The evening came forth, having crawled over the now extinguished lights of the midday sun, gently covering the little they had, as the cold then came about as a freezing presence first felt in the bones of the old and the broken. Fewer people walked the streets when the two priests did, making their way around the Academy, the heart of the city. Many of its windows illuminated the street with lights, and Kanrel could see, at times, figures passing said windows as nothing more than black shadows against a lightened canvas. He couldn't quite remember what it would all look like from within. How he once perceived Atarkan from within the confines of the Academy. Back then, his window showed only the courtyard, and only once, every few blue moons or so, did he spend a moment longer, peering outside of the world he knew, into another lived in by people more present than he ever was. He wondered now which he would prefer. Stepping side by side with Roslyn, walking who knows where, to meet people who might once have cared about him, feeling the warmth of people like he once had way back in Jersten, way back then, when he was without as much fault as he was now... Or would he have preferred something else altogether? The walls that repeat themselves with elaborate engravings; the rooms filled with books in which he might drench himself, so as to ignore all that goes on outside or even on the inside. For who would want to truly look within or beyond even the self, when all that there was, that there ever could be, seemed to be just boundless darkness, waiting to pull you in, to suffocate you, and leave you without the grace of escape. For what could those books be to him, other than escape? Would he really care about those souls that had perished a thousand or more years ago in some obscure massacre that might have happened just outside Lo'Gran? Or what about the queen who poisoned her children because of a king who showed her no love? Who would care about such things when all they truly did was block out the things that might come creeping in from the outside, the worries and deaths, or those that already resided within, those damned and long-suffered fears that refuse to dwindle and die out. What would he prefer if nothing or anything at all?
Yet with such thoughts bound within, he indeed walked side by side with Roslyn again. Making their way down the street in the freezing cold of the evening and the coming night, soon stopping shy of some five or so steps from the stone slabs that served as stairs to a tavern with so much glow and sound bursting from within that many would be afraid to step in without first thinking if there be danger on the inside. Those cold steps, the hundreds or perhaps more that he had walked across Atarkan, to find himself in the presence of warmth. If he ever deserved such warmth in the first place, and if the warmth itself was the danger; if that warmth might mean that the crimes he knew to have committed somehow become acceptable, just for the sake and price of another man, a woman, or a child, to sit across from him with an unveiled smile across their face.
Roslyn stepped past him and opened the door. She looked back at the hesitating Kanrel and said, "You've travelled long and far. So rest; the Angels know you deserve some rest."
Kanrel stared at her and past her. He saw figures, people, walking to and fro, carrying pints and plates; he heard conversations, though not enough to make a thing of sense out of them. He hesitated that moment longer, Roslyn looking at him with visible worry. In the end, he sighed and stepped past her, inside the warmth of the tavern and its people.
Conversations flooded in, first in one wave, and soon in constant babble, multiple concurrent streams of sound, hedging one another in different parts of the room that now opened for his sight to behold. A somewhat short man pranced past. He held on to two jugs of what might be ale or some other drink the local taverns liked to serve; he had dirt-colored hair and a jovial expression as he gazed at the two priests who had just stepped in. "Come in! Come in!" he called for them, soon disappearing to another corner of the sprawling first floor of the establishment, setting down a jug at one table and the other at the one not far from it. He then returned to the door and stepped in front of Roslyn and asked, "Is this one of your priestly friends?" He then gave Kanrel a good eyeful and grinned a little. "Or have you befriended a homeless man?"
"He is my master; I've known him long before I became a priest," Roslyn swiftly replied. "Here should be some people who'd love to see him, but first, I do believe that he needs dinner and perhaps a wash... I hear that he's been on the road for months."
"Wonderful, wonderful! The more, the merrier!" He turned on his heel and began walking toward an empty table. "This way! We'll get you two fed in no time!"
Roslyn gestured for Kanrel to follow him, so he did, and soon they found themselves seated at a table just across from the staircase. The table itself was worn, but clean enough, having survived many long days of constant use; so had the chairs and the very floor of this fine establishment, making Kanrel wonder for how long had it served the fine people of Atarkan. Surely decades by now, be it in the hands of the same family, or a different one altogether. By all means, it didn't seem or feel new, not something that had popped up in his absence. But then again, how could he tell? He had never stepped inside one of the many taverns, inns, or bars around the city. Never did he have the mind or a reason to. The Academy had provided all that he might have ever needed.
