Chapter 23: Self

They were informed of the coming test a week to its arrival: The Test of self.

No information was given, not a single detail was offered by anyone. The older children claimed it was different for each person. But one thing they all had in common was the fact that they all seemed reluctant to talk of it, and always seemed saddened by the memory it seemed to summon.

Priestess Emeril had added a new regime to their training with the introduction of throwing knives. She hung a piece of wood from a high point and let it dangle, expecting them to hit the mark on the wood. As expected Sethlzaar proved himself the best, hitting the mark more times than his brothers.

"Do not strike at where it is, but at where it will be," she told them. It was similar to what Father Karnamis had taught them in hunting animals in the wild. They weren't always in place when hunted. Sometimes they would have to chase their prey and put it down. But he never mentioned anything about an animal charging at you.

Sethlzaar found he liked the lessons most. Not only because he was good with the bow, but he found he enjoyed Emeril's presence. Her fiery red hair was a dazzle whenever she chose to join them in target practice every once in a while. It flowed in the wind when she breathed before her shots. He found himself amazed by her, and more motivated by her smile than any other form of motivation offered by the other priests.

The test took place on the morning of Figsahel and, like every other test, they understood that those who failed would have to leave the seminary with whatever belongings they had brought to it. It meant they had to leave with nothing but the cloths on their back. It was a knowledge that haunted them as Father Antuas led them into a hallway.

"Remember what I told you," he said soothingly. "There is no preparation for this test. Some will pass, and some will fail. But it does not define who you are as a person. This test defines if you are a priest or not. It does not define you as less than one."

Although it was said to ease their nerves, they were not used to the priests using kind words on them. Thus, it did naught to alleviate their fears, rather it elevated their tension.

"Takaris, you are first. The moment each of you are done you are to return to your quarters." Antuas turned as Takaris walked into the room before them and took his leave.

"What do you think the test is about?" Canabi asked.

"Maybe you get to fight one of the masters," Tamael offered.

Soartin snorted. "Not possible. That is something that can be prepared for. They said it cannot be prepared for."

Narvi flipped his medallion along his fingers as he sat against a wall in silence. Sethlzaar, finding himself worrying about the test, hummed a familiar tune to himself. It was one the old man had hummed incessantly during the winter test. And while he hadn't cared much for it, at some point it had come to calm him. Thus, it calmed him now.

"What are you humming?"

Sethlzaar looked up. Alsipin was squatted before him, watching in what seemed to be amazement. Something about the way he looked at him made Sethlzaar squirm at the attention. His hum slowly died out.

"I heard it once," he replied shyly.

"From where?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe when I was littler."

He wondered at if he would have been able to spin a lie if he had said the words. He had put no serious thought into why he hadn't said them. The reason was simple. The words almost seemed, in itself, a prophecy: a heathen superstition; for only the dead knew the end.

And yet, the church bore its own prophecy. Dregor Ner Nurel had prophesied in his old age as he succumbed to the poison of a touched. It is said that so great was his faith that he reached from the corruption of the touched to reveal a future only the dead should see.

Sethlzaar was not Alsipin that he would so comfortably speak of the heathen ways with ease. Although the boy's tales were mostly of the touched.

"Do you know the words?" There was hope in Alsipin's voice and Sethlzaar almost felt bad at the thought of dashing them.

"No," he said.

"Oh..." Alsipin failed to keep the sadness from his voice. "It's alright. My grandma used to hum it to me when I was a child but wouldn't tell me the words. It was said that she was the only one who knew them."

"Maybe one day you'll get the chance to ask her again..." ... Although not as her grand-son.

Alsipin shook his head. "She died shortly before I came to the seminary. It was her last request of me. Everyone objected, but I loved her too much not to obey."

Sethlzaar found his gaze wandering to where Canabi and Soartin sat. "We do the craziest things for the ones we love."

Alsipin remained beside him in silence, waiting as they all did for Takaris to come out. Omage placed his ear to the door in an attempt to listen in on whatever was going on behind it but came up empty.

Sethlzaar's mind fell back to the old man. Without really meaning to, he hummed, and his mind sang along.

A man, a king, a god called Chance.

He fought a war and lost but once.

He waged a war with gods aplenty,

He held his sword abreast, and wary.

With luck but gone, and chances lost,

He stood his ground to slay a god.

As man immortal with naught to gain,

He lost his men and watched in pain.

Upon his throne razed in shadows,

He sat smiling in death's calm throes.

He lost before but don't dismay,

He treads a path back down this way.

So when asked why we wait and hum,

We wait an immortal king's return.

With foes and friends and all our kin,

We stand and wait the uncrowned king...

He felt an odd calm, calmer than that which the hum had given him. It was always the way with the words. They calmed him during the winter cold, hunting prey. They calmed him now. He thought of the old man; of his croaked voice; of how he clapped without harmony; of a voice not meant to sing. His didn't calm him as much as the old man's.

