The Priesthood

In the eastern wing, they found nothing of interest, only a way to the cellars in the storage room of the kitchen; thus, Erjen and Ignar went back to the entrance of the building and awaited the return of Urgur and Kalla.

They sat on the floor in absolute silence while the prying eyes of the incapacitated guards and cooks lay on the ground, their eyes wildly shifting around. Such an experience had to be incredibly traumatic. Ignar had gone through something like that before, but not while awake. He had had a dream where he was suspended in a dark globe, unable to move. Around him, he could see figures that seemed somehow familiar, as if he had seen them before, although most of them seemed to not be Sharan; instead, their faces lacked scales and looking at each of them in turn, he would feel a different feeling. There was an older woman whose face brought him this strange, gentle feeling as if the gaze of that woman brought him safety and joy. But there was also a young man whose face brought him feelings of regret, guilt, and this powerful feeling of yearning. From such a dream, he would always awaken with tears flowing down his cheeks.

There was also another dream that he would sometimes see, another nightmare, one where he lay on a bed, again unable to move or do anything, while men without scales on their faces approached him, then slowly pierced his body with rapiers. From such dreams, he awoke only to his own screams.

Ignar was certain that he had never truly experienced such things or known such people. But somehow, it felt like he should remember something important. He just wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to remember; what had he forgotten? And if he even wanted to remember, for there are two things that he found the most terrifying: forgetting and remembering.

His train of thought was suddenly disturbed by the loud, approaching whistle that he could hear from his right side. And as he turned his gaze toward the location of that sound, he could see Urgur dancing his way to them; he was waltzing to the tune of his own whistling. This surfaced another memory, this one of a woman who had held Ignar’s hands and danced with him.

“What a wonderful adventure we have had tonight!” Urgur exclaimed in his jovially drunken manner, “There were some fools back there who thought that they could defeat me... Poor men had no idea who they were dealing with; they even ignored my very serious warnings that I gave them.”

“They were quite rude indeed, and because of them, I had to make another mess... I doubt that it will be easy to remove their blood from the carpets. Or to find their body parts...” He continued as he came closer. He sat down next to one of the incapacitated guards and loudly whispered to their ears, “I scattered them around the rooms.” His voice was so soft now, and a shy smile came to his face.

“Did you find anything?” He then asked, still staring into the scared eyes of the guard beneath his gaze.

“These cooks here and a way to the cellars; so basically nothing,” Ignar reported.

“I am not surprised; I found nothing as well. Just the fools who died way too young.” Urgur said mournfully, then he suddenly perked up and pulled something out of his pocket. “Oh, and this necklace; see how beautiful it is... I think that this one would go rather well with the ring that I confiscated from you.”

“Though I did take it from your ring finger, are you perhaps married? Oh, but you can’t speak or really move, now can you? Look up and then down if you’re married." He commanded, and soon the guard did as was ordered.

“How wonderful is that? Young love… You know, I was married once. To a woman, no less. She had eyes, a mouth, and even a nose. Me thinks that we had many things in common, though for a long time, a broken heart wasn’t a thing we had in common, so I did as any man with a broken heart would do, I took hers and sliced it into pieces.” Urgur spoke, his voice soft and almost vulnerable.

“God, I miss her so.” He said, and a singular tear ran down his face.

Erjen scoffed rather loudly, “You’ve never had a wife.”

Urgur sprung back to his feet. “Well, if I had one, then I would surely miss her!”

“Right, before or after slicing her heart into pieces?” Erjen asked.

“I would surely miss her at one point in time.” He said and seemed to think for a while, then a confused expression came to his face: “How would I know? I’ve never had a wife.”

Erjen sighed. “That was what I was getting at.”

“But enough about hypothetical wives and hypothetical feelings of missing one; we should get going and find Kalla,” Erjen said and got up from the floor.

“Not ‘wives’ but a ‘wife’, you know, one singular wife,” Urgur corrected.

“Are you then hinting that you’ve had many?” Ignar asked in turn; he got up as well, and they went on to the hallway that Kalla had gone down hours before.

“Exactly! I’ve had many wives and many husbands as well, and you know, there is always room for another.” Urgur said with another toothy grin on his face.

Past the corridor, they found their way into a large hall, one supported by many pillars all around it. Through the middle of it ran a dark red carpet, garnished with golden symbols of two-headed crows with the same sun above them. Such patterns ran on the sides of the carpet, which led all the way from the corridor to the end of the hall, where a lone throne sat.

It was a court, one just for the Adrians; it was unlikely that Kalma would ever visit such a place, so who else would sit on that throne and accept guests of honor and people during balls and such other than the great Koren Adrian himself?

Though castles and palaces for different rich families did often have such a throne, it was usually there as a symbolic presence, one to remind that their God would see all, that he would be there in his indomitable spirit, which is exactly why this throne was made out of obsidian as well.

But somewhere in Ignar’s head, he couldn’t help but believe that this Koren Adrian would be a man who would purposefully sit on the throne and act like a king before his guests and others who might come to him while seeking support and wealth.

There were three other rooms, one on the right side of the hall and one on the other side of it. Both of these rooms were, in a way, extensions of the hall, mainly used for dining and smaller, more formal gatherings.

The third room was behind the throne, a smaller room, more like an office space. There were many books on the shelves that surrounded the circular room, as well as stacked envelopes, papers, and ledgers filled with information related to the many different investments of the Adrian family.

This is where they might find some proof regarding the alleged collusion with the rebels. They could investigate further later, and as there was no sight of Kalla, they figured that he had already gone upstairs.

The main staircase was located at the entrance to the building itself, with two stairways that formed a semicircle that led to the second floor. There their way diverged into three, one through a door that would lead to a great library that was located on top of the hall below; and then there were two corridors that would first lead into the apartments of those who lived in the Adrian Estate, and then later to the West Wing and the East Wing of the chateau.

