Orfia sat at the table in Roslyn's kitchen. Her gaze was set upon the letter she read over and over again. Each line read made her despair grow, and her posture kept sinking.
Roslyn observed her all the while. Not breaking her gaze, noting every microexpression: if her brow quivered, she noticed it; if her eyes wavered, she noticed it; if she held her breath, Roslyn noticed it.
After a while, Orfia let out a long sigh; she carefully folded the letter and placed it on the table. She seemed to think for a while, her gaze still set on the letter. Then, her eyes departed the surface of the table and met Roslyn's sharp gaze.
"It seems to be as you said. About the murderer. And Kanrel's feelings about him," Orfia said, finally. She held her gaze. "And is this all? Is this all that you have? Was there nothing else?"
Roslyn shook her head. "I went through the rest of the old books, and in them, I found not a single personal thing about, or from, Kanrel. The letter was all I found."
Orfia arched her brow, "And to you, this is enough?"
"Enough for what?"
"Enough to prove that his involvement in the matter isn't criminal, or even somewhat strange."
Roslyn scoffed. "Of course not... But it at least makes me consider other possibilities for his disappearance," she said. "I doubt Kanrel was forced to leave the village behind; I doubt he did anything that wasn't of his own will. I doubt there is any foul play involved."
Orfia's eyes narrowed, her voice tightening. "You speak as if he had no enemies, as if betrayal is impossible. But you forget who his mother is—the Herald has many who envy her, who hate what she stands for. I cannot so easily dismiss the possibility that he was silenced."
She fell quiet after that, her eyes still locked on Roslyn, the question heavy in the silence: If not betrayal, then what?
Roslyn broke her gaze. She looked away, unable to answer at first. To speak it aloud felt forbidden—taboo, even. It was wrong. It was unjust. It was unfair. But it was true.
"Not enemies. Not betrayal, at least not how a non-priest would know it... He did it to himself; for himself," Roslyn said. Her voice had lost its usual edge. And it wasn't without emotion. It was soft, but so very sad. Then, she lifted her eyes from the table and the letter that lay on it; she met Orfia's challenging gaze, and said: "He did what he did. Let him rest." The edge had returned, all softness now gone. This was a demand. A command.
Orfia swallowed, but did not look away. She nodded, though it was clear that she remained somewhat unconvinced. "Then we have nothing else to talk about," she said and pushed herself away from the table to get up from the chair, but Roslyn stopped her. A code was invoked. The chair would not budge. Orfia felt a weight upon her. She could not move. She could only stare ahead and keep their shared gaze intact.
Roslyn stepped around the table and picked up the letter. She read through it one last time, all the while Orfia could only stare ahead. Panic had begun spoiling her innate beauty, as new red flushed her cheeks. Perhaps to someone else, she would've been more beautiful now than before...
Roslyn sighed. Perhaps the father would have more sense than the daughter... She thought to herself and extended the letter toward Orfia, saying, "Give it to your father. He deserves to read through it as much as you do, and perhaps even more than anyone else." Roslyn released the code, and Orfia collapsed on the chair. She breathed in heavily, as if she had been unable to do so just a moment ago. Her face flushed, and she looked at the letter, then at Roslyn with the same visible panic in her eyes.
Without a word, she accepted the letter and stormed off. She even slammed the door shut as she went.
Roslyn didn't look after her as she left. She only regretted what she had gone and done. Using magic like this felt wrong. But at the same time, it felt like a thing she had to do. Perhaps for her own sake more than anything else, to rebuke Orfia and her doubts...
She sighed. The father deserved to know, right? This had to be her stance on the matter. Her actions shouldn't be something she regretted, at least not too much.
It had felt so disgusting to do. Not just because of its implications—using magic to force someone not to move, or to threaten them to do something you wanted them to do, but instead, it was because of magic itself, and its inherent effect on her and all the priests in existence. It was sickening. At least she had used it for long enough to no longer find herself vomiting after the fact... But at the same time, she almost wished she still could—that the body would revolt as the heart did. Kanrel had written of bitterness, of regret lodged so deep it could never leave him. Perhaps this was the same fate, only taking a different form. He had broken under it, and she feared she was beginning to understand why. To live and keep such weight inside without release…wasn't that worse than death?
