by Matthew Ilseman
in Issue 132, January 2023
A cold wind pushed the small ship through the blue-green waves. It glided between rocks that jutted up from the sea like jagged teeth. The grey sky hung over a brown island that spread across the horizon.
Aleron stood on the deck of the ship. His crimson cloak fluttered in the wind. In the pit of his stomach there was fear. He had faced man and beast in battle but now he felt more afraid than ever. After all these years, he was returning to the place where he had been raised.
“This is a dreary land,” said someone behind him.
Aleron turned to see his companion Krya walk up the deck. Her flame-red hair blew in the wind. Her skin was gold. Her eyes were emerald. Her ears were pointed. When she spoke one could see fangs.
“It can be,” he said. “In the spring, though, it is quite beautiful.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “Still, I prefer the plains and the wide blue sky. The sky here seems small. If not the plains, at least, give me the great forest of the East.”
“Truth be told,” said Aleron. “I think I agree.”
Krya walked up from behind and placed her arms around him. The fear in his stomach shrunk. He wondered for the hundredth time what their relationship would be if he had never taken his vow of celibacy.
“You know,” he said. “You might be the first shrinya to come to this isle. Many humans live here. A lot of Corsans live here. Even a few Malreans, but you may be the first shrinya to set foot on it.”
“Aleron,” she said. “Are you sure you want to come back?”
“I don’t want to,” he said. “I need to. The leaders of the Church may not like it, but I have long stopped caring what they think. It’s just thinking about…”
“What?”
“Kornach, the man who raised me after my parents died. I just wonder what he thinks of me.”
“Whatever he does, you know what I think of you.”
“Yes,” he said.
The island was closer. He could see the harbor now. As the ship glided toward it, the memories began to flood in.
The Past:
The cage was small and stank of excrement. Aleron, then ten years old, sat in the middle trying not to cry. Outside, the merchants bustled about the slave market. Occasionally, someone would stop and examine him. Invariably, the slave trader would tell them to move on. He had already been bought.
Three men in crimson cloaks came when the sun was high in the sky. They were hard-looking men. Swords hung by their sides. Aleron knew them to be the warrior priests of Kersaises. He had prayed to that deity every night for deliverance, but he had stopped. Kersaises had not answered.
The lead priest came and looked into the cage. He was a big man. A long scar ran down his cheek. His eyes were cold blue and seemed to stare through Aleron. He went up to the slave trader.
“How much?” he said.
“He is not for sale. Someone has already bought him.”
“Kornach,” said one of the other priests. “We do not have money to buy a slave. I feel for the boy too, but there is nothing we can do.”
“Who has bought him?”
“A wealthy merchant. He has a taste for fair boys. I believe that cleaned up this one will fit in well in his harem.”
“What will you sell him to me for?”
“Nothing. I promised him to the merchant. My conscious would not let me sell him to anyone else.”
Kornach stared at the man. “Your conscious says nothing about buying and selling human beings? Or about the rape of a young child?”
“Sir, I know slavery is a sin in your faith, but I worship the Seven. There is nothing in their teachings against slavery or the love of young boys.”
“I ask you again to sell him.”
“No, I cannot.”
“Very well,” said Kornach. His hand went to his sword hilt. The sun flashed on the blade as he drew and beheaded the slave trader in a single movement. Aleron stared through the bars. He felt his gorge rise.
Kornach looked down at the corpse. He kicked the severed head aside and then took the keys.
“You are free, boy,” he said as he unlocked the cage.
The Present
Kornach stood at the other end of the pier. His hair, once black, had turned white. His shoulders, once erect, sagged. He seemed weary.
“Aleron, you are back,” he said.
Aleron said, “Yes.”
“I see you brought a friend,” Kornach said as Krya walked up behind Aleron.
“Yes,”
“Well, I have food in my cell,” he said. Aleron sighed. It was somewhat of a relief. He was still not sure what Kornach thought of him, but he knew that if Kornach was truly ashamed of him the old man would certainly have said something. Kornach always spoke his mind.
“Let’s go back to the monastery,” said the old warrior priest. He turned and they followed after him.
“Not exactly a warm welcome,” whispered Krya.
“Kornach was never one for gushing emotion,” replied Aleron.
The three of them walked down the pier onto the island. Kornach led them down a path along the beach until they came to the monastery.