Roslyn sat right there beside him, and she observed Kanrel as he stared here and there, at the people whom he didn't know or recognize, or at the floor, the ceiling, and the other things around him. "How are you?" she suddenly asked. A strange question to ask a priest; she of all people should be able to say how he might have felt.
Even then, Kanrel thought about it a moment longer. There were many things he wanted to say; that needed to be said to her, no less. There was more than there was less. "I have been... better? I suppose. It is difficult to say, I..." He frowned. "I am, at least, among people now," he concluded and met Roslyn's gaze. She only nodded, asking nothing more. What had been the point of her inquiry? Kanrel wondered, but before he could ruminate on the matter, the tavernkeep came by, carrying a trayful of food and an empty jug as well as two cups. He placed them before the two priests: a bowl filled with stew, soon paired with dry bread and a block of cheese, which the two hungry customers might share.
Roslyn went ahead and formed a code to fill the jug with water; she seemed rather accustomed to such service. None had asked her to do it; she did what was assumed of her.
"Here you go! Just something the ol' wife cooked up. It ain't much, but it will fill you up," the tavernkeep said with a grin, then focused his gaze on Kanrel. "I suppose some introduction is in order, if you be the master of my favorite priest and all..." He extended his hand toward Kanrel, who looked at it a moment, then got up from his chair and accepted the handshake. The man's hand was warm, rough, and firm.
"Name's Jork. The wife and I have run this place for the better part of a decade by now; before that it was a bit of a shithole, piss everywhere, and drunks by the door every day of the week. We've done well for ourselves, if I do say so myself!"
"Kanrel, Kanrel Iduldian. A priest indeed, and Roslyn's master, though I take no greater responsibility for her personality. She has been like this since before we met. I only taught her to read and write." Their hands departed.
Jork kept measuring him with his gaze. "Say, Kanrel, mind if I put you to use when you have rested, fed, and washed, and all that you need to do? Instead of paying for the food and the room," he offered.
Kanrel glanced at Roslyn, who just shrugged. "I suppose so. I've no coin to really offer, so I would be glad to help in any way that I could," Kanrel said.
Jork's earlier grin returned, wider than before. "Wonderful! Do take your time; I am sure that I will have need of you in no time!" he announced and practically waltzed away, while taking the empty tray with him.
At last, Kanrel was allowed to sit back down. He watched as Jork disappeared behind the counter, into the kitchen, only to step back out soon after, carrying another trayful of food to bring to another table.
"Quite the fellow," Kanrel muttered, then turned toward Roslyn, who still stared at him. Now with an arched brow. "Is there something wrong with my personality?" she asked.
Kanrel managed a smile. "Not at all. I was simply implying that my time with you was rather short, in the end, and one could barely call me your master."
Roslyn scoffed. "Just eat, no need to come up with excuses." Her expression softened soon after, and she buried a spoon into the stew. Her face remained blank as she shoveled the first spoonful inside her mouth and swallowed.
Kanrel followed her example. Knowing all too well what the experience would be like. First, the two priests would shovel mushy ash into their mouths and be forced to swallow it down, mixed with dry ash and chunks of fatty ash, only to swallow it all down with a good, large cup of liquid ash.
There was a reason why most priests remained on the leaner side. Also, another reason why most priests shoveled the food down, not much caring for savoring the taste or the moment. It was just a thing you were supposed to get through so as not to starve.
When they were done, Roslyn spoke again, "Your... adventures, if one could call them that, they do seem unbelievable." She kept her gaze ahead, looking at the people going past them.
Kanrel let out a long sigh. "They do. If I had not experienced all of it myself, then I'd not believe a word. But here I am, having gone through more things than any man would like to."
Roslyn nodded, then frowned soon after. "You know that I will have to report this to the Priesthood. Though some of it might have already made its way to the Academy..."
"I expect nothing else."
Roslyn turned toward Kanrel again, meeting his gaze. "Tomorrow... Tomorrow we'll have to go there. For both witnesses and to report this story of yours. There is no other way. And I wouldn't be too surprised if they'd call the Inquisition to question you as well. There is just... too much. Too many questions that need answering."
Kanrel swallowed. "And you'd vouch for me... even then?"
"I would. I think... that I have to believe you. You need someone who does." She went quiet. Her expression shifted, as if there were something she was deciding whether to say; her frown deepened, and she looked away. "I've been dreaming. The day the cloud came, I dreamed it first. The temple in Jersten, the doors, the faceless dark all around me. And inside, the Herald; and beside her, an Angel, Lo'Gran sprawling for as long as the eye could see, and past it, in the north, there grew a dark flower that veiled the sun."
Kanrel said nothing.
