he already been tested, and failed, or had he done nothing yet that he oughtn’t, but rather was amidst the test now and at the crossroads of whether or not he remained in line with his calling? No one of rank had said anything to criticise or sanction his behavior thus far. He did not think he had done anything out of line with his teachings, and he felt that aside from that single conversation with Azlas, he had no real reason to feel that anything was amiss.
Except that what Azlas suggested promised the potential for was the one thing he would have asked the gods for if he asked them for anything.
Edeline had told him, on the one occasion that seemed to be critical, that she would show him how to ask the gods for children, but promised that they would not make one. He had known her long enough, been near enough to her and trusted in her such that not a single element had felt out of place at the time. He still trusted she meant what she had said, and perhaps that was what mattered. Perhaps Azlas was simply mistaken. They could not both be right.
He had no reason beyond Azlas’ word of a rumor to think anything other than what he had been told by others: Edeline was no longer about, but no, nothing bad had happened to her and she hadn’t fallen ill to anyone’s knowledge. Perhaps she had chosen to have a child with someone before or after he had left for Ilidan, perhaps she had left the faith for another reason entirely, or perhaps she had simply elevated position and moved to another area under particular circumstances such that no one else even knew all of the details and someone had spread word in her wake for who knew what reason.
Zekiel was aware by now that things were not always precisely as they seemed and though he was a curious individual when the opportunity to question was immediately before him and seemed invited, he rarely felt it his place to question when questioning seemed it would cause more disruption than peace. There were hundreds of possible imaginings for why he could not get into direct contact with Edeline herself or any reliable source on the matter, but surely it did him no good to focus on the most disruptive possibility of all.
It had always been true that he wanted a child one day, even before he knew what it meant to want such a thing, and never could he imagine one to be anything but a treasured blessing. Azlas’ rumor hung the potential for it before him. But at the cost of risking everything that he considered his calling in life if he pursued it. No matter how he thought on it, digging under the circumstances and chasing something that was not meant for him now could not be the right answer. It risked too much, no matter how tempting the answer.
Nothing was worth his service to the gods. And certainly no premature, entirely selfish wants of his own that could be satisfied if he only had patience.
Zekiel breathed out, surveying down from the small uprise that his temple rest upon to the village below and around, blanketed in the fog. After a moment, he smiled.
It seemed for now that this could only be a test in progress, putting before him exactly what he had confessed he might ask them for and inquiring as to whether it was worth risking his service. And that question he had already answered for himself. The gods, as Azlas often said, were good to him. Perhaps far better than he deserved, and he had been blessed with much in his life to be thankful for. Some mysteries, no matter how tailored to itch at the back of one’s mind, were not intended by the gods to be solved. If they did, he suspected he would know when the time arised. Until then, he had much to be grateful for—and much to do.
It was not a time of calm among the Yaeli people, and they needed a steadfast faith, ready to support them in their trials as the fate of their future became uncertain. It was not his place, nor his desire to put his more humble goals before the more broader needs of his people and church, or even allow them to distract him to their detriment.
Any blessings intended for him, he trusted, would come when they did if they did. In the meantime, he would do exactly as the Sanctum had instructed—look after his temple, service his people, and keep any rumors that spread of a courtship between him and any woman to a modest, respectable level such that they were convinced they could trust him with the privilege of a wife.
Only the gods would tell when he had earned any more than that.
Result: Zekiel resolves that no matter how interested he is in one day having a family, his desire for a child is not worth chasing a suspicious rumor
and risking his service to his people. His duty to his faith and his people comes before himself, and he is blessed to have what he does.
Word Count: 1,325 |
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Posted: Wed Dec 20, 2017 7:33 pm
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▼ What The Ocean Takes For Hers ▼
“Gone.” Zekiel repeated the word like a foreign concept, or as though learning it for the first time, and in those moments before it fully registered, his day remained as normal as it had begun. The word simply didn’t apply in the context it had been given, surely, and there was some mistake. “What do you mean?”
Tacrith did not just go places. Zekiel knew better than that. Anyone who knew the doctor knew better than that, which was odd, considering that he would have suspected the messenger — one of Tacrith’s clinic staff — to be in that category to begin with. And anyone who did not go places could not be gone.
“He was taken, Father…kidnapped, by foreign devils.” The man spoke at a reasonably normal pace as he explained the incident of a wounded foreigner taken in that Tacrith had tended to and followed to the docks, of a firefight at the shoreline, and the disappearance of the ship from there out, but his tone was grim, and the words seemed only to trickle in. “We…suspect it is not likely he survived…”
Zekiel was standing just to the side of his pulpit, evening mass having only recently been dismissed, and the man before him having approached after the rest of the crowd had dwindled to nil. Outside, a heavy rain battered the glass of the temple’s arched windows, pouring against the sides and turning the walk up the hill into a treacherous mudslide of sorts if one was not careful. It had made for a slightly smaller congregation than usual for a sabbath, but perhaps that was befitting of the news the gods brought with it.