It stood on a cliff overlooking the ocean. White waves crashed around it. The monastery had been carved from the stone of the cliff itself. Leading up to it was a long stone stairway. The entire monastery had been designed as a fortress so that an enemy would have to climb the mountain and break open the gates. For centuries, no one had achieved this.
As they climbed the stairway, Kornach began to pant.
“Do you need to stop?” Aleron asked. “You are not as young as you used to be.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Kornach looked at Aleron with his cold blue eyes. “I have climbed these stairs since before you were born. I do not need to be treated like a cripple.”
Aleron did not reply. They continued up the steps.
When they reached the top, they came to a large oak door. In front of it were two warrior priests clad in chain mail and long crimson cloaks.
“Well, you’ve come back, traitor,” said one of the guards. “I see you brought your shrinya mistress.”
“Good to see you too, Morak,” said Aleron.
“I should slay you where you stand.”
Aleron had not expected his reception to be friendly. He had been exiled from the Order years before. He had been told never to return.
Morak drew his sword. Aleron’s hand went to the hilt of his own. Krya took up her battle axe.
“Morak!” Kornach walked up the guard. “He is my guest. You will stand aside.”
The two stared at each other for a time. Morak returned his sword to his scabbard. He knocked on the rough wood of the door. Slowly, it opened. The trio walked inside.
“An old enemy?” asked Krya.
“Morak was once my closest friend, though that was a long time ago.”
The Past.
The desert sun shone high in the blue sky. Its light hurt Aleron’s eyes. He wore his hood over his head to keep it off of him. Sweat ran down his body beneath the cloak and chain mail he wore. His mouth was as dry as the desert.
The sands of the Southern Deserts stretch off before him. In the distance was a mirage of a lake. Aleron knew it was not real, but he wanted desperately to dive in.
It had been a day and a night since the battle. The armies of the Seven had routed the warrior-priests of Kersaises. They had fought hard, but they had been heavily outnumbered.
At the beginning of the Crusade, they had captured many seaports, but as they marched into the desert their supply lines became strained. Tribesmen raided the supply caravans stealing water and food. The sands now covered many corpses. The armies of the Northern Kingdoms had stayed behind. Only the warrior priests had advanced into the desert. Now with their numbers greatly reduced, they marched toward the sea in retreat.
Aleron pulled a gourd from beneath his cloak. He put it to his lips. A single drop came out. He threw the gourd on the ground.
“Have some of my water,” said Morak.
“No, you keep it.”
“Take it,” said Morak. “Are we not sworn brothers? What is mine is yours and what is yours mine.”
Aleron took the gourd. He drank deep. It was the sweetest water he had ever tasted. However, there was not very much.
“You gave me the last of your water,” said Aleron.
“Think nothing of it,” replied Morak.
The Present
The three of them walked through the labyrinthine hallways of the monastery. Occasionally, they passed other priests. Some stared at Aleron and Krya with open hostility. One even spat at their feet.
They came to Kornach’s cell. It was a small room with a bed, two chairs, a table, and a shelf of books. On the table was a simple meal of meat and bread. A small candle lit the room with golden light.
“I’m sorry. We are short a chair,” Kornach said looking at Krya. Aleron wondered what his old mentor thought of her. Many people thought them lovers. If not for his vow of celibacy, they probably would have been at that.
“I’ll stand,” said Krya.
Aleron and Kornach sat before the table. They bowed their heads in silent prayer. Krya, who trusted no gods, did not. They began to eat. Aleron offered some of his meat and bread to Krya who waved it off.
After a silent meal, Kornach finally said, “Are you sure you want to go through the Ordeal? You survived it once. Twice is rare.”
“I have to know if I truly betrayed Kersaises or if I have been serving His will. I have to know if I am good or bad.”
“No one has gone through the Ordeal in years. The cave is locked up. Even novices are not allowed to anymore. Too many have gone mad or been found dead or even disappeared.”
“You do not think that they will allow an exile to do it?”
“I fear they will because they think it will be the death of you. They have already judged you as if they were God.”
“And have you judged me?”
“I do not judge.”
The Past
The village was black ash. Bodies lay strewn on the ground. Red blood ran into the cracks of the earth. The warrior priests of Kersaiases walked through the ruins their crimson cloaks fluttering in the wind.
“What was the purpose of this?” asked Aleron.
