The town of Faelenshire was a bustle in the high noon. Ale and pastries and all the goods were in the making as the village prepared for a small fair. But the hard labors of the villagers paused when the sun reached its peak and they moved to the chapel for mass.
From the dusty desire paths, one could trace much of the resident's daily happenings. Hitherto the main road was a trail taken by the children, who would venture into the meadows to play by the brook. Thither by the square formed a trail out to the mountains where the hunters would snare the lesser beast of the earth for a feast. A crowd shimmied itself though the arched doors of the chapel. But the foreigner was impeded upon approach by a gentleman stocky and cut along the left brow with a thin and small scar.
"A strange time and place for travels, while the baron's tax raises and more soldiers travel the mountains south every day. Now a man foreign as the far east wanders into our village proper. Who are you stranger? I would know your name."
It was not unreasonable to request the name and business of a stranger in a village as small as Faelenshire.
"Trenewynn, some call me," or so claimed the foreigner.
But he had many names. In the land of the elves– far off Alanor beyond the Al'asad ocean, they called him Vaelor, and in the Azuna Desert he was known as Qanamere. But Trenewynn was what the people knew him by in lands south of the Samsinuri'Matu.
It was a name not particularly famous or noteworthy. But a name precious to some. To the people of Helios, he was a teacher of writing. Few were his students but one resided in Faelenshire as it happened to be.
Trenewynn examined the stocky man in his path.
"Are you unwell? You appear to have not rested well in many days."
The stocky fellow was dismissive to the query.
"Is that a matter of course? This is Faelenshire, a respectable town that does not let wander any hedge wizard or vagrant that pleases through the village."
Trenewynn was happy to answer the stocky man's questions, but mass was about to begin, and the town priestess would not suffer delay to the sacraments on account of one late arrival. The priestess came to the gentlemen in talks with a jump in her step as she spied the foreigner's face.
Upon hearing the interrogative nature to the stocky man's queries, the priestess interceded impatiently.
"Steady your tongue Conrad, lest you make us a town of uncivil ruffians instead. I know this man."
Her eyes turned, "apologies, sir Trenewynn. Conrad here has been skittish of late. Like a ghost is on his shoulders."
"So it appears, is that you little Aia? It's been a decade since I saw you."
"Yes, and yet you haven't aged a day sir Trenewynn."
"Time is ever strange is it not? I told you of the elves, yes?"
"Aye, that they were of a bloodline wholly immortal. I still think you play games; I've never even seen an elf. I think you just wish to bring attention to a different matter."
"You've become so sly with your new years, miss Aia."
"I was blessed with a good teacher. I learned well how to read people. Though my teacher left after just a few years of my education."
Conrad interjected, "now hold on lady Aia, you know this man?"
"Aye, I know him. He is my teacher– or was."
"But I've never heard of him."
"Not surprising," she said.
"He hasn't visited Faelenshire in many years. My mother and grandmother had learned from him on the subject of reading and writing. It is he who taught me to read the stories I give at each sermon."
Trenewynn spoke, "speaking of such, are you not the priestess of this village? If we do not postpone this chat for a later hour, then the sermon will have to happen late instead."
Aia gasped, "ah, how could I forget. Please, follow me into the chapel. Mass should begin in a moment."
The three then wandered into Faelenshire's chapel and Trenewynn took himself a spot at the far back pews next to Conrad. Aia moved to the altar. She cleared her throat gently in order to assume the aura of a proper priestess.
A thick volume lay open at the corner of the altar, where additional instruments were prepared for the sermon. She parsed each page until arriving at the sermon suitable to the current month.
Her voice was not loud; she let the echo of the chapel hall carry it.
"I will read from the Book of Gods, volumes of Sòl. To those that are curious, I will read from chapter four: The Birth of Kleophoros, pages one to seven."
Gravitas took the hall in her tone, "let us recall the Oath of Brotherhood, spoken by Lysander in the Valley of Pashum, in the time of the Puppet King Sargon.
Sargon, the False King, who was strayed by Amesra into vice and feeblemindedness. Amesra, daughter of O'toth, twenty-third child of Paralos city's Mágëa-King. Such wickedness the archon woman held, that she turned the temples which our ancestors built in Aurum into palaces for her and her retinues.