"They recited the prophecy. The one you had me write over and over again." She turned back to him, her mask gone. "And in the dream, I was the one who spoke the last line."
He only listened. He knew that prophecy better than she ever could; he had been obsessed with it long before she could hold a quill. Many had called her mother a heretic for it, or worse. For years, it had been a thing not yet come to pass, and now it had passed, and he did not need her to recite it. He could hear it well enough in his own voice.
"And this morning, I dreamed again." Her hand tightened around the cup. "The cathedral. The windows on either side, each one an Angel, and the one that was shrouded in the dark. The Angel from Jersten was there too, the one with the sword. But it was the other that I can't be rid of. It looked at the Herald, and then it looked at me. It held an hourglass, and the sand ran out of it, grain by grain, until there was none left." She swallowed. "And then it spoke. And it was sad, master. Why would an Angel be sad?"
She looked at him for an answer, some sort of grand wisdom her master of old could give her.
But Kanrel had none to give. Slowly, he lifted the cup and drank the last of the water, coating his mouth and his throat with the taste of ash. He set it down with care. "Tomorrow, I must see the Book of the Heralds. For I fear that you are right... The Angels can no longer see what is to come. So heaven help us, for we must carve our own destiny in the absence of greater wisdom."
Roslyn nodded and dried the corners of her eyes. She got up. "I must see my parents; they'll be expecting me. Stay here. I'll come back soon." Roslyn stepped around the table and headed up the stairs, as if there were no such thing as dread for tomorrow or the days after.
Kanrel stared as she went, saddened, for no real remedy could he give her or himself. The end was here. What could a mere mortal do? He sighed away a curse pointed at the Angels as he buried his face into his hands for a moment. He gently rubbed his eyes and his face, massaging them as though everything was just a headache that could be so easily gotten rid of. But it yet persisted, so he leaned back on his chair and looked around once more.
As he let his eyes wander over the jovial expressions of the other customers, the old and the young, the men and the women, as they ate and drank and conversed as though nothing had ever happened hundreds of miles to the north of here, he couldn't help but feel his gaze drift into fractals, as though he looked through glass that cut his vision into many; now turning these good people into unseen figures, faceless things partaking in wordless conversations; he imagined himself, standing outside, looking in, and seeing all these people, and not only them, but himself as well, among them, as one faceless thing with many. It is so cold outside, there, past the window through which he sees himself; even past this window, through which he saw them now. It is so cold, even here, even seemingly on the inside, still looking as if from the outside.
But in the end, what his gaze found was always the people. But what they wore... their shoes... They'd be scattered on the floors of this tavern and the next. They'd be scattered in the markets and the temples. In the Academy, in the courtyard, in classrooms... Thousands upon thousands of pairs of shoes. He sank with his posture, with the chair, melting and becoming one with the dark clouds above. Just darkness with nothing to help, no lantern to give guidance. No god, no angel, just despair. All he could feel was that mist filling his head; his lungs in an eternal cycle of breath. Exhale, inhale. Laborious existence, each breath more work than the previous, although faster and faster. Drowning, seeping in, and becoming just the nothing he could see. Just a dark window, with not even a figure to perceive.
"Kanrel!" A yell pierced the dark, cracking the glass of his vision. Kanrel's eyes burst open. The tavern didn't return all at once. First came the roar of the crowd, a suffocating wave of laughter, and clinking mugs that made his ears ring as though they were the bells back at the Forum. Then came the physical toll; his chest heaved, his heart hammering against his ribs as if he had been running for miles. He looked down and realized his fingers were dug so deeply into the grain of the wooden table that they ached. He forced his hands to uncurl, his palms slick with cold sweat. He rubbed his face, his skin numb against his fingertips. He kept reminding himself of the lights that existed around him, of the shoes that yet carried people.
He felt warmth, and he did feel cold. He smelled food, and he smelled the wine and the ale that someone had spilled down the front of their tunic.
Only then did his eyes begin to track the movement around him. A little lad with a head of messy black hair was tearing down the stairs, a devious grin on his face. A blonde woman caught him by the shoulders, with slight anger on her face, soon withered by a peck the boy gave her on the cheek. Disarming all the scolding she might say to her son, but even then she tried, and her words bled into clarity as Kanrel's ears finally stopped ringing.
"Kanrel, you know you shouldn't cause a ruckus–"
The name was like a plunge in a frozen lake. Kanrel blinked, watching the mother and child. The weight around his sides began to recede. And oh, how he wanted to laugh, even if it were just a humorless whimper, but his throat was too tight, as though no sound could traverse through it, let alone air.