“They were heathen,” said Armorus, leader of the Seraph Society. They were the elite of the warrior priests. Aleron had once dreamed of joining them.
“So? We came to liberate them and save their souls. Not slaughter women and children” replied Aleron.
One of the younger warrior priests came running up to them. He stopped by Armorus and whispered in his ear.
“Looks like we have a survivor,” said Armorus.
A young girl, about sixteen, was brought before them. Tears ran down her face. Her dress was torn.
“Looks like we will have some fun,” said Armorus.
“What?” replied Aleron.
“She is spoils of war.”
“She’s a person. A child,” said Aleron. He walked up tp the girl
“She’s ours to do what we please.”
“I will not allow this,” said Aleron. His hand went to the hilt of his sword.
“She is just a heathen girl,” replied Armorus. “Stand aside or I will cut you down. My men have been fighting hard. They need some festivity.”
“The rules of our Order forbid it. We were created to protect the innocent.”
“To hell with the rules,” said Armorus. “Which side are you on? Us or the heathen?”
Aleron looked down at the girl. She looked up. She said nothing but her eyes implored him. Aleron drew his sword.
“As long as I live, I will not allow this girl to be harmed.”
The Present
“You killed them all!” said Morak. “You betrayed and slew your own!”
“They betrayed their oaths,” replied Aleron. “They were murderers and rapists. The very type the Order was created to fight.”
“Justify it however you want. You killed your brothers for a heathen girl!” said Morak. They were in the chapel of the monastery. It was a large room with an altar before the sacred fire. The fire was kept burning at all times. The members of the Order sat in pews.
Ranon, the head of the Order, watched in silence. He was an old man, older even than Kornach. He leaned on a wooden staff in front of the sacred fire.
“They weren’t my brothers,” replied Aleron.
Krya and Kornach stood on the other side of the chapel. Both watched intently the debate. Krya kept her hand on the hilt of her axe.
“We have wandered off the main path,” said Ranon. “Aleron has been tried and exiled from the Order. Because of the depredations of the Seraph Society, we spared his life. The topic we are here to discuss is whether he has a right to go through the Ordeal.”
“In the past outsiders have been allowed to do so,” said Aleron. “I am no longer of the Order. I accept that, but that should not prevent me from going through the Ordeal.”
“You are not just an outsider but a traitor,” said Morak. “You would profane the Ordeal with your sin.”
“Might I ask how? The purpose of the Ordeal is to confront and overcome the darkness that lies within our hearts,” said Aleron. “If I am such a great sinner does that not give me greater need to go through the Ordeal? So that I may repent if I was wrong?”
“You are talking in circles,” said Morak. “You were always too clever.”
“There is no sin in cleverness except when it is used to deceive. I am honest in my motives. It is quite possible that the cave will show me I was wrong in my actions. I have to know.”
Morak was about to say something but Ranon raised his hand. “Aleron makes a convincing case. I will allow him to go through the Ordeal on the condition that if he survives he will leave the monastery and never return.”
He turned to Aleron. “You may not survive the Ordeal or you may be driven mad.”
“I know. I survived it before.”
“Yes, barely.”
The Past
Wooden swords clattered together as Aleron and Morak struck ferociously at each other. They were in the courtyard of the monastery. They both had much to prove to the onlookers. This included not only their trainer Kornach, but Ranon and other members of the Order. Today was the day before they gain the right to wear the crimson cloak. To become true warrior priests of Kersaiases.
They had trained for ten years. They had been taught the sword and other weapons. They had been taught the finer points of theology. They trained in freezing rivers to inure themselves to cold. They had trained at high noon in the summer to inure themselves to heat. They had gone days without food. Always the training continued.
Now they fought each other with wooden swords. For a long while, they seemed evenly matched, but eventually, Aleron briefly dropped his guard. Morak seeing the opening struck like a panther.
Pain shot through Aleron’s shoulder as the wooden blade struck him. He dropped his sword. Kornach stepped in between them to end the sparring session. It was not needed as Morak had already lowered his weapon.
“Morak is the winner,” said Kornach. This was no surprise to anyone. Morak was Kornach’s most talented student. Yet it was known that despite this Kornach preferred Aleron, treating him as a son.
“You both did very well,” said Ranon. “You have trained for years and have endured many ordeals. You both have the right to the crimson cloak. There only remains one ordeal left: The Ordeal of the Cave.”