There is also supposed to be another set of staircases that would lead to the third and final floor of this massive building, and surely there were the towers as well, which would have many more floors, but they were just that, towers. If they found nothing here, then they would have to go through them as well.

The doors to the library were already open, so they went ahead and entered. What greeted them was the largest collection of books that Ignar had ever seen in his life; the same could probably be said for all of them.

The thing about such a collection wasn’t just that there might be information that would be extremely important for anyone to learn, but it was more so about the show of wealth; thus, the information that was collected here was such that it was difficult to first find and second to even buy or own.

There were rows of shelves dedicated to archaic and otherwise lost civilizations, often in languages that no one had spoken in centuries or millennia. There was nothing mundane or normal about such a collection. One could only wonder if it went unappreciated here. If anyone had touched some of these books in decades, if this almost extinct information would be lost to the ages just because one family dared to keep it all for themselves and never utter of its existence to anyone else or let historians or philologists study and preserve them for future generations.

What mountains of knowledge and wisdom were then thus lost to the ages? To a library that lets none enter its domain of unbroken silence.

This was perhaps the place where he would have liked to spend the rest of his life. Just reading all of this, making sure that none of it would be forgotten. To make sure that the stories of those who wrote them would forever be remembered by even those who probably caused the destruction of their civilizations and kingdoms. Was that not the least those who came as conquerors could do for those they conquered and then destroyed?

There were a total of four entrances to the library, one on each side of the room, all of which connected to the two corridors that they had chosen not to investigate quite yet.

It was strange. This great building with rooms for hundreds of people, but there seemed to be no one on this first part of the second floor of the building. Thus, they stayed together and went ahead, navigating their way and trying to find doors that were left open. This way, they found their way toward the western side of the building, toward one of the apartments, the one meant for Koren Adrian himself.

And as they entered through the very first set of doors to his domain, was it then made clear why it was so quiet…

Men and women without heads were lying on the sofas in the first room they entered. They had perhaps died in mere moments, without the ability to react to whatever or whoever came for them, for their bodies were in positions where someone expecting death would be.

There was a woman, who was wearing a blue dress, who sat on one of the couches. On her lap, there was a cup that had spilled its insides all over her dress; perhaps that had been a cup of tea she had keenly drank whilst conversing with the man right next to her.

At least he hadn’t spilled anything, for his cup was placed on the table right across from him. There were five bodies in total, and they had all been sitting down, just minding their own business, spending the late evening with each other. One could wonder if they had been innocent or if this had been something they deserved. If this was called for.

Kalla was a brutal man. This was now clear to him, and as they first inspected the corpses and then went ahead, past the next set of doors, past the small living room, to a large bedroom connected to another office space, this brutality became more clear.

On the bed, there lay a naked man. His hands were spread to the sides, and so were his legs, all tied to the bed posts. On top of him lay a woman, one who wore nothing more than a veil that covered her petite shoulders. She and the man both had no heads. And on a chair sat a man who keenly seemed to be reading through a ledger. Kalla, in all his glory, acted as if nothing had happened here on this night. As if he had not been the one to kill so many. As if his brutality were to be first expected and then accepted.

And when the trio entered through the door, he raised his gaze from the ledger and soon followed their gaze to the pair that lay on the bed. He scoffed. “They were like that when I got here.”

“Though they did have their heads still on back then.” He soon added and got up from the chair, tapping the cover of the ledger for no particular reason. He stepped past the trio and out of the bedroom. “Are you done staring? Let’s not waste any more time here. Urgur, you’re to lead further investigations into the things that can be found within the property. Extract everything that could be used as proof; go through the ledgers, the books, any and all documents that you get your hands on, read even the fucking diaries of the guards and cooks of this damned place, leave nothing out, and then report your findings to me.” Kalla commanded, “Erjen, you, as always, will be questioning those who are still alive. Demand, torture, whatever; I don’t care; just be thorough.”

“And you, Ignar... Report to your beloved God what you have witnessed here tonight. Tell him that Koren Adrian is dead, and with him have died the hopes for a better future for the Sharan.” He spat out his last words, and then he stormed off, never once looking back at the things that he had done.

Ignar was left speechless and confused. He could barely recognize his own father in his actions, yet in his words, there remained a hint of it. The bitterness in his words was so clear. The regret that would haunt him for the things that he had committed—all the things that he would have to share with Kalma—unless he lied, but could one lie before God?

Erjen and Urgur went ahead and did as was demanded of them. They asked no questions as if they knew exactly what had happened here and how it had happened. For them, this was normal. This was Kalla, and this was his truest form.

Ignar left the Adrian Estate behind, with only a bundle of mixed emotions. He had killed no one that day, so at least he was blessed with nothing having dirtied his hands with blood or violence. But his mind was soiled; perhaps he had not witnessed blood, like he had done so on that day so many years ago now, the day when he had run away from the field of corpses, into the forest, into the safety of Kalla’s cottage in the middle of nowhere.

But what had become soiled was his understanding of his own father. Bloodless, the scenes of the dead might be, but death is a death. A murder remains a murder, even when done in the most painless manner.

And what could be their excuse? What could be Kalla’s excuse? Would it be the same one that Ignar had wanted to use in the case if he had to kill someone? Was Kalla also nothing more than a sword in Kalma’s hands, one used for swift execution, one used for such brutal acts, one used like this before…

He should not hate or criticize his father for this, not for anything that has happened. Instead, he felt defeated in so many ways. He had not become the man his father wanted him to become. Ignar had bowed before God; he had bowed his head before the hubris of man.

The disappointed eyes of his father would be forevermore ingrained in his memory.