She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to calm herself. It was all just spilled wine. None of it mattered, right? And if it did matter, she could not afford to admit it. Priests had no luxury for self-indulgence, not when entire towns leaned on their steadiness. Jersten did not thrive on her grief; it thrived because she wore her grief as stone.
This is what she had decided: Nothing mattered, so why care? If she repeated it often enough, perhaps one day she would even believe it. Besides, there were other things much more pressing than this to deal with.
In such a moment of silence, she placed the priestly mask to cover herself once more. She opened her eyes, the world still the same shade of gray as before. From her room, she picked up her journal, an ornate quill pen, and a small bottle of ink. Then, and only then, was she ready to face the world without it breaking her further.
She opened the door to the outside world and shut it behind her, gently. The door was not deserving of Orfia's outburst; the woman should've hit Roslyn instead, she had been much more deserving. Just a thought passing by, one Roslyn disregarded instantly.
Outside, Jersten met her with its order, its stubborn flourishing. The contrast stung; here was a town alive, while she trudged hollow. But that was her role now—to keep it alive, even if her own spirit could not be.
Important matters, she reminded herself. Then she began her walk toward the mayor's residence. Ulken Reven had been dead a decade, but his widow carried the town with the same steady hand. Jersten flourished, and it was Roslyn's mission to see that it continued.
Roslyn had never been inside the 'Reven Estate.' She had only ever gone by it in her youth. Back then, she and her friends would run past it quite often on their way to the fields just outside the village. In those fields, they had many great battles. They fortified and guarded their stations, and from the safety of the cold walls, they would hurl spells at each other. Back then, nothing beat a good snow-fight.
She remembered one time when Ulken and his wife sat on the porch as she and her friends were returning home. It must have been the first day of spring, if there even was such a thing. That day, she met Kanrel for the first time. And Ulken waved to them from the porch, calling them to come by.
Roslyn had been a brave child even back then, so of course, she stopped by, and one at a time, so did her friends. On the porch, there was a pot of tea and a plateful of biscuits. Roslyn could feel her stomach growl at that very moment.
Ulken had grinned and invited them to have some tea and biscuits. After all, warfare involving snow could get quite tiring and cold, so of course, one ought to fill one's belly full of tea afterward, so as not to get sick from the cold. The kids huddled close together, went for the biscuits, and thanked the Revens for the tea that they poured them. Some days are just perfect.
Roslyn stood and stared at the residence. The porch still stood where it seemingly always had been. It was surrounded by a small garden of herbs and such, even flowers, though most of them were now wilting away as autumn made itself more known by the day. She hesitated for a while. Replaying such an old memory over and over again. They had talked about something that day; they must have. Since she remembered sitting right next to Ulken's wife and laughing about something, she remembered her smile as well. What was her name again?
She sighed and stepped onto the stairs. It didn't matter. Today, she would learn her name. She reached for the handle of the door, but stopped herself. Instead, she went ahead and knocked on the door. A moment went by, and finally, the door opened. The smell of tea and baked goods filled the air, and the sight of an old woman with fully white hair and plentiful wrinkles revealed itself to her. Time had not spared her.
She had become so old. Even back then, she had been old, but now—Angels, it was a miracle to live for so long...
A smile came to the woman's face, and her eyes brightened. "Oh, isn't it little Roslyn?" she said with such wonder in her tone of voice. There was warmth in it. And from the warmth of that voice, another memory washed over her...
"You know, I met a wizard today," Roslyn said, and went for another biscuit to dip in her tea.
Ulken's wife snorted, "A wizard? You wouldn't be meaning the priest, Kanrel, now, would you?"
Roslyn grinned, "Oh, that's his name?" She muttered to herself, then looked at the woman sitting by her side. Her hair was black, and streaks of gray ran through it. "You know, one day I'll be a wizard!"
The woman blinked, but soon a wide smile came to her lips. "So that you can use all kinds of magics during your snow fights?" she pried.
"Well, of course. With such abilities, I will be sure to win every significant battle!" A rather pleased smile had come to Roslyn's face as she bit into the biscuit now soaked with tea. The muted sweetness overwhelmed her palate. Just the thing she had wanted.
The woman still smiled, her warm hand now placed onto Roslyn's head as she petted her long, slightly wet hair. "I'm sure you will," she muttered with a tinkle in her eyes.