“As you know the Ordeal is an ancient one. It was given to us by Kersaises Himself. When He created the Order all warrior priests were forced to endure the Ordeal. Now, it is a matter of choice. If you want you may go through the Ordeal.”
“I will,” said Aleron.
“Are you certain? Many have failed. They have died or gone mad. The Ordeal of the Cave involves facing the darkness that lies within one’s soul.”
“I know,” replied Aleron. “That is why I have to. Kersaises taught that one has to conquer his own darkness before he conquers the darkness of the world.”
“What about you?” Kornach said to Morak.
Morak was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I do not believe I need to do this.”
“Very well,” said Ranon. “Aleron will be shown to the cave.”
The four of them left the courtyard. They marched through the serpentine halls of the monastery. Eventually, they came to a great door.
Kornach and Ranon opened the door. It led to a stone stairway that descended into a pit of darkness. Looking down into it Aleron trembled. He had been confident before. Now he was afraid. He would learn the truth about his own darkest nature. Then in his mind came a saying of Kersaises: There is no life without courage. The cowardly are already dead.
Aleron took a torch that hung on the wall and stepped through the doorway.
“This is your last chance to turn back,” said Ranon.
“I have made my choice.”
Kornach put his hand on Aleron’s shoulder. He said, “I am proud of you. Whatever happens, know that.”
Aleron was taken aback. Kornach was not given to praising his students. Then the door closed. Aleron began down the stairwell.
Fear gripped him in his stomach. He knew not what he faced. He was afraid of dying but, more so, he was afraid of learning something about himself he did not want to know.
Still, he continued down the stairwell into the dark. Eventually, he came to end and stepped down into the cave. It was so large the light of the torch did not reach any walls. An inky darkness surrounded him.
The darkness seemed like a great black curtain. It did not seem to be merely the absence of light but a black substance. Aleron could have sworn it was alive and moving.
A cry came out of the dark.
“Sinner! I will slay you!”
Before him appeared another warrior priest. His cloak swirled around him. His hair was wild. His eyes crazed. In his hand was a sword. He raised it and then struck downward.
Aleron leapt aside. The craze priest slashed at him again. Aleron jumped into the dark.
“I will slay you and every sinner.”
The crazed priest came at him again and again. Aleron dodged again and again. They danced around as the priest swung his sword viciously. Even as he did so something seemed familiar about the priest.
It was his face. Aleron had seen it somewhere before. Then he understood and knew true fear.
The face was his own. It was older and dirtier but it was his. It was a future Aleron driven mad by fanaticism.
The crazed priest slashed and this time the blade met flesh. Pain tore through his side. Blood spilled out of the wound. He fell to the ground.
“You are me!”
“I am the part of you that you want to deny,” said Aleron’s shadow self. “I am the part of you that hates. I hate the sinners and the heathen. I hate what they did to me. They killed my parents and locked me in a cage. I was sold as a slave. I will kill the sinners. I will kill everyone!”
Aleron had tried to block it out for years, but the memories came flooding back. The raid on his village. His father killed. His mother raped, then killed. He felt an unfathomable hatred. He wanted to kill the slavers. He wanted to kill everyone who had hurt him. He wanted…
“No, this is wrong,” he said. “I will not hate. Kersaises taught us hatred brings damnation. I will not hate. I will fight and even kill if I have to but I will not hate.”
The crazed priest stopped. He dropped his sword. Great chains came out of the darkness. They wrapped themselves around Aleron’s shadow self and pulled him back into the darkness.
The Present
“I was let out the next day,” said Aleron.
“So that is what you saw,” said Kornach.
Krya said nothing.
The three of them were in Kornach’s candlelit cell. Aleron sat on the bed. Krya leaned against the wall. Kornach was sitting in his chair.
“Yes,” said Aleron. “I saw the evil in myself. I saw my own malice.”
“Aleron,” said Krya. “You are the least malicious person I’ve ever known.”
“I try to be,” said Aleron. “The thing is a person is like a jewel. We have many facets of ourselves. Part of me is the mad priest that wants revenge on the world.”
“Aleron,” she continued. “We all have a dark side. Everyone. Hell, isn’t that part of your religion? That only Kersaises was perfect.”