"–you know you shouldn't run up and down the stairs... What if you ran into someone and made them fall over?"
"But, ma! We've no stairs this tall nor this wide at home!" the boy protested. The woman sighed and let the boy back down. "At least do it when there aren't so many using them. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes, ma!" the boy promised as earnestly as he could, as an ever wider grin came to his face.
For a moment, Kanrel thought he had lived a memory, for he had done the same at his mother's house. He had run up and down the stairs many times, to the point of exhaustion, not his, but Dal's, as she'd try to scold him, saying things like, 'One day you'll break something!' None of that, of course, ever worked. Only one day, when he decided to ride down the railing, did he learn his lesson. Apparently, one might break their tailbone in such a way, especially if there is too much speed when coming down, and the fall is too high. Who could've guessed that something like that might happen?
Kanrel blinked, feeling his eyes burn from such a memory. He wanted to laugh, to truly laugh, and if he could do so honestly, it would roar freely. For there were such fond memories within. And there were such kids around, playing around even when the world might end any day now.
Then he saw him... A man stepped around the corner of the stairway. A tall fellow, with a head full of black hair, too. Much like the kid, though, his eyes were that slight bit more tired than the kid's. With him came down a girl and a boy; the two children had brown hair. Kanrel didn't recognize either child, but the man...
Kanrel got up from his chair. "Dar?" he called out. And the man in the stairway suddenly stopped and peered at the man who had called for him. For a moment, they looked at one another. Then, the man's eyes went wide. "Kanrel?" He practically ran down the stairs, past the blonde woman and the boy named Kanrel; the kid looked confused.
Kanrel stepped past the table and soon met with the man. They stood across from one another, gazes going up and down as they observed one another. In the end, with shaking hands, Dar reached for Kanrel and buried him into a hug. "Where the hell had you gone?" he asked with a muffled voice as he held tightly onto his tears, for a man like him could never shed a tear before his children.
Soon enough, the hug ended with Dar looking at Kanrel up and down, at arm's length. It felt as though many had stared at him in a similar fashion just today. And if there ever were tears in his eyes, or even a hint of sadness in them, then it had come to pass. Dar was strong, visibly so.
"You stink," Dar suddenly said, then grinned. "And you do look like shit. You used to groom your hair and beard so well back then, and there wasn't a day when your clothes were dirty. I always felt like a peasant when I was around you."
Kanrel scoffed. "A bit tough to keep up the hygiene on the road—just something I've come to learn," he said, then peered past Dar at the blonde woman and her three children, who stood in a row, not too far off. "I suppose this is your family."
Dar smiled and let go; he turned around, and Kanrel stepped beside him. "Yes, my wife, Amer, and our three children. The oldest is—"
"Wait," Kanrel stopped him. "Let me guess... The oldest of the three would surely be Bren," he said and pointed at the boy with brown hair, almost as tall as Amer. The tallish boy's eyes went wide as he looked at his siblings, as well as his mother, with great surprise.
"Then there'd be Amele, of course," he said and pointed at the girl beside Bren. She had long braided brown hair and wore a dress; she kept fiddling with her sleeve and kept staring at the priest with suspicion. She glanced at her father when she heard herself being named. Dar nodded a little; only then did Amele smile a little.
"Now me, now me! Do me!" Little Kanrel suddenly blurted out and took even a step forth, only to be held back by his mother, who looked at her husband with some suspicion as well.
"Well, you and me, we do share a name," Kanrel said and glanced at Dar, then back at the boy. "Kanrel, or perhaps, little Kanrel, so as not to confuse myself."
Little Kanrel frowned. "Share a name? How can you share a name? Ma, that doesn't make any sense, now does it?"
Amer patted her son's head. "Most people share a name with another; in fact, there must be hundreds or even thousands with the same name as you," she explained, then stepped forth and offered her hand to the priests. "You must be Kanrel Iduldian... I have heard much about you, and only ever met you in passing," she said.
Kanrel managed a smile he thought was his least awkward one and accepted the warm hand. "Indeed... and I do remember hearing much about you, too, Amer Miller."
Amer's eyes widened, and she looked at Dar, who only shrugged.
"Ah, I happened to go by your house, if you don't mind... I was searching for survivors," Kanrel said, then cleared his throat. "I saw the painting on the wall, and I did read through the letter. I hope you don't mind; I just needed to know that you were alright."
Dar only patted Kanrel on the back, then he gestured for his kids to come closer. "You remember the good manners Ma and Da taught you?"