Roslyn suddenly shivered. The memory collapsed into a breath; into reality. She was back in the doorway, again standing before the old woman. They stared at each other. For how long had Roslyn just stood there, without a word? She could see the worry in the woman's eyes.
Roslyn produced a smile. She felt she had to. But it felt so awkward, and it didn't go unnoticed.
The old woman burst into a giggle. And Roslyn was left looking rather sheepish.
"You really are a wizard now, you even smile like one," she teased and made way for Roslyn. "Come in, will you? There's tea and biscuits in the kitchen. Let's have a good, long talk, shall we?"
This time, Roslyn didn't hesitate; she stepped past the old woman and thanked her for letting her in.
The house was, by all means, homely, though not at all as large as an estate. Instead, it was a house just large enough for a family to live in, but now only the old woman lived there.
She had survived her husband, and long before that, her children. Roslyn had never met them—cold years had taken them before she was even born. Life had never been easy here. It wasn't now either, though Jersten had grown sturdier under the Revens' care.
At the table sat an older man, shoulders stiff, fingers running absently through his well-kempt beard. A book lay open before him, though his eyes seemed more accustomed to ledgers than to stories. This was Orfia's father.
As Roslyn stepped into the room, the man glanced at her, but soon returned to his book, carefully turning the page to the next one. He didn't seem surprised at all.
"Take a seat, grab a cup, I'll pour you some tea!" the old woman encouraged, making her way from the front door back to the kitchen rather laboriously; she steadied herself on the wall, the cabinets, any object she could.
Roslyn pulled a chair and sat down far from the older man, not wanting to bother him while he read. She then took a cup and placed it before herself, and a few moments after, the old woman filled the cup half-full. Steam danced its way out of the cup, and Roslyn couldn't really enjoy its smell. But she was sure that it was fragrant. She even tried to imagine what it would've tasted like... but she knew that only ash awaited her buds.
The old woman sat down as well; she took a long sip from her own cup, her hands trembled as she did so, and she almost spilled some of the tea, but she managed just fine. A soft smile came to her lips afterward. She placed the cup back onto the table and glanced at her two guests.
"Well then…" she began, settling her cup down with both trembling hands. For a moment, she studied the steam as if divining something from its slow drift. A tired smile ghosted across her lips, half-ironic, half-resigned. "We've gathered here today because of three matters, haven't we?" Her gaze lingered, sharp despite the quiver in her fingers.
The older man, finally, closed his book. "We indeed have, but first, we might as well introduce each other once more, Eiri," he said, then cleared his throat and got up from his chair. He turned toward Roslyn, "How do you do? I am Sir Doren Lewnrer, the appointed successor of Mrs. Eiri Reven." He bowed politely before sitting back down.
Roslyn began to get up, to reciprocate the gesture, but Sir Lewnrer stopped her, saying, "There is no need, Miss Roslyn. I am aware of who you are, what your station is, who your master was, and where you have been." His tone was harsh at first, but then he offered a slight smile. "Besides, it is not proper for a priest to bow her head to anyone else except her gods," he added, his tone much softer than before.
Roslyn didn't quite know if she ought to be offended by his words or not. She decided to brush it aside. She hoped. "I'm pleased to meet you, Sir Lewnrer," she said, then turned toward the old woman, "And I am encouraged to see you faring so well, Mrs. Eiri. It has been a long time since we last saw each other."
Eiri smiled. "Yes, dear. It indeed has. You were perhaps half the size you were now back then, only the beginnings of a woman, and already then decided on becoming a wizard," she said. A chuckle came to her, "You must be the very first priest to come from Jersten and then find their way back home. I hear it is more common for priests to find their station in places far away from their home turf."
"But I wonder, what places have you seen through all these years? I would love to hear all about it," Eiri said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Roslyn shrugged, "I did spend years in Er'Eren. There I learned that the smell of the ocean isn't always the most pleasant thing so early in the morning."
Eiri scoffed, "I hear all the big cities stink of rot and decadence... Never imagined that it would be just the sea." She glanced at Doren, who took another sip of tea.
"But do tell me... Is it really as big as they say?" She suddenly asked, returning her gaze to Roslyn.
"What? The city?"