“Yes, but what bothers me is not that I am imperfect but that I might lose control. When I fought the Seraph Society after I had slain most of them two ran away from me. I could have let them flee, but instead, I chased them down and slew them. When I was fighting to save the girl that was the good me but the last two may have been the crazed priest.”
“Aleron, they were rapists and murderers,” said Kornach. “They dishonored God and the Church. Also, though I hated to admit it, the way the Church is now they may have never been punished.”
“That they deserved to die I admit,” said Aleron. “Maybe it was justice, but should not justice be tempered with mercy?”
“Aleron, you are always questioning yourself like this,” said Krya. “I guess that makes you a good person, but you can question yourself too much. What you saw in the cave was not real. It was a dream. When I was still with my tribe, the shaman would smoke a special weed to have visions, but it was always nonsense. Maybe there were gases in the cave. I am not saying the dream meant nothing but it wasn’t real.”
“Krya, the crazed priest cut me. I bled. I had to be bandaged the next day. I still have the scar. I know you’ve never been much of a believer in anything supernatural but the cave gives physical form to things that are in one’s soul. That is why I have to go through with this. When I was exiled from the Order, I believed that it was unjust. I still do, but I don’t know if it really was.”
There was a knock at the door. Kornach got up and went to open it. Outside was a young novice. He seemed nervous. His eyes stared beyond Kornach at Aleron.
“This is for…” he stammered. “This is for Aleron.”
He handed a scroll to Kornach then all but ran off.
“I think he’s scared of you,” said Krya.
“I don’t know why he would be,” said Aleron taking the scroll from Kornach. He broke the seal and unrolled it. He grimaced as he read it.
“What is it?” said Krya.
“It is Morak,” replied Aleron. “He is challenging me to duel.”
The Past
Aleron and Morak sat on the roof of the monastery and stared up at the night sky. There was no moon so the stars seemed to shine brighter to make up for its absence. Aleron could see all the constellations: The Swordsman, The Bull, all of them.
“Do you ever think about your parents?” asked Morak.
“My parents are dead so I pray for their souls often.”
“Mine are alive,” said Morak. “I don’t think they want me, though. That’s why they sent me to join the Order. Well, I was the youngest of ten and they could barely feed us so I guess I was a burden. But I have not heard from them since.”
Aleron was quiet for awhile. Then he said, “After my parents were killed, I thought I was all alone but then Kornach came and rescued me. The Order took me in. I found a new family.”
He turned to Morak. “You are not alone. The Order is your family and I am your brother.”
“So we are brothers.”
“Yes.”
“Among my people there is a ritual where we declare each other blood brothers. We cut our hands to share our blood and swear allegiance to each other.”
Morak reach into his brown cloak and pulled out a knife. It was the knife that all novices were given when they join the Order. With it, Morak cut the palm of his hand. He then handed it to Aleron who did likewise. Then bloody hand clasped bloody hand.
“Blood brothers forever,” said Aleron.
The Present
Aleron stared at his hand. The scar had faded over the years. Aleron wondered if their oath had faded with it.
The courtyard was large. Large dense trees ringed it. In the center there was an open area. It sometimes served as a place for prayer and meditation. Other times, like today, it was a dueling ground.
Aleron had often thought that it reflected the contradictory nature of the Order.
Now he waited on Morak. Krya was with him. She leaned against a tree. Kornach had stayed in his quarters saying he could not watch his sons kill each other.
“You know you don’t have to do this,” Krya said.
“Unfortunately, I think I do,” said Aleron. “This is between Morak and me. We have to deal with this.”
“Yes, yes we do,” said Morak emerging from the trees. With him came Ranon who would oversee the duel.
Both participants stepped into the middle of the clearing. They shed their crimson cloaks but kept them in their left hands. Neither wore any armor.
“Do you both really want to go through with this?” asked Ranon. “It might be better if you could just let the past be past.”
“He would dishonor us,” replied Morak. “He has to be stopped.”
Ranon sighed and then turned to Aleron. “How about you?”
“The problem with past is that it is never really over,” he said.
“Very well. Draw your blades.”
They did so. For a moment they stood absolutely still. Each stared at the other with intensity. Aleron’s eyes were filled with pure concentration. Morak’s eyes, however, were filled with the fire of hatred.
