Chapter 2:

     Drool hung from Matthias’s lips like a cat desperately clinging to a tree branch. As he breathed in and out, it twitched and wobbled on the edge of falling. Another snore came from Matthias and the drool shook more. Then he felt an irritation on his face and his hand instinctively flew to swat it. This collision brought enough force to lower the drool into the puddle made by its brethren. It also pushed his face into the cold, damp sheet where the puddle resided. Matthias woke up startled. His eyes tried to focus as black clouds crawled into his vision.

     Matthias got up from bed and flapped his arms around to find support as he went to his washbasin. He cupped his hands into the day old water and splashed his face with it. A booming headache reigned over his head like a tyrant, its iron fist squeezing his brain. The bells from the temple signaled it was eight in the morning with eight labored rings. At this tremendous sound Matthias’s head started to swirl and he staggered, almost falling. He slammed into the wall to gain balance, but that only added to the pain in his head. He slid down the wall and slumped on the floor. He then scratched his head as a funny feeling crept into his mind.

     It’s eight o’clock. I’m late, again.

     Matthias jolted up frantically only to black out as the blood rushed from out of his head. Pushing away the dark clouds that now covered his eyes, he carefully got up and paced to his clothes drawers. Quickly a tunic, pair of pants, and a robe jumped onto the bed. Matthias dress and hurried to the door grabbing his Ariatha with the notes of this day’s service and prayer beads. Just before he exited his house, he grabbed a crust of bread and stuffed it into his mouth.

     The sun was already high in the sky. His upper body was still except for his wolfing of the bread. His lower body sped him along just under a jog. He was only half finished with his bread when he reached the temple. The bread dropped to the floor nonchalantly and Matthias entered the temple.

     Inside there were thirty or so regulars to the daily prayer and blessing service. When he entered the door, all thirty heads turned to see their sweaty monk, bald scalp glistening even in the candlelight. He flushed red when their eyes fell upon him. He paused in his embarrassment, and then he walked ceremoniously to the altar and tabernacle of the temple. He could feel their eyes on him as he walked toward the center of the temple, but he also could feel their warm smiles forgiving him for his repeated tardiness. He stood at the altar and started the services.

     Matthias cleared his throat, “I would like to welcome all of you here this morning and may the Ancient One bless you.” The people responded and Matthias opened his Ariatha and took out the notes. “And we should all congratulate the Riverbrook family, they just had their second child.” A little cheer went through the temple for the family.

     “Let us all remember the blessings of life that we all have.” Matthias said as he noticed a new comer into the room as Serian took a seat in the back of the temple. He looked groggy with bags under his eyes from a late night. Matthias could not really say much since that was not far from how he looked. “And let us especially give thanks to those who brought us into this blessed world, who endured the pain that brought new life, our mothers.” Matthias could have sworn he saw Serian smile at this. That made him wonder; he had always thought Serian resented his mother.

     “But first, as always, let us give thanks and praise to the Ancient One.” Matthias initiated a prayer of devotion among the people, and then he walked over to the Ariatha.

     He started the rituals of touching the Ariatha and moved on, after the washing of his hands, to the incantations that dispelled the protective prayers on the book. After he finished the incantation, however, nothing happened. Matthias looked at the tabernacle perplexed. He had seldom ever fumbled the prayer before, and even then it was in his first weeks as the Reader. He started the incantation again, but still no sign that the prayer had done a single thing. The people in the temple finished their prayer and looked up at the confused monk staring at the book.

     Matthias looked at the people. His thoughts moved at a frenetic pace. He then resolved to say the prayers of protection. A flash of gold covered the glass dome and the light seemed to harden and surround it. Matthias then said the incantation to release it. The familiar twirl of stars rose and fell around the book. He knew he always said the protection prayer after using the book.

     He then placed a smile on his face and looked at the people again. Serian was gone from the crowd; Matthias would have to do the blessings alone. Asking the sick and those needing blessings to come forward, he went through the service with ease. After the healings and blessings, he looked at the Ariatha and focused as he placed the protection prayers on it.