"No... The sea," her eyes gleamed even more, now with wonder... The woman had probably never gone too far from home. Never seen things past Jersten or Aucklyn. Never seen a larger settlement than what Jersten was now... And never seen something so infinite as the sea.
Roslyn nodded. "It goes on forever, they say. On a clear day, look up at the sky, and it's cloudless blue. I suppose that one can imagine what the sea might look like with the help of the sky. Just the endless blue."
Eiri closed her eyes and seemed to imagine just that. Another smile soon came to brighten her wrinkly face. "Infinite, indeed," she muttered. After a while, she opened her eyes. The sparkle now gone, the smile faded. "Well then," she began, and glanced at the two of them again. "We've gone through the pleasantries, the reunions, the nostalgia, and the wonder. Now, let us get back on track…"
Roslyn almost sighed, but kept it inside. She nodded in agreement. It was indeed time. She reached for the teacup and took a sip of what looked like any good tea would. Ash filled her mouth. She swallowed and placed the cup back down.
"You mentioned three matters of importance…" Roslyn said, and glanced at Doren, "I assume his appointment is one of them?"
Eiri nodded, "Indeed, he will be the new mayor of Jersten after me."
"Then what are the other two?"
Eiri smiled. "One of them is you, our newly appointed town priest."
"And the third?"
Eiri's eyes gleamed again, and she leaned forward in her chair. She lifted the cup to her lips, her hands not shaking anymore. She took a long sip and set it back down. She seemed so very pleased at that moment. "My retirement, of course."
Roslyn blinked. "Your retirement?"
Eiri grinned, "Well, I'm old enough, aren't I? Some would say that I am older than the first stones of this damned town…"
"And as such... I might as well go into retirement," she added.
"When?"
Eiri lifted a biscuit, broke it in half, and dipped one piece into her tea. Only after she tasted it, and the dough seemed to soften on her tongue, did she speak again. "Starting now."
Roslyn and Doren stared at her, and only her. Neither of them knew what to really say.
"I don't have much time, you see," Eiri broke the momentary silence. "And I would like to spend my last days in peace without someone being at my door at every possible moment of solitude that I might have. I don't need you, Roslyn, or you, Doren, to come knocking at my door with your bothers and your needs."
"Today, dear priest and mayor, you'll receive all the logs and records that I might have regarding Jersten and whatnot, then you can both bug off." Eiri had no smile to give them. Instead, she pointed at the nearby shelves, all filled with books, "The first shelf should have all that you need. Check the first page of each of them to confirm that you don't take anything that is mine. I would think that just the two of you are more than enough to carry all of them."
"Wouldn't you say so, Doren?" she asked and looked at the man for a while.
Doren scoffed, drank the rest of his tea, got up with his book, and walked to the bookcase without a word of protest.
"Truly a bureaucrat through and through," Eiri muttered in mock admiration. She then looked at Roslyn, "Any questions?"
Roslyn shook her head and drank her tea. She let the taste of ash coat her mouth and her throat. "Thank you for the tea," she got up as well, and stepped toward the bookcase. But she suddenly came to a halt. She did have one question after all. So she turned around and looked down at the old woman, "After I've cremated you, would you like me to bury your ashes next to your family or to have them sprinkled somewhere?" It was part of her duty to ask.
Eiri looked at her for a while. For the first time, she looked somewhat saddened. She shrugged. "Probably next to the kids. I haven't seen them in such a long time, and their father isn't as good a company as I am," she said and managed a grin that only showcased a fraction of the heartbreak that she had gone through in her life.
Roslyn nodded. "I will make sure that you won't be cold then," she promised, and went to the bookcases, where Doren had already begun going through the books and stacking them to the side.
It gave Roslyn a moment to observe the man. Doren hadn't seemed offended by any of it. But then again, he was probably the one of the two of them who could understand Eiri the best. Both had lost a child, and presumably, a significant other as well.
Roslyn let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She gathered the books beside Doren, stone-faced once more. The taste of ash lingered, but the mask had held.
- - -
Mitry had spent time among priests before, but never grew used to them. The distance was more than theology; it was something stranger, a fault line of feeling and thought. Their emotions bent their logic, their logic warped their speech. Conversation soured into silence, or else into awkwardness. Uanna was no exception.