Sethlzaar noted that though Alsipin always told tales of the touched and of his people, he never spoke directly of his family, as if he preferred to keep their memories sacredly locked away in the recess of his mind. It was part of the reason he never spoke of Fen. Even to Saelin.

He couldn't help but feel a touch of kinship with Alsipin in some way.

Moments later the door opened, and a man in a black hooded cassock stepped out. He called Tamael into the room. Tamael rose promptly and made his way inside, but not before everyone noted the fear on his face.

Takaris has not come out, Sethlzaar noted. Will he ever come out?

After a long wait, Sethlzaar, Narvi, Alsipin, Cenam and Omage were left waiting in the hallway. Sethlzaar wondered if the wait was part of the test. Everyone seemed too tired and too tense for the test as they sat but, for some reason, Cenam kept a determined look on his face all through.

When Alsipin was called, he rose from his position beside Sethlzaar where he had stayed from the very beginning and whispered loud enough for him to hear.

"Wish me luck."

After, Sethlzaar sat alone in the dark hallway as night fell. He was the last of his brothers. The midday meal they had expected to be fed had never come. It had left them believing the hunger part of the test. It did not exempt the possibility that they were merely forgotten.

Eventually, Sethlzaar's turn came.

As he walked past the hooded man he thought he saw an empty eye socket, and simple flesh where his nose was meant to be.

It's just a test, one you cannot prepare for, he reminded himself as he walked through the door.

"Sit," an elderly woman he recognized as the Abbess of the convent instructed from her seated position on an elevated platform.

Beside her was an elderly man in a cassock. Beside him another woman of elderly age sat. All of them were weathered from age, their skins seeming almost leathery, a sign that most of their lives had been spent out in the open.

To Sethlzaar's left stood Father Ordan. To the right, Priestess Emeril stood as Sethlzaar sat. The cloaked man remained at the door. Sethlzaar took a seat, wondering what exactly was going on; the faces before him were entirely alien to him save the Abbess.

"Canvassing the area," the Abbess said with a cheerful smile. "You seminarians never change. For the short moment that you will be here with us, it will do you a lot of good not to lie. After all, Truth is the foundation on which the credence is built."

"Undertaking this test is optional," the elderly man said almost immediately. "If you choose not to undertake it, you forfeit and will have to leave come sunrise..."

...Very tempting offer, Sethlzaar thought ironically as the man continued.

"You may not return from this test complete if you choose to undertake it. Some of your mates have, sadly, already been rendered mentally incapable of continuing with life... If you choose to continue, all you need do is nod."

Sethlzaar nodded.

"Good. Let us begin."

The second woman took a deep breath, a tired breath. "I believe the Fathers have been teaching you the history of this seminary," she stated blandly.

This seminary, Sethlzaar noted.

"Yes Ma'am," he replied. His mind was present but not on his examiners. Something else held his cognitive ability. He could understand Father Ordan's presence in the room, but he could not fathom of what use Priestess Emeril's presence was. She had never been present in any of the tests, and had no direct connection with his mates save her teachings of the bow.

His attention shifted to something else. The room felt surprisingly heavy, and the air humid. He looked down. Mist covered the ground, and he wondered how it had taken him so long to realize this.

"What is your favorite story of this seminary's history?" the second woman asked without preamble. She seemed bored of everything, pulling through from a sheer will of duty.

Again with the this, Sethlzaar thought.

His mind ran through the different tales of the seminary he could remember. He thought of Dregor Ner Nurel, the first monsignor, down to the present. Although he knew he didn't have to. He always found himself drawn to one tale in particular.

"The story of Father Forn," he said.

The woman looked at him, confused. "Which one is that?"

"The battle of Tarc."

The tale was not about Father Forn, but he was mentioned a few times in it. In the brief period Father Forn was mentioned in the story he had served under a sister of the church who went on to become the first priestess of the convent. It was by her that the sisters trained in the knowledge of wars, and underwent tests such as that which helped him see Saelin again.

In her last campaign in the name of the church, she had been captured by the tarcs. When she was presumed dead, Forn broke rank. He stormed the tarc camp alone, slaughtering everyone who stood in his way to save her. The story tells that he struck down some of his fellow priests who tried to stop him and—upon his return with her—was executed by the church.

"How did you pass the test of the lost?" the woman asked a quiet moment later.

The question took Sethlzaar by surprise and he found himself contemplating the possible consequence of his answer. He opened his mouth to speak. The elderly man spoke first.

"I would advise you not to lie to us."

Sethlzaar closed his mouth. He found himself gripped by a new fear. How much do they know?

He wondered if they knew what had happened during the test, or simply knew he was about to lie. He found himself worrying more about the old man than himself. If they knew enough he might fail. If they knew too much, the old man would be in trouble.

"I do not know, Father," he answered. "I just kept walking." It was not the entire truth, but there was no lie in it.