Recall how she came to know Lysander. Who pleaded the False King to uphold his honor as an acolyte sworn to Sòl's priesthood. Yet blinded by Amesra, Sargon disregarded the acolyte's testimony. Amesra went unpunished."
Aia took a white cloth in hand and began polishing circles on a gold disc set upon the altar. Each buffer made a mirror of the glowing disc, clearer and clearer until it could shine like a light. A black cloth was set below the disc, lightless and matte.
Her sermon continued to flow, "and let us not then forget how Amesra's wild ambition sought to overthrow the line of Aurum and bring the demigods under archon rule. She dishonored the acolytes and priests, robbed the farmers of their land and crops, conspired with the Praetor Prime in Helion all to conceal her highest offense."
There was a break in the sermon, many in the pews needed a moment to digest. Two boys snickered across the chapel from Trenewynn. Their eyes fixed onto something in the window and struggled to maintain a quiet voice in the chapel.
Aia's sermon continued, "tomorrow will be the first day of the Birth of Kleophoros. We celebrate on this high noon when the seventh king of Aurum was born. But forget not how Amesra schemed the unthinkable…
She conspired with the Praetor Prime, Malakane to conceal Kleophoros' birth; she tried to have the child killed in the womb. Yet was thwarted at every turn by Sòl."
An utterance of contempt whispered from an elderly woman sitting close to Trenewynn near the edge of the pews. Trenewynn raised a brow, pondering the sermon.
"Ultimately, Amesra falsified the child's birth, and assigned him to disenfranchised farmers as his guardians. All in a plot to sell him off to the Effinitian slavers!"
Heavy was the quiet that followed, yet Aia's voice did not pause as the list of ancient crimes preceded the long-dead foe.
"Her abject cruelty was so fierce that she even employed the False King's decree in vain to legitimize her misdeeds. On the royal court's degree, Sargon himself declared the farmers and their falsified son be sold to Effinitian slavers for the conjured crime of evading taxes.
Thus, in his ignorance and weakness, Sargon sold his own son into slavery."
The priestess poured crystalline water from a brass ewer.
The water fell into the large gold disc and settled gently in the depression. She poured until it neared the rim before the ewer set aside.
"But the priests of Sòl would not stand to let the citizens be sold by the king and see broken the oath which was sworn by Sargon's forebearers. They prayed and received a miracle, a gold disc not unlike the one on this altar."
Aia traced the rim partially with her finger.
"The disc brought a bounty of gold, and the money they gathered was enough to buy their people back from the clutches of the greedy Effinitians. When the crisis was averted, the people of Helion reposed. Yet a worm of doubt crept in… The farmers who had been sold denied the child and forsook all promises of guardianship. None would claim him. Until Lysander stepped forth."
Trenewynn's eyes gleamed in the sunlight. His mind remained a tad lost of its once supernatural intellect though he could recall fragmented memories of the oath Lysander swore.
Aia repeated it as such, "having known Amesra's cruelty firsthand, the acolyte of Sòl and disciple of Uriel chose to take the child of Sargon under his wing. So began the Oath of Brotherhood, which we enact this day to honor the pair."
She turned a page.
"For as Lysander spoke:
In the Bright One's name, by his command, I Lysander, son of Polymedes, swear this infant– abandoned by his own and stolen from justice to be my sworn brother. I shall stake my flesh and soul upon this oath and promise henceforth to endeavor any trade, and any trial, and any task that my Lord who resides in Heaven might bestow me; to ensure the life of my new brother and bring justice to the ones that seek him harm.
Only in light shall I walk, for you stand at my side: in my breast, your flame alights me; you are my passion, the namesake of my love, and the well from which I draw my strength. Even if doubts should cloud my mind, your rays shall pierce all veils that obscure me. So shall my brother stand beside me unashamed."
The sermon drew to a close. Aia took the full disc of water and raised it high. In the motion of her hands, the audience in the pews stood and formed a single file– hands clasped.
"So he swore, so was his oath held true. Lysander gave his new brother the name Kleophoros, and together with the priests of Sòl they grew in His light."
At once, like the setting of the sun, the disc declined gradually until just held beneath the chin. Her last words echoed through the silence.
"Drink, my brothers and sisters of Sòl."