He struck first with a downward sweep of his sword. Aleron dodged aside and tried to entangle Morak’s blade with his cloak, but Morak withdrew the blade. They circled each other. Again and again, Morak struck at Aleron. Aleron, for his part, never struck back at Morak. Instead, he seemed to focus his energy on dodging. Morak’s blows grew more intense. Now and then Aleron had to parry Morak’s sword with his own. Still, he did not strike at Morak.
“Aleron,” shouted Krya. “Fight back for Kersaises sake!”
Aleron did not seem to notice. The fight went on. As it did so, Morak became wilder and wilder.
“Fight back, traitor,” said Morak. “Or are you too afraid? When we sparred as kids you could never beat me.”
Aleron did not respond. He just parried Morak’s slashes unemotionally.
“Aleron, just kill him,” shouted Krya.
Morak attacked with new ferocity. He drove Aleron back.
“I will kill you, traitor,” he said as Aleron parried. Aleron did not respond. He just kept moving backward until his back was against a tree.
“There is nowhere to run,” Morak said and thrust his sword at Aleron.
This time, instead of parrying the blow, Aleron stepped to the side. Morak’s blade sunk into the tree. The time it took for Morak to loosen his blade was enough for Aleron to swing his cloak around the blade and grab it. Aleron then rammed the hilt of his sword into Morak’s solar plexus.
Morak crumpled to the ground and curled up in pain. Aleron pointed his sword at his neck.
“You tricked me!” Morak wheezed out.
“Yes,” said Aleron calmly.
“I’m better than you.”
“You were when we were younger. Maybe if you did not let your anger control you, you might have still beaten me.”
“Do it,” said Morak. “Finish me.”
“It’s your right as winner of the duel, Aleron,” said Ranon.
Aleron removed his sword point from Morak’s neck. He sheathed his sword. “It’s also my right to show mercy.”
He turned to walk toward Krya. Behind him, Morak pushed himself up. He went to charge Aleron, but Ranon placed himself between the two
“It is over,” said the old warrior priest.
Morak swore and spat on the ground.
Krya walked up to Aleron. “You are soft as ever, Aleron. You should have killed him. Despite what Ranon said, it is not over.”
Aleron glanced back at Morak who stared at him with venomous hatred.
“Maybe not,” said Aleron. “But I can’t slay a blood brother.”
The Past
The sacred fire roared. It lit up the chapel. The crimson cloaks of the brothers of the Order merged with the light. They all sat in the pews with heads bowed except for Aleron and Morak who kneeled before the flame.
Ranon had preached the sermon of the Eternal Flame. The same sermon that Kersaises had preached the day He founded the Order. For hundreds of years, this was the sermon taught on the day a member of the Order received his cloak.
“God dwells in flame,” intoned the brothers at the end.
“Now,” said Ranon. “We are gathered here to give two of our novices their cloaks. Unlike the other Orders who wear black, we wear red. Red as blood. Red as flame. We alone of all the Orders are warriors. The blood we spill is a necessary evil. It is not something we relish.”
“Kersaises created the order to overthrow the Malrean Empire which ruled the continent for millennia. In this we succeeded. What is the purpose of the Order now?”
“I say there are still tyrannies. It is our duty to fight for the oppressed.”
He turned to Aleron and Morak. “Do you swear on the sacred flame to fight for the oppressed?”
“Yes,” they said in unison.
“Then arise and accept the cloak.”
Two brothers came forward holding cloaks. Aleron and Morak put them on. Then they again kneeled.
“I bless you in the name of Kersaises,” said Ranon. He reached into ash of the fire carefully avoiding the flames. He then smeared ash on the heads of Aleron and Morak.
Then they walked out of the chapel, their swords swinging by their side, their cloaks over their shoulders. They felt proud. The other brothers followed.
Outside, Morak said, “We will be going to war soon to liberate the Southern Continent from the followers of the Seven. They were the ones who enslaved you, Aleron. You probably can’t wait to get your revenge on the heathen.”
“No,” Aleron said simply.
“What? Why?”
“Revenge is not what Kersaises taught,” said Aleron. “When he overthrew the Malrean Empire, he did so for freedom and to end suffering. When I was in the cave, I saw a part of me that was not pretty. I think it was my hatred at those who enslaved me. I don’t know if I have gotten rid of it, but I won’t let it control me.”
“I suppose,” said Morak.
Kornach came up.
“Morak, Aleron,” he said. “I have to tell you how proud I am of you.”
