Part One
Part Three

DISCLAIMER: the events and the characters mentioned in this story are the product of the author’s imagination.

He observed the room again. So silent it was. His neighbor Torret, pious, honest, and well-versed man, was still absent. He would make a great high priest one day, at least Agenit would vote for him. No one can be more genuine, knowledgeable, or honorable than Torret. Definitely not him—man chuckled silently.

He took the last peek through the window, observing the chanting, swaying crowd, running kids, stumbling, laughing, crying, a somber procession moving towards the earth temple—someone’s funeral, no doubt… The distant sea waters were shimmering cold and bright, resembling a wide silver bracelet, thrown loosely at the place where the sands meet the horizon, reflecting the blinding sunrays…

A black feather slowly swirled down, as if falling from the clear, sizzling skies—straight from nowhere. Agenit blinked and headed towards his bed, falling down on the cool sheets.

His sacred lamp, composed of three divine metals, was burning steadily, placed on the bedside table among the paper rolls. They were taught that these metals represented the three kinds of fire: iron was an earthy fire, gold—a festive flame or sunray, and tin stood for a spiritual blaze. He should have cleared some space for his lamp, sure, put rolls in order, but a heavy laziness started to overcome him.

The lamp’s fire should never be put away. It was a representation of his vocation as a priest; it was a living, acting, undisturbed prayer to the Rogterr, which secured his guidance and protection. It would be extinguished only at the moment of his death… Or if he left the temple, which meant the same. The fire suddenly rose and jumped upwards.

The man laughed shortly to himself. You see? He is not made for being a priest, the divine Father knows it perfectly, sees him through in his highest wisdom.

Sure, Agenit was born under the sign of a warrior, in the month of high fires, conceived in chaos. On the day of his birth, all three Moons were aligned, forming the resemblance of a crown. Which happened quite rarely, actually. Because of this, the members of the fire order believed him to become their leader, a High Priest, and with time rule over Aridia, as part of a sacred council represented by high priests of all four elemental deities.

In truth, he was quite gifted, but had a completely wrong personality for becoming a priest—too exuberant, too brave, too independent. He wanted to fight in battles, build his own home, probably have a wife one day, if she won’t interfere much. Adventures! This word made his heart beat faster.

He’d travel this world all over. He would see all lands and their curiosities. He would never rest until his inner fire would be extinguished and his body would be but an empty cocoon, incinerated to ashes.

The fragrance of flowers in bloom, heavy and oppressing in such weather, made his head go round. Agenit loved the heat but was too dizzy already to adjust his body to it, so it started to overwhelm him. He’d go to the seashore and swim as far as he could see in the warm, clear waters. Later, he would dive deep and lie still in the depths, watching the sun mysteriously glow through the water layers, its light interrupted only by the motley schools of small fish. Ah, the refreshing coolness of sea waves. The man stretched out in his bed, dreaming.

There was another issue with this hypothetical “crown and might” notion—he was lowborn. No, his mother was a revered wise woman, and in normal circumstances, he would be respected as well, as her child, even though never taught or admitted to magic. But Agenit was a child of the war, a bastard, knowing nothing of his father, except that he was a Delvian soldier, who raped his mother. Delvian…

They called him that all his life. His very reflection told him so every morning. He inherited these sharp face features and black hair from his father, and wore it as a branded sign of shame. Not once did he wish that someone would break his nose in a fight. Shaving his head bald was another option. As a child, he often imagined dyeing his hair in the sun rays, so they lost their color; some women did that. But with time, Agenit learned to accept what he was.

Nonetheless, can you imagine a person looking like him entering the council? Walking apparition of their worst overseas enemy?

He bit his lip, still watching the dancing, restless movement of the flame. The music fell silent. Now he heard only the occasional bursts of laughter from the street, just under his window. “Neophytes having a break,” crossed his mind.

He often thought of joining the mages guild. They’ll accept him for sure with his talent and expertise. Then he’ll be under their protection and can quit the priesthood without the risk of being killed. They also had fewer oaths and rules, except for sticking for each other and taking part in increasing the overall magical knowledge. Moreover, the mages… They are way freer in their ways. He planned to join them for a long time already, he just waited for the right moment to do that… But this moment never actually came… Even now, he is putting off the final decision.

The movements of fire entranced him, lulling his mind, together with the insistent chirping and young voices coming out from the quarter’s garden. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, for a couple of minutes; he had some time before the next ceremony… Just for a minute, so that he could consider this change with a fresher mind. Maybe it’s time…

© MarvellousNightmare on Coconut Doesn’t Exist

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