10: Great - A Priest

He saw a light – bright and yellow against the insides of his eyelids – and he scrunched up his face to try and block it out.

“Try not to move, my ward.”

The voice was deep and calming. Somon relaxed a little. He tried to open his eyes, but it was like they were glued shut.

“Who… what…” Speaking hurt his throat and burned his chest. Why did his chest hurt?

“Shh… don’t try to speak. My name is Faaral. Can you remember that?”

“Faa… raa…”

“Shh. Sleep now.”

Somon sank backwards into darkness.

Some time later, he woke. The yellow glare was still there, but he could open his eyes now. The glare seemed to be coming from a hand that was being held in front of his fact. As he watched, the glare faded and the hand became just a normal hand.

The hand belonged to an old man with deep blue eyes.

“Faaral…” said Somon. The old man smiled.

“You remember.”

“Yes. Did you…”

“Not me, ward. It was the Master who healed you. I am merely his instrument.”

Great, thought Somon. A priest.

“You had taken a great wound. But through the grace of the Master, you are nearly as good as new.”

“Right. Okay. Well, thanks… unto the Master, or something.”

Faaral stared at him with those bright, piercing blue eyes, a slight smile touching the corners of his mouth.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” he asked.

“One of who?”

“Upraised. You’re Upraised.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Somon replied. “The Upraised are a fairy story – a children’s tale.”

“Many children’s tales have their origins in truth.”

“Not this one.”

“The Upraised destroyed the world.” Faaral’s expression had not changed – that piercing stare, that enigmatic smile.

“And yet, here we are,” Somon replied, looking around the room. It was a small room, sparsely furnished with a small dresser and wardrobe, and the bed he was lying in which he was now realising was quite hard.

“If you’re one of them, they will have to kill you.”

“I’d like to see them try.”

“I ought to kill you myself.”

Somon lifted himself half off the bed, his face within inches of Faaral’s. “I’d like to see you try.”

Faaral didn’t flinch. Somon held his eyes for a moment, then relaxed, letting his head fall back to the pillow. He winced. It felt like he had been run through. Which, clearly, he had.

“Where are we, anyway?” he asked.

Faaral turned away, started collecting and wrapping some surgical instruments that were on a side table.

“Under the church,” he replied. “In my chambers. The guards thought you were dead, so they asked me to deal with your body.”

“But I wasn’t dead.”

“Very close. I knew the Master would heal you.”

“I’m grateful, truly. Where is my sword? For that matter, where are my clothes?” He had finally noticed that he was dressed in a simple white robe, of the same style that Faaral was wearing.

“I had to burn your clothes,” Faaral replied.

“Okay. Why?”

“I was ordered to.”

“By whom?”

“By the Captain of the Guard, of course. And you should think yourself lucky that he never suspected that you were Upraised, or he would have ensured you were dead by having your body burned as well.”

Somon carefully sat up and swung his legs to the floor. It hurt to move, but not as much as he had expected. He put a hand to his chest, felt the tender scar. It was about eight inches long. Whoever it was had run him through was using a hell of a weapon.

“I need to go. Do you have anything else I can wear?”

Faaral, finishing up wrapping his instruments, went to the wardrobe. Opening it revealed several sets of identical white robes.

“I am a priest, my ward. What need have I for fancy clothes?”

“I see. And where is my sword, again?”

“You should stay here.”

Somon stood and took several steps towards the priest, with his finest menacing expression on his face.

“Where. Is. My. Sword?”

Faaral didn’t flinch. “The Captain has it, of course. For some reason he thought it was interesting. And you can’t intimidate me. I am under the protection of the Master.”

Somon turned away and headed for the door. If this is locked, he thought, it would ruin a dramatic exit.

Fortunately for his exit it wasn’t. He threw it open and looked out into a corridor stretching to his right and his left. Ignoring the doors on his left, he headed for the stairs to his right. The stairs led up to the main level of the church, where a few people had gathered for prayers. In a very unpriestly manner he stormed through the nave and out into the street, where he stood in his priest’s robes. The sun was very bright.

The Captain of the Guard. That was the person he needed to find. And kill.