He put his hands on their shoulders.
“Truth be told,” said Aleron. “I never thought this day would come. Remember when I first joined? I could barely handle a sword.”
They laughed.
“Morak, of course, always handled a sword like it was an extension of his arm. I know some of the brothers say he may become the best swordsman of the Order. It took a lot of work to catch up with him.”
“Who says you have?” laughed Morak. Aleron could not help but hear a hint of venom in the laugh.
“You were more dedicated than any other student I had, Aleron,” said Kornach. “What’s more, you went through the Ordeal of the Cave. The Order, frankly, might be in better shape if more novices did so. For that, I am especially proud of you, Aleron.”
Aleron smiled. Morak looked away.
The Present
“So you won,” said Kornach as Aleron and Krya entered the room. He sat at his table. An empty bottle of wine, probably stolen from the kitchen, sat on the table. Drunkenness, while not strictly forbidden, was looked down upon in the Order.
“Morak?”
“He lives. I spared him.”
“Good.”
“You should not drink so much,” Aleron said walking over to the table.
“I can drink as much as I like,” said Kornach. “Aleron, no offense, but I am surprised that you won.”
“So am I. Morak was always more naturally talented than me. Two things probably saved me. He let the anger get the best of him and, while he is as good as he ever has been, he is no better.”
“And you are?”
“I do not like to say this, but after I was exiled I became a sell-sword on the Eastern Frontier. It has sharpened my instincts and I have kept refining my style.”
“Is that where you met Krya?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose being exiled I should not expect you to keep your vows.”
“He keeps his vows,” said Krya. “Aleron only takes jobs he believes are just. It is frustrating since that means we have to turn away paying clients. Also, there is his damn vow of celibacy.”
“That bothers you?” asked Aleron.
“Yes, we always need more gold.”
“You two make an odd couple,” said Kornach. “Does being a sell-sword bother you, Aleron?”
“Yes.”
“Do not let it,” said Kornach. “You have to believe that wherever you are is where you need to be. What is important is that you conduct yourself with honor and integrity. If you still do that, you should not be ashamed.”
“Aleron, I’ve known men of the Church who do not do that. They either care for only power and position or, worse, they are too self-righteous to realize their own faults. It may be the will of God that you were exiled.”
“I still have doubts about myself.”
“All good men do, but you cannot let them consume you.”
“I suppose that is why I want to go through the Ordeal. I need clarity.”
“When is the Ordeal?” asked Krya
“Tonight,” replied Aleron
“Then hopefully you will find it,” she said.
The doorway to the cave had been changed. What was once just a door was now guarded by an iron gate. Aleron, Krya, Kornach, and Ranon were gathered before it. Ranon produced an iron key from under his crimson cloak. He inserted it into a small key hole. There was a clank. He then opened the gate which screeched with rust.
Aleron went inside. He stopped before the wooden door. He ran his finger down it. It was covered in dust. He wondered if it had even been opened since the time he first underwent the Ordeal.
“Halt,” said a voice behind him. Aleron turned to see Morak and what looked to be half of the warrior priests on the other side of the hall.
Morak walked forward. He said, “I will not stand for this. We can not let you go through with the Ordeal. We will stop you by force. If necessary, I will kill you myself!”
“Enough,” said Ranon. “I have made my decision. You are in direct insubordination.”
“We are serving the will of Kersaises.”
“Is that what you think?” said Krya. “I am not a member of your faith, but it seems to me that you are just being a stubborn fool.”
“Shut up, woman,” said Morak who walked right by her. “Aleron, do not go in.”
Aleron did not heed the warning but instead opened the door. Morak’s walk became a run. In his haste to stop Aleron, he tackled him. They went tumbling down the stairway into the dark of the Cave.
For a moment, the other priests stood there in silence. Then they ran forward.
Seeing this, Krya commanded, “Inside the gate. Now!”
Kornach, who had already started to move, pulled Ranon behind the gate. Krya followed slamming the gate shut. It locked.
“I have another key!” said one of the warrior priests as the group surged forward against the iron bars. He went to stab it into the keyhole, but Krya grabbed his wrist through the bars. She twisted it. He screamed and dropped the key. With her foot, Krya pulled the key behind the bars.
“We can tear down this gate,” someone said.