The unlikely duo walked on the same road, but on two different paths. Thankfully, only Mitry seemed to notice this disconnect. The priest, Uanna, felt like someone who was used to awkward conversations.
Striking up small talk, or talking about rumors or such, felt like a waste of time. And so, Mitry was reduced to explaining how life in his little commune worked; how the people survived, and what one could find here.
They came to a stop near a farmhouse, a small wooden house, next to a slightly larger barn, surrounded by a meek field that had seen its harvest already. "You do remember Norlen, the lad you met by the entrance?" Mitry asked. The woman nodded.
"This is where he lives with his family. He is the only child of his already aging parents. He had siblings, but they all died from either the cold or starvation," he explained, and they continued walking. An older woman peered out of the house's window. "Her name is Dreiah, and she seldom leaves the house," he added as Uanna noticed her.
They went by many such houses, mostly huts with small fields near or around them; usually just enough for a family to feed their own, but not more. Some farms had coops for chickens, one even had a few cows. But mostly the villagers lived and died by the grace of harvest, hoping for warm enough weather without too much dryness; hoping that there was little to no crop failure.
Mitry couldn't help but wonder whether the priest was used to something like this. A village like this usually had its unique fragrance: the smell of animal dung used as fertilizer. But, knowing your average priest, she probably had spent many years in similar places.
In total, they walked by twenty or so houses, most of which were small farms, all having their own produce; all had families who lived and worked the lands that surrounded them. Not one came by to greet them; almost all looked from far away, with clear suspicion.
Mitry's gaze lingered on each face that peeked from behind a shutter or fence. No one came forward. Suspicion followed them like a second shadow. Damn Norlen, Mitry thought, he must have said something careless again. He could only hope Uanna would see distrust as a peasant habit, not as a conspiracy. If she asked the wrong question, he had no safe answer.
If they acted so distant, so suspicious, then she would begin asking questions. Questions he could not afford to answer. There shouldn't be too many questions. He should always dictate the conversation. They could walk side by side, but she would not choose the path. He would.
After walking for about twenty or so minutes, they arrived at the lake, where a collection of rickety docks extended into its waters, a few smaller buildings with supplies in them, as well as some small boats that had been pulled from the lake and now rested ashore.
They stood on one of the docks, their gazes set on the waters of the massive lake. Morning mist veiled some of it, and so they were unable to see far across the lake and what there might be on its opposite banks. But they could see a couple of boats floating as the gentle waves pushed them. The men on the boat seemed to be lowering a fishnet into the water.
"We don't have much here, but we get by," Mitry spoke after a lengthy silence. He glanced at Uanna, who stood next to a barrel filled with water. The air was filled with the stink of fish.
Uanna nodded, saying, "I've noticed. You don't even seem to have many people here."
Mitry snorted, "There are many more than what you saw. But most of them are distrusting of authority, for one reason or another." He shrugged.
"I see…"
Mitry glanced at her again; he tried to grasp what the woman might be thinking, but it was just impossible. Her face gave nothing away. Once, she let her fingers trace the rim of the barrel beside her, absently, as if listening to some thought too quiet for him to hear. Then, an awkward smile—not cruel, not kind, simply… wrong, as if she had never learned to wear one like other people.
He breathed out, shaking his head.
It was Uanna's turn to glance at him. "Are you distrusting of authority, too?"
Mitry conjured a smile to his face, "Of course I am!" Their gazes met, and Mitry grinned, "But I mean no offense—it is just that we've never received much help from anyone."
Uanna nodded, "It seems to be a common theme in these smaller settlements where there isn't a constant presence of the Priesthood."
"It is our fault, really," she added. Nothing about her tone or expression gave away whether she truly believed that.
Mitry shook his head, "But what can you do? I presume that there are only so many priests available... and besides, many of us found ourselves here because of poverty and the lack of possibilities in the larger cities and towns."
"Life just happens to be like this. We've just got to keep working, and slowly things should get better," Mitry said. "And things have gotten better, just years back, starvation was quite common here, but in recent times the nature around has been graceful, and its offerings bountiful."
The woman looked around. "I would think that it is only a matter of time before a harsher, much longer winter comes by."
Mitry smiled, "Of course... but couldn't one say the same about the villages down south, or those in the east?"
"Perhaps."