The old woman grunted incomprehensibly. "Father Ordan shows a certain disdain towards you." She flicked a hand towards Ordan nonchalantly. "Do you hate him for how he has treated you?"

"He is required to teach children that he does not know. I believe that would prove difficult for any man such as he under those circumstances."

"So you know what kind of man he is?"

Sethlzaar paused. "Yes." There was no point in calling back the error he had made. The test called for truth not accuracy.

"I see," the elderly man mused.

"Let's talk about brother, Frent," the woman came back to the questions.

They know, Sethlzaar panicked. Monsignor Shrowl said the discussion would not leave his chambers, but all of them know. Consciously he looked at Emeril. She seemed puzzled by the question. Realization dawned on him. She doesn't know.

When he looked back to those who sat before him, he found himself regretting the action. They had noted it and were sure to use it against him.

"Tell us what became of brother Frent," the elderly woman said casually, as if asking a child about his meal.

Sethlzaar turned to the Abbess. She looked bored, but calm, like she had better places to be. She turned to him, as if sensing his attention on her. Her eyes were a mildly bright green. In it he saw curiosity, but there was no recognition. No real interest.

His memory found his final night with Frent. When he'd performed the act he had been calm. When he'd narrated it in the Monsignor's room he had been calm. Now, he found himself unable to narrate the tale in the room. It only took him a moment to discover why. Priestess Emeril.

Like clockwork the wheels in his head turned. It put everything in place. This is all part of their plan. They set this in motion. That's why she's here. That's why she's fucking here!

The guilt was weak, and slowly his anger consumed it. Its rage directed at them. He did his best to keep it from his voice when he spoke. He narrated the events of what had transpired, making an effort not to look at Emeril.

He didn't believe he could handle her disappointment.

When he was done the Abbess turned to him, affording him attention for the first time. Her smile was mischievous, playful, impish. It reminded Sethlzaar of a snake he'd seen once. It made him wary.

"Did you notice our friend by the door?" she asked cheerfully, the smile still on her face, as if she did not comprehend exactly what her colleague had just made him do.

Sethlzaar hated her smile but found, unlike the other two, he couldn't hate her for it. He wondered what expression his face displayed to give him away when she said, "He's nice if you get to know him. It's not his fault he looks that way."

The other woman spoke up. "Why did you do it?"

Sethlzaar paused. "Because I had to," he answered after a while. "It was him or her."

"Was it?" she asked with a hint of insinuation in her voice. "Or was it simply an excuse to kill a brother, Brother Sorlan."

Sethlzaar gave no response.

The old man spoke next. "Did you enjoy it?" His voice wasn't loud, but it was accusatory. "Did you take satisfaction in besting you brother; in killing him?"

"No!" Sethlzaar said hotly. His rage had decided Frent suffer, but he had felt nothing in his actions, not even the satisfaction of watching Frent suffer. "He died with a smile. He died with a fucking smile!"

A profound silence fell. His throat hurt, and he realized he'd been shouting.

The Abbess leaned forward, seeming intrigued. Seeming interested. Like a cloud with new lightning. "Did you dislike it?"

The surprising calm he'd felt then washed over him now. Did I dislike it? he wondered and answered himself. "... No."

"If you had the chance, what would you have done differently?"

Wasted less arrows, he thought, made him drown in his own blood... "I'm not sure," he said honestly, "I know I would've done something differently. But I'm not sure if it would have been better or worse."

It was all about how the truth was presented. Depending on how it was obscured, the relevant aspects could be comfortably hidden.

The old man sighed, as one would with wasted time. "You may leave."

Sethlzaar rose from his seat and the man pointed a finger at the door beside Emeril. He made his way to it, making sure to keep his eyes away from her.

"Sethlzaar Vi Sorlan."

He stopped, compelled by the oddity of his full name. It had been years since he'd been addressed by it. To him it felt like a life time ago. It hardly felt like his name now, it felt like a name belonging to someone else. He turned, nonetheless. He stood right beside Emeril but kept his gaze from her.

Is this the test? he asked himself. Is this why it is called the test of self? He spared the mist that covered the ground a glance. Then what was your purpose?

"Valerik Sorlan is deathly ill," the old man said, his voice betraying no emotion. "He is not long for this world."

Emeril stiffened beside him. Maybe she doesn't hate me ... too much.

He remembered the lack of emotion on Valerik's face during their journey. He understood now that there had been no peace in the man's life.

He remembered the priest's words. "Most of us think we are, in the beginning... We are wrong."

It was a while before he answered. "Then may he find peace in Truth..." ...A peace the seminary couldn't give him.

The old man gave no reaction. The old woman frowned. The Abbess' smile widened, and her eyes grew brighter. Sethlzaar wondered if he was the only one who saw them. They reminded him of Saelin.

And with that, and his head held straight, he walked through the door, refocusing his mind on what was now important.

Food.