Aleron and Morak tumbled down the stairway. They seemed to be falling into a great abyss. Eventually, they hit the floor of the cavern.
Aleron, battered and bruised, pushed himself up. The cave seemed like it had before. The almost solid darkness surrounded him. The darkness seemed to swirl.
“Morak! Where are you?” he shouted. There was no response. Fear for both himself and Morak filled his belly.
The darkness seemed alive. Slowly something began to form out of it. The figure became more definite. It gained color and substance.
It was the same mad parody of himself that Aleron had seen the first time. He drew his sword expecting the figure to rush forward. It did not.
Then Aleron saw that one thing was different. The mad priest was bound by chains that stretched off into the darkness. It vainly struggled against them. Aleron sheathed his sword.
“So, you are still part of me, but I have you under control,” he said.
Just then a voice came out of the darkness, “Aleron help!”
“Morak, where are you?”
“It’s eating me. It’s sucking the marrow from my bones. Help me!”
Aleron stepped forward toward where the voice came from. The mad priest stood in his way. “You will never get by. You’ll never get away from me. I…”
Aleron punched him in the stomach. He crumpled. Aleron ran into the darkness.
It felt as if he was moving underwater. Aleron could not tell if he was making progress or just walking in place. He just kept placing one foot after the other.
After what seemed like an eternity, he began to see something form in the darkness. At first, it seemed a vague shape. Then it took the form of a man. As he got closer, he saw that it was Morak bound by chains to the floor. A strange wizened creature sat on his chest. It reached into Morak and pulled out a rib bone. It cracked it and began sucking out the marrow.
Aleron stopped at the sight. Horror and incomprehension filled him.
Morak turned his head and saw Aleron, “Help! It’s eating me!”
Aleron gathered himself and rushed forward. He drew his sword and in the same motion cut at the creature’s neck. The blade went through it like it was air. It continued sucking the marrow from Morak’s bones.
Vainly, Aleron slashed and stabbed. Then he stopped. He looked down at Morak.
“It’s your pride and jealousy. You need to give it up.”
“I can’t. It’s eating my bones.”
“Morak, listen to me. You have no cause to be jealous of me.”
“But Kornach always treated you better. I was his best student, but he treated you as a son.”
Aleron was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Maybe he did. Kornach isn’t perfect, but you have to let this go. Listen, when we dueled, Kornach could not watch. He said he did not want to lose either of us. He called you his son.”
“He loves you as a son and I love you as a brother. We are both proud of you.”
“He called me his son?”
“Yes,” replied Aleron. He out stretched his hand. “Take my hand, blood brother.”
Morak strained his arm against the chains. “I can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can. These chains are only in your mind.”
Morak struggled with his chains. He reached toward Aleron his palm opened wide. Aleron saw the scar on it. The chain snapped. Morak grasped Aleron’s hand.
The wizened creature disappeared along with the chains. Morak’s wounds closed up. Morak almost collapsed. Aleron pulled him up and had him lean on his shoulder.
Together they walked out of the darkness.
When they came out of the cave, they found that the gate had come free. Krya, Kornach, and Ranon struggled to push it forward into the mob of priests. The mob pushed back.
Aleron found the scene comical. He felt like laughing at the sight, but he forced himself not to.
“Stop this,” said Morak. “Leave them be.”
“But,” said one of the priests, “It is sacrilege.”
“No, it is not,” said Morak. “I was wrong. Aleron has committed no sacrilege. The cave has shown me that.”
“But…”
“Let it go.”
They let go of the gate. For a brief second, Krya, Kornach, and Ranon lurched forward, but they stopped. They leaned the gate against the wall.
“Leave the gate there,” Ranon said. “We don’t need it. Morak has been wounded in the Ordeal. He needs to see the healer.”
Kornach came over and took Morak from Aleron. Morak said, “Thank you, father.”
Kornach stopped. “Do not mention it,” he said.
Krya came up to Aleron. She hugged him. She asked, “Did you find what you wanted to know?”
“Yes, but I found something more important. It is good to know oneself, but I was letting my doubt control me.”
“I could have told you that,” she said.
“You tried.”
“Keeping you from being a fool is what I am here for.”
“Yes, let’s go check on Morak.”
© January 2023, Matthew Ilseman
Matthew Ilseman was born in Texas and lives in Colorado. His work has appeared previously in Swords & Sorcery.