     The people gathered in the area of the southern doors of the temple to chat about the daily happenings. Matthias approached the crowd to join the conversation like everyday.

     “So this fish is stinking to high heaven. I says to the shop clerk that I would give him two copper coins for it. I mean its edible but its now fresh out of the water you know. And he gets indignant on me. Blabbering about how this fish is ‘worth more than your mother’. Now usually I am a peaceful man, I mean it Brother Matthias I do, but you don’t talk bad about a man’s mother, you don’t. So I tell him to take that fish and…”

     Matthias interrupted, “I know this is a fantastic story Mr. Woliver but I must ask you not to use such language. I might remind you that you are still in the temple.”

     Woliver looked embarrassed for a moment then started to speak again. “Well, let’s just say he was not to happy with what I had to say. But come on, I think I was being charitable just to buy it at all.”

     Mrs. Heng chimed in herself. “Brother Matthias listen to this. So there I am, hanging my washing to dry, minding my own business, when this street rat comes by and steals some of my son’s britches and takes off.”

     “It was that street rat your son.” Woliver said.

     Matthias mediated. “Come now, that was uncalled for Mr. Woliver.”

     “Well actually,” Mrs. Heng said, “It’s true. But Mr. Woliver had to interrupt my amusing story.”

     “Oh, come on. We all know your son’s a no-good street rat.”

     “Come now, that was uncalled for.” Matthias said, “Look we are still in the temple.” He thought for a moment and then spoke again. “Do any of you remember if I said the my usual prayer by the tabernacle yesterday?”

     The people looked at Matthias confused some nodded, most shrugged. “I guess we don’t really pay attention Brother Matthias.”

     “Thanks anyway. Goodbye folks. May the Ancient One bless you.” Matthias said, and then started to walk to the office in the western end of the temple.

Seeing Serian at the service made their altercation prey on Matthias’s mind. Using Michael’s advice, He headed over the Abbess to seek her council. As he walked through the great Abbey, which was more a city than just an abbey, his eyes appreciated the grand work of it. The library of the abbey was to the north to signify the knowledge, to the east were the living quarters of the Abbey to signify compassion, and the soldier’s training area was to the south to signify courage. It was not far to the administration office of the Abbess from the west of the temple. That was Law and Order.

     The Abbess would surely be able to help him in his troubles. She was a learned lady of the order, but was better at dealing with people than her prayers.

     Two knights of the order stopped him at the door. “What is your business here Brother Matthias? You don’t plan to kill the Abbess in an attempt to take her place of power for herself? Or perhaps to control her mind with dark prayers.” The guards started to chuckle.

Matthias smiled at the two men, they knew Matthias but they were bored with protecting that which was never attacked.

     “I am sorry to inform you that those are not my reasons for being here gentlemen.” The guards were keeping their hands in front of their faces in a vain attempt to hide their jest.

     Matthias continued, “But I am here to talk to the Abbess about a personal matter, so if you’ll excuse me…” The guards opened the doors for Matthias with a majestic bow to the Reader. Matthias just shook his head with a broad smile on his face.

     Statues and relics lined the hallways of the building. Men and women of the order scrambled in the daily grind of running the city. Matthias walked up a grand stairway that led to the upper floors of the tall structure.

     He finally made it to the Abbess’s offices. Bookshelves leaned on walls to his left and right. Ancient tomes from all over Halen lined each level of the shelves. The Abbess’s desk of red wood was cluttered with parchments of complaints, levies, taxes, and other affairs of state. Two red wood chairs were placed in front of the desk for visitors and meetings, while a grand chair ornate with velvet cushions and intricate carvings lay behind the desk. Matthias noticed, however, that the chair was empty. He looked towards the back of the room where two windows flanked a door that led to a balcony outside her room.