Silence set between the two once more. Mitry could hear the waves gently crashing against the banks of the lake. It had a hypnotic rhythm, like a heartbeat. Seldom did it skip a beat.
He rested his hands on the railing of the dock, staring out where the mist blurred sky and water together. When he spoke again, his voice had lowered, carrying the cadence of an old story.
"Say... do you know the name of this lake?"
"Of course I do... Was it Lake Ushantra?"
Mitry nodded. "And do you know where it gets its name from?"
Uanna seemed to ponder for a moment; then she shook her head. "I can't say that I do. But funnily enough, I once had a friend who probably would've known."
Mitry smiled again. "Long ago, there was a fair maiden, her name was Ushantra, who lived in a village, much like ours, by the banks of this lake. Back then, the lake surely had a different name, one now forgotten by most," he began.
"She lived her life like most of us, just trying her best to survive and to make sure that her family would be safe. And there are many dangers then, and even now, that make our lives even more difficult than they are supposed to be; for every year there would come the taxman, collecting a portion of the land's produce for the king... and the Priesthood."
"But this is something she and most dealt with, and it is what we deal with as well. It is just part of life."
He stopped for a moment and again glanced at Uanna, "I presume that you know of the Brother's False Crowning?"
Uanna nodded.
"Ushantra found herself in an unlucky time of history. The Herald's older brother, with the help of the faithful, proclaimed himself king and usurped the crown for himself. Though his reign lasted only a week... the hostilities that preceded it lasted months…"
"The feuding armies swept the lands, pillaging and looting, killing and raping; taking from those who stayed loyal to the lawful king; and in return, the lawful king's army did the exact same. When a village had been looted, some of its men killed, some of its women raped, by the false king's loyalists, then came the true king's loyalists, only to loot, kill, and rape some more."
"Ushantra's village was one such place. Her house had burned, her crops had been stolen, and her husband had been murdered. And she could only hide, for things much worse could be done to her by men with only evil in their hearts."
"She hid in the ruins of her farm, only to be found, only to run away, only to find herself by the banks of the lake, only to see that no one would spare her, no one would save her. Nowhere to run, she could only swim. And so she swam. She swam and she swam, for as long as she could. Arrows rained on her, as the soldiers wanted her dead."
"She hid in the ruins of her farm. Found, she fled. Hunted, she ran to the lake. No one spared her. No one saved her," he spoke with the rhythm of the waves.
"So she swam."
"Arrows rained."
"Her heart was broken."
"Her husband was dead."
"She swam, until the waters claimed her."
"She swam, until darkness embraced her."
A wordless silence fell between them. And even Mitry couldn't help but mirror the priest's solemness. The waves still bashed against the docks, shaking them slightly; their rhythm still hypnotizing. He glanced at the woman a final time, and his own expression cleared.
There was a frown on that woman's face... and she stared at the waves. She looked... sad. Not just empty like before, not wearing an awkward smile. She felt human, for once.
Mitry caught himself staring and quickly looked away. He felt almost embarrassed by his own behavior. Even if she was an outsider, and even if, to him, her beliefs were something wrong, something entirely false, he ought to still treat her fairly. He ought not to be so rude.
Mitry conjured another smile of his. He would not shake, nor would he break. His secrets were safe, and he would fool this woman with such hospitality that she would never suspect a thing...
"About that lunch…" he said, turning around, away from the lake and its hypnotizing waves.
Uanna winced, her gaze returning from her thoughts back to this world of theirs. She looked at Mitry, who was already walking away. So, she quickly walked after him, asking, "But it is barely lunch time."
Mitry laughed. "Perhaps, but you see, it is I who is hungry, and I wouldn't mind some company while I'm eating! I'm most certain that we might have an illuminating conversation," he spoke while walking. Uanna had already reached his side.
"I am sure that you have as many questions as I do, and I'll be more than happy to answer all of them... for as long as we get something to eat before a deeper conversation!" he made sure that the woman would find it impossible to deny his hospitality. They would all be charmed by him, no matter how hard they tried; no matter how many walls they placed between him and his goals.
He would smile. He would charm. He would keep his secrets. It had always been enough.
What if she were a priest? It wasn't like she still wasn't a human, of that Mitry was almost certain by now. He whistled as they made their way toward his home.
Everything was under his control. It had to be.