“How long ago was this?” Zekiel asked, his tone even, and quiet enough that it wouldn’t have been heard over the storm had they not been standing near to one another. His eyes, though, were on the rain.
“Three days, Father…we believe-”
“He’s out in the storm,” Zekiel said. She’ll take anything, the sea. When she’s angry. An’ she is often, you know, she was that night, when you came spitting into this world… A roll of thunder shook the air, a flash whitening the sky briefly and brightening the windows before it darkened again. Zekiel glanced down, and back to the man with a bit of a smile. “I hope it does not rock the ship terribly. Tacrith is not accustomed to travel.”
“Father Zekiel…” The man looked — distressed, Zekiel decided, in a way that a parent might as they attempted to explain a loved one being taken by the gods. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the look. “We know that you were close to him, and those of us who worked with him will…deeply miss his presence, but…because he has no family, and he associated with you, we thought to ask if you might wish to perform the cleansing ceremony on his home…”
It was a peculiar curiosity, Zekiel thought, how wind and rain managed to provide the same dull rush of sound to near any room, great or small, be it the Sanctum’s halls, a small town temple, or a thatched fisherman’s hut. Hopefully the winds would not grow fierce enough to damage any of the surrounding homes. He drew a breath, and let it out in a light rush.
“I will need access to his home, yes,” Zekiel said. “But there will be no need for a cleansing ritual for many years yet. There are no spirits to clear. I need only keep after a few things, as I suspect he was not anticipating departing so soon, and the house must be kept in order or he would be distressed…”
The man cleared his throat. “It…seems you don’t-”
Zekiel’s eyes met his and held. “The gods have not taken Tacrith from this world yet. And anyone who believes so may be pleased to know they are mistaken. No one will perform a cleansing ritual on his house, and no one from the Sanctum but myself will go there. His things will remain as they are but for my keeping after them, and when he returns to this shore, I would be grateful if the clinic saw to notify me immediately…it will be a wondrous day, after all.”
The man blinked, but after a moment, he gave a small dip of a nod. “Of course, Father. Forgive me-”
Zekiel touched a hand to his shoulder, eyes warming. “There is nothing to forgive.”
And so it went. They spoke for a brief while longer so as to clarify the details of when and how Zekiel would arrive to see to things in Tacrith’s absence. After, he made arrangements, and in three days’ time, he was back in the capitol.
Tacrith’s home was quiet enough with him in it.
Without him—Zekiel stood in the entryway, and shut his eyes, one hand to the door still. The gods had taken much across the sea. The home still smelled as it might have if Tacrith were not miles but only minutes away, late at work and on his way. He would return. Zekiel had held, and thereafter lost, such a faith in someone else before, but in this instance he could do nothing other than to begin with it at least: Tacrith was well, and the gods would bring him home when they saw fit.
Zekiel needed to believe it and did, because there was no good to come of doing otherwise. With a murmured prayer of introduction and protection as he crossed inside, he pulled the door shut behind him, and began a perfunctory inspection. It looked as neat as ever, but still with small evidences that Tacrith had not intended to be gone as he had. Zekiel took any food that might spoil and packaged it to be handed out to those who were more in need and could make use of it before its usefulness rotted. He set away anything that might possibly attract a wandering eye from outward windows or cause hazard to itself, cleaned the very little that needed to be, and said a blessing for each room.
When he finished, he stood in the main room—and he could draw effortlessly to mind the first time he had been invited here. And times after that. He touched his fingers together, drawing a breath and looking to an open window.
“Dafiel, and Lurin…I ask nothing of you, and ever am a vessel of your command. My loyalty depends never on your blessings, and I endeavor always to be an agent of your will. As your servant, I would profess that Tacrith is a good man and a faithful proponent of your design. In his place, I would pray in your name for his well being, as I understand he does not speak to you…but as far as your will might reach, he is a child of this land and has earned your blessing. May he return unharmed, and sheltered in the arms of your will.”
Result: Zekiel receives news that Tacrith is 'dead' in a firefight on a mainlander ship. He refuses to perform a death ceremony on the doctor's home, and instead insists upon maintaining the place himself until Tacrith's return.
Word Count: 1,179 |
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2018 12:39 pm
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Posted: Sun Apr 01, 2018 12:03 pm
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Posted: Sun Apr 01, 2018 12:14 pm
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