     She stood at a daunting height, neatly clearing Matthias by a full head. Her pale and wrinkled skin outlined the passage of many years. Tralia’s hands clasped behind her as she gazed across the skyline at the city around the abbey. Her silver eyes took in the flood of images on the horizon. A smile crept onto her face, slipping past her countenance of steel. The Abbess’s hair rolled into a bun that held its form with the help of two pins going through it. Steam rose from a cup of hot tea that sat on a beam that went across the balcony.

     Matthias cleared his throat to get the Abbess’s attention. She turned around to Matthias and set her eyes on his face.

     “Brother Matthias, what brings you here this morning?”

     “Well Abbess,” he replied, “I am here to inquire about my friend Brother Serian. Your decision to deny his study of the power of the language of the Ariatha has troubled him. His behavior and demeanor trouble me.”

     She beckoned for him to sit down at one of the chairs in front of the desk. She also sat down before responding.

     “Brother Matthias, you know the Ariatha, you know the rules, and you know that sort of prayer is forbidden.”

     “I know that but when I talked to him he was detached and resentful. I began to wonder about the good it could do. I could study it myself…”

     “Absolutely not,” The Abbess interrupted. “There are reasons for my decision.” There was a hint of fear that crept out of her voice. He looked puzzled as she shook that fear from herself.

     “Bur why? What are those reasons? Tralia please, tell me.” Matthias asked.

She paused before replying. “Matthias, there are things that are not written in our Holy Ariatha. There are events that are not taught our history. The Ancient One gave us these rules because he knew what would happen if they were broken.

     “Before Serian ever came to me with the idea, before the time of salvation, even before the Era of Ochlocracy there were dissidents who thought like he does, like you might. The truth is this my dear Matthias, power in that magnitude destroyed our ancestors.”

     He absorbed that for a moment the posed a question. “What do you mean, before the Era of Ochlocracy? Is that not the time when the Ancient One created the Halens?”

     “Matthias,” The Abbess grew quiet, “this is something that you must not tell a another soul in the entire Dale.”

     Matthias nodded and she continued. “Before the Era of Ochlocracy, there stood and empire much like our own. The religion, culture, and people lived not unlike we do. They lived in peace. One day, however, they took their prayers, given to them by the Ariatha, and said whatever they wanted. They wished for riches and power. The prayers went against the teachings of the religion, and so instead of healing, they corrupted the soul of the individual who said the words. The people grew evil and envious. They killed each other in massive slaughters; great unholy power laid waste to all they built. Unholy prayer corrupts the soul. To pray for anything that is against the Ariatha, is to anger the Ancient One.”

     Matthias sat back overwhelmed. The tale merged nightmare with reality.

     “That is why the Reader is chosen as the most pious, the most humble in the Abbey. Anyone else, and all Halens would suffer greatly.”

     She stood up and looked out the window. Matthias stood up as well, not moving from in front of the desk. She grabbed her tea and took a long sip from the cup. Her tired, old hands trebling a little.

     “Thanks for the information. I know that you can always help me, and that I shall always be ready to help you. You know I would never let such evil befall this Abbey.”

     The Abbess turned around and looked Matthias in the eyes. “I know that Brother Matthias, and sometimes that scares me most of all.”

     She turned back around to search through her city. Matthias turned around and left the room. He headed to Serian’s home to talk again with his friend.

          *         *         *         *         *

     Michael sat in his usual seat at the Wayward Saint tavern where the night before he drank more than a few pints with his friend Matthias. He sat there on this night for a different reason. The tavern was as busy as ever. The crowd swelled as the smell of smoke and liquor filled the air. He looked around, taking small sips from his ale from time to time. Men chatted with zestful vigor.

     She had come out earlier but he was waiting for her to get off for the night. He was getting a little anxious again. The waiting slowly killed his patience. She came out with more ale and rolls. Michael held his hand down, not wanting to draw attention yet. Paralyzing fear also kept his hand down. All the opponents that he fought, with all of their fierceness, didn’t come close to generating the amount of fear that grew in him now. Then he only feared injury, or death; the stakes stood much higher here.

