What Was Forgotten Read online

  Chapter 2

  Autumn had shown Lycernum little sunlight, but on the morning that Osmun Arus was summoned to the great Xidian Cathedral, the sun rose over the Whitewing Mountains unobstructed by clouds. Osmun accepted it as the clear omen it was. The Beacon had blessed him with divine sight, and he would finally be recognized for his great ability. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was officially granted the title of cleric. There were few who had the gift of divine sight, and no one who could manipulate it as he could. It was because his faith was stronger; Xidius Lycern Ryfe, the Dispeller of Darkness, the Founder of the Faith, the Beacon himself, could see into Osmun’s heart and could see that he was a truer disciple than any other. It was the reason that Osmun was about to be the youngest priest made cleric in the long history of the Xidian Church.

  Osmun lived and studied in a small monastery in Lycernum, the great capital of the Empire, and every morning at sunrise he walked the streets of the city, hands clasped behind his back. It was the same route every day; from the monastery through Garrend’s Gate, where he would bow his head respectfully to the stone likeness of the great Garrend Vellix, one of the heroes of the Dominion War. Through the gate were the slums, where even the poorest of the city deferred respectfully to any man wearing the yellow-trimmed robes of white, a sun emblazoned over the heart. From there he walked past the mills and bake-houses and was invigorated by the smell of burning wood and fresh bread. Almost daily he would buy a ractha, an especially delicious bread roll from Tumanger Toron, an Ivesian immigrant to the capital.

  The near-endless stalls of the market vendors would be next, many of them either still closed at the early hour or just opening up. He would make his way downhill then, as he did this morning, to the harbour. Osmun liked that there was always activity here, the one part of the city that never ceased, as if it was to the city as the heart was to the body. And if that were so, then the Cathedral surely would be the city’s soul. It was where he went next, and to the tremendous monument to the Beacon in the great open square in front of it. Half as tall as the Cathedral’s bell tower which dominated the cityscape, the monument was of Xidius himself holding a fiery sphere – the sun –– in his palm, a reminder that he was the light and the way to it. In his other hand, a sword, a reminder of a different sort; everlasting vigilance was needed against the enemies of the faith and the Empire. The monument had stood for so long, had even survived the destruction during Ivesian Storming of Lycernum, that most of its defining features had worn away. The Empire was centuries removed from when the carving was new, and its true appearance was lost to legend. Osmun thought it was more appropriate, for how does a sculptor, no matter how skilled, recreate the face of God?

  From the foot of the monument, one could see the Father Whitewing to the north and the Son Whitewing to the south, the two great peaks of the mountains between which Lycernum rested.

  It was said that the body of Xidius Lycern Ryfe was interred atop the Father. Sometimes Osmun wondered if that were true; after he was murdered by the Betrayer, the Beacon’s own disciples had supposedly taken his body to the peak to that he could watch over Lycernum for all of its days, but in the decades and centuries since, none of the pilgrims that climbed the mountain had ever completed the ascent. Many said it was impossible. Perhaps Ryfe’s disciples knew of a way and kept it secret so that the tomb would remain undisturbed.

  Osmun whispered a prayer to himself as he knelt before the monument. The twenty-four years of his life had led him to this moment. He rose to his feet, clasped his hands behind his back once again, and walked purposefully towards the Cathedral. He had never felt such unyielding anticipation. The sounds of the awakening city were dulled by the beating of his heart. So fixated was he on what was to come that he did not see the hooded figure approach, only turning when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Orry?” Osmun said, stupefied. Oridas Ruhla smiled and gave a slight nod. “Orry, by the Beacon, how long has it been? Three years?”

  “Four, though it has felt far longer.” Time looked like it had aged Osmun’s friend far quicker than normal. Orry’s hair was black, combed back behind his ears, reaching to the base of his neck, and his thin beard that covered his cheeks and chin was almost entirely grey. It was in his eyes, though, where Osmun saw the youth and wonder his friend had once possessed had been replaced by something else, something cold… the look of a hunter after prey.

