Dark Priest Read online

  “Yes, High Priest, just under.”

  “I know it wasn’t something you chose, but rather had thrust upon you. How have you found it?”

  “Good, thank you. I have been grateful for this sanctuary and learning. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise.”

  “I have the reports from your masters over the years, both from your two years training with the Guides of Mankind as a pastor, and more recently training with the Guardians of Mankind as a warrior.” He referred to two rolled scrolls on the table. “Not many people do novitiates with both the Guides and the Guardians. But you have obviously worked hard, and thrown yourself into both sets of training with fervour.”

  “Thank you, High Priest.”

  “It is also obvious where your passions lie. When studying with the Guides, you excelled in the rites and rituals, especially those pertaining to life and death. You did not do as well in history, law, preaching, or teaching. Your church doctrine has come along well, as have your studies in philosophy, while your administration skills leave something to be desired. You did well at healing, both theory and practice.”

  Hengel stood smoothly. He walked to the large window that faced out over the town of Tinsley. He stared out intently for a few moments before continuing, “More recently, with the Guardians of Mankind, you were trained to use various weapons and armour, learned combat riding and battle strategy. You continued your studies in healing, rites and rituals.” The High Priest sighed, “It is a hard world we live in, Chandor, sometimes violent. But you know that, better than most.”

  Hengel walked slowly back to the table and picked up a scroll, “It says here, ‘Chandor shows immense passion and dedication in these subjects. Although not particularly strong or quick, he is a model student in terms of diligence and effort, showing great dedication to the crusade against evil’. Your teachers all comment on your zealousness and fanatical drive. Like most of the novices, you don’t yet have sufficient faith to actually perform miracles, but you show significant potential and your belief has increased steadily over the years.” Hengel looked up and pinned Chandor with his dark eyes. “What is it that you would like to do next year, Chandor?”

  Chandor sensed it was a loaded question, but answered openly, “I want to be ordained as a priest. I want to be sent by the church to hunt and destroy the undead as a Guardian of Mankind.”

  Hengel nodded and returned to the window. Outside, the cold north wind howled and rattled with windows to his office. His voice was soft and gentle as he said, “I was afraid that might be your answer.”

  Chandor’s heart lurched and he was about to protest when Hengel held up a powerful hand for silence. “Chandor, I know your situation, and what happened to you and your family. But, as High Priest, I cannot let those factors influence my decision. I must do what is best for the church and for mankind. I have prayed about this and am comfortable with my decision regarding your sending.

  “Over the past four years, you have become increasingly bitter. You were brought here so that the church could protect you and heal your wounds. I believed that two years of prayer and meditation as a novice Guide would help you find peace and healing. After that, I thought that perhaps hard physical exercise with the Guardians would allow you to burn off your anger. I was wrong. Both novitiates have served only to fuel your hatred. Instead of meditating you have brooded, instead of purging your anger you focused on revenge. These are not the attitudes we are called to develop as priests.” Hengel sighed as he looked at Chandor compassionately, “You were once a gentle boy, with a good heart.”

  “That was ripped from me!” shouted Chandor, slamming his fist on the table as he glared at Hengel.

  The High Priest raised an eyebrow. “That is my point. You bubble with anger, struggle to contain your temper. You are increasingly impatient. You have the potential for great good, but also great evil. That is why you cannot continue on this path of revenge. I do not believe the Gods are sending you to the serve in the Guardians of Mankind.

  “I believe you need some time outside the church, where you are not constantly reminded of your past. That is why I have organised for you to serve an apprenticeship with the judges in the mayor’s office. There your wisdom and charisma will serve the Gods well and you will have a chance to regain your kind heart and tranquil soul. Perhaps after that you may be asked to join the Guides or the Guardians, but for now, this is your sending. Go in peace to serve the Gods.”

  Chandor felt as though he had been punched in the stomach and could only shake his head.