The three stepped closer, and one by one bowed, or curtsied, then introduced themselves. Though Bren went as far as to shake hands with Kanrel, who of course accepted and introduced himself in turn. Amele remained somewhat shy but polite. Kanrel offered her a smile, hoping that he wouldn't seem scary to her. In the end, little Kanrel was the one who was left looking at the older Kanrel with much more suspicion than any of his siblings. He kept measuring the priest, looking at his clothes, his beard, his face, and his hair.
"I'm not too impressed," the kid blurted out.
Kanrel blinked, and Amer quickly went to her son. "You can't say that!"
"But ma! He clearly stinks!" the kid protested.
Amer looked at Kanrel with an apologetic look, but Kanrel shook his head. "The kid is right; his father even pointed it out, rather crudely... So don't rebuke him, but instead..." he said and glanced at Dar, who tried to hide his grin. "Rebuke, Dar, he needs a good talking to."
Amer peered at her husband, then sighed. "On him, I've given up... but this one," she said and patted little Kanrel on the head. "This one has many years ahead of him."
Dar couldn't hold in any more, and his laughter became a guffaw that cut through the many noises of the tavern's first floor. Many amused glances were thrown their way.
"Old friend, please save me; she only says so, but then she bullies," Dar pleaded after getting some control of himself. He even tried to hide behind the priest.
But Kanrel shook his head and instead pushed the man toward his wife. "It is not for me to critique or to come between you and your wife. It is up to her to discipline her poorly behaving husband," he said, and patted the man on the back.
Dar glanced back at his friend. "Traitor," he said with a grin.
"I only do what I must, besides... you did say that I stunk, and I was terribly offended, but my good people skills and great sense of manners made me feign as though I weren't," Kanrel said, then looked at Amer. "Thank you, my knight in shining armor," he said and bowed.
Amer snorted. "He is exactly what you said he'd be..." Dar nodded. "And hasn't changed a bit... At least I have just a little!"
Amer peered at her husband. "Perhaps..." she then sighed and began shepherding her children toward an empty table. "It is time that we eat; you two can talk later, I believe," she said and smiled at Kanrel as a goodbye. Kanrel smiled back at her and was left alone with Dar, who looked at his wife go.
They were silent for a while. Then Dar spoke, "I suppose there is a long story that you'll end up telling me, right?"
Kanrel nodded, and Dar patted his friend on the shoulder again. "Don't you disappear on me again, promise?"
"I promise."
"Good man," Dar grinned, then stepped past Kanrel toward the table of his wife's choosing. Then he suddenly stopped and looked at Kanrel, on his face the most serious expression that he could summon. "And you really do stink. Please, for the love of the Angels and all that is holy, take a bath. Think about everyone around you," he practically begged.
Kanrel scoffed. "I know. I will. Now run to your wife, lest I start telling her tales of your time in Jersten..."
Dar grinned and left Kanrel behind, and soon found a chair beside his wife.
Kanrel observed them from afar. Dar had changed. He truly had. He was much older, for one. But besides the obvious things, he seemed more mature than back then. And somehow, in this very moment, as he sat next to his wife and poured water for his children, he reminded Kanrel of Y'Kraun and his family. It made his heart ache. Where were they? He wondered. Had he caused much needless suffering to those he had spent over a decade with?
He sighed and forced his gaze away from the happy family. He looked around at the rest of the people. There was warmth here, as much was certain. And he knew that he deserved none of it. In such a moment, he was deserving of the curse of magic. But even then, even with such guilt he'd never be rid of, never even if the curse was removed, he knew that this was better than being in his lonesome. Being amongst people, humans, or Darshi, like him, was something that he belonged to. It was better than having no one around. Better than endlessly walking this earth, through emptied cities, empty shoes.
Kanrel swallowed and looked away even from that. And he wondered, above all else, whether he had the right to be around people at all? But before he could dwell on the matter further, the tavernkeep came by; Jork was his name.
"Did ya eat enough?" he asked and smiled while glancing toward the table and the empty bowls.
"Yes, of course. More than enough," Kanrel quickly replied, then added, "Thank you."
"Good, good... I suppose Roslyn went to see her parents?"
Kanrel nodded.
"Then, I suppose you'd like the chance to bathe?"
"If possible, yes."
Jork smiled further. "Then follow me; I'll even let you use our private washing room, since you are a priest and all!" he said, and before Kanrel could say anything against or for, the man already made his way toward the counter and the door behind it, forcing him to instead follow, giving him no chance to protest.