  “I knew I would see you again, but I worried it would not be until we were both old men, our duties to the faith fulfilled.”

  “I was in the border provinces for a time, as I believe you were as well. Then I was in Falkir.”

  “You’ve returned from Falkir?” Osmun’s mouth hung open. “So that means…”

  Orry nodded. “That I’m one of the Ardent now, yes.” Osmun gave his friend a smile, formed both of happiness and disappointment. The Ardent were the church’s soldiers, secretive warriors who hunted down enemies of the faith at the order of the church leadership. The wild region of the Falkir Valley was their proving ground, a place where many eager candidates had died.

  Much of the time the enemies of the faith were found in the heart of Ryferia, so the Ardent worked in the shadows or while hiding in plain sight; they wore nothing to signify what they were save for the brands that were seared onto their wrists, though it was said they could convince anyone of their position by show of force.

  “So when mothers tuck in their children at night and tell them to behave lest the Ardent take them away, they’ll be speaking of you now as well,” Osmun said.

  Orry laughed. “Yes, I imagine so.”

  “Why are you here now? Am I…wait, Orry…”

  Osmun’s old friend laughed harder. “No, no. By the Beacon... I came because I know that your trial is today and I wanted to wish you luck. I always knew you were meant for great things. The blessings that Xidius has given you… You will lead the church, one day. I’m sure of it.”

  “I hope so, if only so that our paths converge once more.”

  Orry returned the half-sad smile to Osmun, acknowledging what they both now understood: that it might be years, or even decades, before that happened. What would their friendship mean at that point? They grew up together, but what value would that hold when they will have spent vastly more time apart than together?

  Without speaking another word, Oridas hugged Osmun tightly, patted him on the shoulders, and walked away, swallowed up into the morning crowds. Osmun looked up at the building looming over him.The Cathedral’s bell tower seemed to gaze down upon him as he pushed open the heavy iron doors and walked inside.

  There were scores of candles, torches, and braziers lit inside the Cathedral, making it nearly as bright inside as it was outside on a clear day. Tall, wide windows high above also helped flood the chapel with light. It was so expertly engineered that the image of the Xidian sun in the immaculate marble floor seemed to radiate its own light. Even the stone pillars seemed unable to cast a single shadow in the beauty of this place.

  On the stage where the sermons were preached daily was the sun altar, and beside it was the Eternal Flame, the candle that was lit from another, and going back thusly all the way to the very creation of the faith.

  “Ah, Osmun! You’ve come.” Cleric Egus looked up from the lectern, his eyes squinting to see all the way to the Cathedral entrance. “That is Osmun, yes?” The old man scratched his bald head and then rubbed his eyes.

  “Yes, Cleric Egus. I have come as you asked.”

  “Good, good! Please, forgive me… my sight is not what it used to be.” Egus rubbed his eyes again and stepped off of the stage. “It will not be long before I can no longer read the scriptures. What a sad day that will be, though I suppose such things are inevitable.” Egus waved Osmun forward. “Come, come, young man. Pray with me.”

  They stood before the sun altar and prayed silently. Egus kept his head bowed and eyes closed for far longer than Osmun did, but the young priest kept his he
ad bowed and waited for the old man to speak first. Osmun eyed the Eternal Flame and noticed it flicker almost down to nothing. Egus lifted his head.

  “Are you ready, Osmun?”

  “I am. I saw it flicker, Cleric Egus.” Osmun pointed to the Eternal Flame. “Do we need to move it somewhere safer?”

  “This place is old and drafty. Not to worry.”

  “But the Flame might go out.”

  Egus smiled at the naivety of the young priest. “The Flame? Oh, my dear Osmun, the Flame has gone out many times. Don’t be concerned. I know the Tenet of the Eternal Flame is a holy one…”

  “‘The light of Xidius will be a Beacon, unending, a flame that survives all things,’” Osmun recited.