  Hengel reached over and handed Chandor a scroll, sealed with his personal seal. “I’m sorry, Chandor, but you’ll see. These things turn out for the best. The Gods use everything that happens for the good of the people that love them.”

  Chandor stood in a daze. He took the scroll and walked to the door.

  “Peace be with you, Chandor.”

  Chandor opened the door and stepped through without a word.

  Outside, Jurgen was waiting for him in the cold and empty corridor.

  “How did it go?”

  Chandor shook his head. “I can’t believe it. He didn’t send me to join the Guardians of Mankind. I …” Tears started to stream from his eyes.

  “What is it?”

  “He’s sending me off to be an apprentice in the stupid mayor’s office! I can’t believe it! What is the matter with him? Can’t he hear the voice of Otec? I’ve should have been sent to the Guardians. I should be ordained. I’m sure of it.”

  Jurgen looked at him for a long moment before replying, “Perhaps what you think is a calling from the Gods, is just what you desire for yourself, Chandor.”

  “I… I don’t know anymore. I was so sure.” Chandor’s shoulders slumped. “Thank you for your concern, but I think I need to be alone.”

  “I understand. Off you go.”

  Chandor turned and fled down the corridor in the direction of the Serenity chapel, his Holy Symbol thumping on his chest as he ran.

  Chandor paused outside the chapel entrance and waited until his breathing returned to normal before opening the door and slipping inside. He walked down the red carpet of the aisle towards the white marble altar. Near the front, he bowed deeply, then moved to the furthest end of the first pew and knelt.

  He buried his face in his hands, and prayed, “Why, Otec? Why have you done this to me? Every time I seem to get on the right track, You block me. Just when things are finally heading in the right direction, You do this. I don’t understand!”

  He started to cry, gently at first, and then a flood of tears as the hurt and pain of the last four years swept over him afresh. The loneliness that had been with him since his family was murdered ached with an almost physical pain.

  “Why, why will you not just let me be? Am I destined never to find peace and happiness?”

  Unbidden, memories leaped into his mind. It was spring, in the 536th year After Landing, in the village of Bronsverj. Since he would turn twelve that year, he had just started the first of his apprenticeships. He had spent the day watching over the sheep and practising with the horn so he could call for help in case of trouble. That evening he played ball in the courtyard in front of their house with his older brother.

  The stranger had arrived earlier that day in a fancy coach with two covered wagons. After dinner, the stranger had knocked on their door and waited to be invited in. Chandor knew that he had been impressed by the man’s clothes and bearing. He had a recollection of wealth, although he now could not remember any specifics. The stranger had joined them at the table, and that was the last thing that Chandor could remember until after the fire.

  He recalled turning to face his home. The heat from inside was that of a furnace. Smoke and flames poured out of the doorway and through gaps in the roof. His brother, Tiaan, was lying full stretch on the ground, his face charred. His brother’s clothes had been burned off and his skin was scorched. Tiaan lifted his head from the stretcher and tried to open his
blistered eyes.

  Through cracked lips, he managed to croak, “Did I get Chands out all right?”

  “I’m ok, Tiaan,” Chandor sobbed.

  “Warn them! A vampire murdered our parents.”

  Chandor looked to the adult next to him and saw the shock register on his face.

  “Tell them!” Tiaan urged.

  Both Chandor and the man next to him swore they would make it known.

  Tiaan had flopped back onto the stretcher. “I’ve done my part. It’ll all be fine now.” Tiaan sighed. His head rolled to one side. His chest didn’t rise again.

  Firm hands had gripped Chandor’s shoulders. “Chandor, come with me.” They steered him away from his brother’s dead body and the burning house. As he staggered away, he was vaguely aware of the Lieutenant of the Bronsverj Platoon. Her voice was angry and fearful as she said gruffly to one of the town guards, “Fetch the priest. This was the work of the undead.”