  Egus began to walk and motioned Osmun to follow. “Too humourless of a reading, I fear. The instruction was not for us to keep a flame lit for all eternity. Such an endeavour would be bound to fail. Let the historians make such an attempt. They have much more time to tend to such things.” Egus laughed. “The flame is the one in here.” The cleric tapped his chest. “This is the fire which must remain lit. Here is where we fight evil, where the battles against the darkness are won and lost. Xidius taught his followers to be vigilant, always vigilant. The fire inside allows us to drive the darkness from this world.”

  Osmun put his hand to his chest and looked back at the flame before the altar, drawing connections between the symbolism of the Tenet and the intangible aspects within him.

  “You have a question,” Egus said.

  “Just a thought.”

  “Thoughts and ideas can be a valuable currency.”

  Osmun stopped walking so he could form his thoughts into a phrase less impious than he felt it was. “Can our flame within also flicker and die?”

  Egus tilted his head and continued walking, nodding as he spoke. “It is the telltale mark of wisdom to look into poetry and metaphor and discern the truth of our nature. Well done, Osmun. Yes, the light within will flicker and become dim. You will be tested, and you will fail. Perhaps you may feel as though your light, your strength, has gone out completely.” A look of sadness flashed across the cleric’s face, a memory of some great sadness or terror. Osmun almost pried, but remained silent.

  “As long as you are in the light of the Beacon, He will give you strength,” Egus said, smiling again. “Have you prepared for your trial?”

  The offhanded nature of the question surprised Osmun. Did Egus not take the trials seriously? Or did he think that Osmun would not succeed? Surely Egus had heard of his exploits. He had not only communed with malign spirits of the Beyond, he had commanded them. Like the Beacon. He had spent a year campaigning with General Cassurus’ army in their war against the Dramandi. After the fall of Altyri, the soldiers had been too fearful to sack the temples because of the presences that could be felt there. Osmun had driven the spirits from the place, and he had done so alone, a feat that few others could claim. What was more, he had done so with relative ease. Cleric Lavus, a veteran of many campaigns and a high-ranking member of the Assembly of Elders, had been unable to seal the rift to the Beyond through which the spirits were able to pollute this world.

  Osmun had done it in a scant few hours. He recalled the sensation; communing was like being thrust deep underwater, into total darkness. This was not the Beyond; it was like a meeting ground between their world and the black despair of the Beyond that men were fortunate enough not to see. They called the meeting ground the silhouette, the place where the priests and clerics fought against the darkness. Combating the spirits in the silhouette was like being surrounded by a mass of entities with countless voices. It never was like talking to just one individual. The energy of the spirits hardly stayed still, rushing around like dust whipped up in a sandstorm. It seemed sometimes that they were aimless, as though they were fumbling in the dark of their own damnation. Osmun knew it was only the sensation, though. When the spirits of the Beyond seeped into this world, they haunted and tainted the living, driving them to evil and blasphemy. And these Dramandi actually worshipped the darkness. The young priest shook his head at the perversion. The sinners deserved the cleansing that they had received.

  “Has Cleric Andrican already returned from Yasri?” Osmun asked.

  “Two nights ago.”

  “Should the trial not wait? Surely he must be weary from such a lengthy travel.” Osmun hoped he was, and that he would not attend the trial; Cleric Andrican had a reputation as an obstacle to those he saw as potential threats to his own position.

  “Andrican has been anticipating your trial for quite some time. He is eager to begin. Afterward he will likely tell us about the fall of Yasri and the wondrous relics they found there. He does like to prattle on, you know.”

  Osmun had heard about the relics. Most of Lycernum had. Particularly the monolith made of pure gold unearthed from Dramandi holy ground. The army had worked for nearly two weeks continuously, day and night, to remove it from the earth.

  “I think it unwise to bring such unholy remnants here.”

  “I had the same thought,” Egus said. “However, Andrican was able to determine quite quickly that the monolith is not Dramandi.”

  “It’s not? What was it doing in their temple?”

  Egus smiled and shrugged. “Andrican said there are images and writings carved into it in a language he has never seen. Whatever it is, it seems it was buried long before the Dramandi built their great city on top of it.”