  As he knelt in the front pew, anger swept through Chandor anew. He had been faithful. He had listened and prayed, searched for the will of Otec. He was prepared to sacrifice his life for the greater good. And now I’ve been betrayed! Everything I had left has been taken from me. He heard someone at the end of the pew but kept his head bowed, so he wouldn’t be disturbed.

  “Hey,” said Anelle gently.

  Chandor nodded, his head still bowed and eyes screwed tightly shut.

  “Guide Jurgen suggested I come and see you. Are you ok?”

  Chandor flashed her a sullen look. “Did he tell you what happened?”

  Anelle shook her head.

  “I was rejected by the church.”

  “Oh, Chandor.”

  Chandor rolled his eyes in frustration. “I’m being sent off to be a mayor’s assistant. What happened to fighting evil? What happened to the leading of Takatifu Roho?” he demanded in a vehement whisper.

  “Maybe this is the call of Otec, Chandor? Maybe this is what the Gods want from you.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Chandor snapped, “I’m meant to hunt the undead!”

  Anelle laid a hand on his shoulder. “Chandor, perhaps the Church of Mankind doesn’t need more undead killers right now. Perhaps it needs–”

  “I don’t give a rock what the church needs!” Chandor shouted, his voice bouncing off the walls of the chapel. “I. Don’t. Care!”

  Anelle glared at him. “Don’t take it out on me, Chandor.” Her voice took on a hard tone as she continued, “But maybe this is why you’re not allowed into the Guardians – you’re so blinded by revenge that you can’t see properly. You can’t even stay civil to your friends. Maybe once you’ve accepted what has happened, once you’ve learned how to control your anger, once you’ve found peace, you will be released to go on this quest – no longer for your own purposes, but truly for the good of mankind.”

  Chandor glared at her for a long moment, unable to find a suitable retort. Time stretched out, but he didn’t have any answers so instead he said, “Something must be done.”

  Anelle sighed, and her tone softened. “Maybe. But not by you, not now.” She looked deeply into his eyes, “Why don’t you go and spend some time in the practice room burning off some energy, get clean, and have an early night. I have no doubt that in the fresh light of the morning, you’ll feel better and all of this will make sense. I know you wanted to be a Guardian, but the High Priest has given you a different sending. Even though it is not what you were expecting, you’ll find that the Gods will use this for their glory. Tomorrow at the ceremony you’ll be sent to the mayor’s office with the church’s blessing. And who knows, maybe in two years they’ll call you back to the Guardians.”

  Chandor stared defiantly into her eyes for a moment then looked away, his gaze coming to rest on the altar. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then Chandor let out a long sigh. “Thanks, Anelle. You’re a special friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, before nodding decisively. “I’m going to do exactly what you’ve suggested; some exercise, a bath, and a good night’s rest.” He stood and gave her a wan smile.

  Anelle nodded. “Peace be with you, Chandor.”

  Chandor sighed and headed for the armoury.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Sending

  The Cathedral of Light was resplendent in its full glory. Bright winter sunlight filled the soaring arches and cascaded through the stained-glass windows, bathing the congregation in a wonder of colours. Additional light from shining orbs was directed by mirrors through hanging glass prisms, supplementing nature’s beauty with man-made rainbows.

  The pews were full with Second-Years of both Guardians and Guides who had completed their novitiate with the Church of Mankind. Their families as well as all the First-Year novices, the ordained priests and other people that served the church were in attendance. With the clergy in full church regalia and their families in their very best clothes, Chandor felt as though he was in the court of King Ironfist.

  He hadn’t slept well. Initially, he had felt the exercise was working but instead of purging his anger, with every blow he felt himself getting more and more furious. He hit the practice dummy harder and harder with his mace and shield, smashing it with blows from left and right. Unfortunately, his body had reached its limit before his emotions did, and he had finally had to leave, exhausted but still upset. The warmth of the bath should have helped him relax, but instead his mind had raced even faster, to the point where he had taken a breath, put his head under water, and screamed with all his might.

  Tired and stiff, hurting physically and emotionally, he had struggled to get to sleep. When sleep finally did come he had dreamed of arguments and impossible tasks until the nightmare of the flames had forced him to wake long before dawn. He had lain in bed, shivering from the sweat cooling on his body as he tried to think of a way to change the High Priest’s mind.

  He had toyed with asking one of the senior clerics, Guide Jurgen or Sir Botha, but had eventually realised that they would say the same as Anelle. In the end, he had tried to convince himself that Anelle was right and that the Gods knew what they were doing. But even that had brought him neither sleep nor peace.

  Chandor was jerked back to the present by movement next to him. He quickly stood with all the other Second-Year novices. They were called to line up in front of the altar together, facing High Priest Hengel, their backs to the congregation. Chandor bowed his head in an attitude of prayer. A furtive glance to his left showed Tribon standing to full attention, chin up, eyes focused intently on Hengel, his broad shoulders thrown back, hands clasped behind his back. He knew that Tribon had been accepted to the Guardians of Mankind, and Chandor realised with a pang of shame that he hadn’t even asked Anelle what her sending was, or if she was happy with it.

  The ceremony was reaching its conclusion, and Hengel’s eyes swept the Second-Year novices. He looked at them sternly.

  “Second-Years, you have officially completed your training and are ready to be sent. Some of you are going on to another apprenticeship, others to start your first job. While only a few of you have been sent to serve in the church as a Guardian or a Guide, you are all expected to serve the Gods and mankind. I know that the Gods have a plan for your lives. Each one of you is precious and valuable and has a function that only you can perform. The Gods and mankind need you to fulfil your role, whatever that is. It is now time to make your commitment to the Gods public through the swearing of the oaths, so that the Church of Mankind can send you with its blessing.”

  Hengel raised an ornate staff in one hand, and his voice boomed out, “Do you swear to work for the good of mankind in whatever you do?”

  Up and down the line, Chandor could hear a resounding chorus from his fellow novices, “I do!”

  “Do you submit to the will of Otec, Notomok and Takatifu Roho?”

  “I do!”

  “Do you swear to support the Church of Mankind, recognising the hierarchy of the priest
hood?”

  Chandor found himself shaking his head imperceptibly. He didn’t know if he was willing to support the church. He was not convinced that he was interested in the good of mankind. He didn’t know if he believed in the wisdom of the priesthood.

  “Do you accept your sending, and promise to carry it out to the best of your ability?”

  This time the chant from the others echoed from the walls of the church, “I do!”

  “Then kneel before the Gods, and acknowledge the authority vested in me by Otec and the church.”

  To his left and right, his fellow novices knelt. Chandor tried to kneel, but his knees would not buckle. Detached, he heard himself murmur, “I don’t.” Chandor swallowed hard, and whispered, mostly to himself, “Otec doesn't know what He is doing. The church doesn’t care about me.”

  He raised his chin, and said loudly, “I do not.”

  He looked around, his eyes sweeping the inner sanctum, the altar, and the High Priest, as if seeing them for the first time. “I don’t believe in your stupid Gods, this frigging church! I don’t care about mankind!” His voice sounded high in his ears, and his eyes filled with tears. He spun and fled down the aisle.

  Hengel’s voice rang out, “Chandor, where do you think you are going?”

  Chandor turned back, his young face set and dark eyes smouldering. “To do what should have been done four years ago – avenge my parents!”

  He turned his back on the High Priest and stalked down the aisle, feeling the eyes of the entire congregation on him. Gasps and whispers followed him as he made his way to the church doors.

  A senior Guardian, formal white tabard over his armour, stepped into the aisle to block Chandor’s path. Guide Jurgen drew the Guardian aside. He talked so quietly that only Chandor and the Guardian could hear. “Let Chandor go. Occasionally people need to leave the church for a while so they can find the Gods. He’ll be back.”