  The two men walked from the hall of the Great Cathedral, through several small cloisters, and down a long hallway. Osmun felt a chill despite the dozens of torches that kept the hallways brightly lit. They turned into the Cathedral’s library, a large room which was sparing in everything but shelf after shelf of books on every subject Osmun could imagine, though they were not the books written by the historians, the records of dozens of cultures that had been defeated and erased by the Empire.

  Daylight poured through tall, opaque windows, keeping the library illuminated through all daylight hours. Osmun was always awestruck by the sheer amount of knowledge that had been amassed in this one place. This day was no different, and as he marveled once again at the countless pages that surrounded him, he nearly failed to notice Egus produce a small iron key from his robes.

  “This way.”

  Egus walked between two stacks that jutted out from the wall opposite the windows to a small iron door that Osmun had never noticed before. It was in the wall parallel to the stacks; one would have to walk all the way to the wall in order to see it. Even then, in the half-darkness between the tall, densely-packed shelves, it looked more like a faded tapestry hanging on the wall than anything else.

  The door opened inward without a sound, revealing a steep and narrow staircase going down. Osmun followed Egus into the sparsely lit corridor. The stairs descended for a long way, and Osmun could only see the faint silhouette of Egus in front of him from the light that flickered at the bottom of the steps.

  “We’ve always had the trials down here,” Egus said, breaking the silence.

  “What do you keep down here?” Osmun asked.

  Egus slowed his step just barely before answering, “The most dangerous of things.”

  There was another iron door at the bottom of the stairs, which Egus opened with the same key. Osmun noted the unusual sequence of turns and counter-turns need to release the lock. Cleric Andrican stood waiting for them as the door opened.

  “Welcome, Cleric Egus… Brother Osmun…”

  The young priest almost did not notice Andrican at all. Instead his eyes fixed on the massive chest in the middle of the otherwise empty room. It looked as though it was composed almost entirely of steel, though the engravings of scripture into every inch of metal gave the container a sort of elegance. Andrican stepped between Osmun and the chest. “Brother Osmun?”

  “Yes, Cleric Andrican. Forgive me. Welcome back to Lycernum.”

  “Thank you, Brother Osmun. Cleric Egus has told me much of you. I have l
ooked forward to helping oversee your trial. Very much so. I often wondered how you would have fared in one of the many Dramandi temples I cleansed.”

  “I would have done what was necessary.”

  “Is that so?” Andrican asked, his tone more inquisitive than doubtful.

  “I do believe… I know I would have. You may have heard of my successes in Altyri, although, now that the campaign is nearly ended, I’ll not have another chance to show you firsthand.”

  “You may yet.” Andrican motioned for Osmun to sit in front of the chest. He and Egus sat on either side, facing each other. It was then that Osmun noticed the walls of the room; the walls had looked at first glance like stone, however in the flickering torchlight Osmun could see now that they were massive panels of iron.

  “Before we begin, you must swear to us, to yourself, and to the Beacon that you will not discuss anything that takes place here, in this room. The events of your trial are and shall be forever something which is never discussed with anyone, inside or outside of the church. Not other clerics, not the elders. Not even the emperor, should you meet him one day.”

  “I understand,” Osmun said.

  “Swear it.”

  “I swear by the Beacon.” Osmun looked Andrican directly in the eye as he spoke, until he was certain the cleric was convinced of his sincerity.

  “Good. Now, you are going to perform a cleansing,” Andrican said. “Ready yourself.”

  Osmun nearly laughed. “You mean to say there is darkness here? On holy ground?”

  “Not exactly,” Egus said. “We are going to bring the darkness in.”

  Osmun was stunned. “You’re going to… create a rift to the Beyond?”

  Andrican nodded towards the chest. “This contains sacred relics taken from the Dramandi temples. The historians will soon take possession of them, but we are using them now for your trial. The holy aspects of the relics should draw forth some strong spirits… it will be up to you, Osmun, to drive them out and repair the breach.”