     Her hair swayed as she moved. The red locks of her hair mesmerized him. Her plain face didn’t gather much attention, but something about her denied Michael the ability to take his eyes off her. Her physical appearance did not lead any to jealousy.     The room’s patrons dwindled away as the night waned. Michael sat in his chair patiently.

 Finally, he stood up and moved towards the exit of the tavern. The night air streamed by him, chilling him a little. His eyes darted around trying to see if anyone noticed him standing next to the front entrance. His feet softly touched the ground. No sound emanated from him. The streets lay empty as the lights of the tavern flickered off. He stayed in the corner of the tavern, in the shadows a few meters from the side door the barkeep and various waitresses used.

     The door opened and beam of light from a lantern hit the ground. The surly barkeep emerged from his tavern. Beside him, he held one of the waitresses. The large man fished for a kiss from the woman and she happily obliged. Tonight’s numbers caused the joy of the couple; their little tavern served a lot of liquor that evening. The lady still held in her hand a mug full of some beverage that they shared in celebration. These days brought nothing but happiness to most of the people in the abbey, and these two were no exception.

      “My dear, I believe that tonight’s proceeds shall go entirely on entertainment. We have earned a vacation.”

     The barkeep’s wife took a sip of the drink before responding. “I believe that you are only half right. Remember Rutgar; we still have our little darling to support. She may be a woman on her own now, but she could use some of this gold.”

     The barkeep nodded, not letting the realities of life spoil his fun. “Well, my dear, I believe that shall celebrate then, at home. Maybe get another mouth to feed in the process to spend our money on.”

     Michael chuckled a little at the couple’s loving jokes. It was not uncommon to hear talk of a similar kind on the streets of some of the other cities in the Dale, but in the Abbey’s city, all the talk carried a hint of innocence.

     They jubilant couple lunged towards the street so quickly that they did not notice the man standing in the shadows. They made their way towards the residential districts of the city, not too far from their tavern. Michael stayed in the corner. Other waitresses came out but his did not.

     A call came from the tavern. One of the girls was telling another that they would close. After a tired goodnight the side door opened again. This time the waiting had paid off for Michael. She walked towards him in the same ragged way she had offered the drinks near the end of the night. She seemed tired; barely keeping her eyes open while walking down the narrow alleyway. Michael stared at her in amazement. He had never seen such a beautiful creature in his life. His bravado shrank in his heart, and he stayed in the shadow.

     She is tired, he thought to himself, this is not the time. He sighed, saddened by his own realization. He picked the wrong time, and the wrong place. The planning and the timing did not work tonight. As much as he wanted to talk to her, his fear and the awkwardness of approaching a weary lady to talk stopped him.

     He kept to the shadows as she passed him by. The scent of her hair caressed his face. He closed his eyes to take in the smell fully, and felt his heart ache. Footsteps grew more distant. The night held no comfort for him. Michael thought of running to her, rushing to her, no matter the circumstances.

     His conscience and better sense stilled his legs. He stood in the shadows, silent.

     After a few more minutes passed, the last waitress left the Wayward Saint, locking the door behind her. None of them had noticed the tall man in the shadows. Michael clenched his fist when she walked out of sight. His muscles twitched, bringing the sides of his hands into the wall he leaned on. The wind blew cold again, making his hair fall over his eyes. He brushed it away and kicked off the wall, scuffling his feet into the dirt. A small cloud gathered at his feet. He then headed towards the barracks on the east side of town. A bed awaited him, and it never grew too tired.

          *         *         *         *         *

     Matthias pulled his robes closer to himself and a cold breeze blew through the silent city. The dry air slapped him in the face. He wondered what caused this unseasonably cold weather. The road under his feet, Matthias knew that he had more pressing things to think about now. Serian may benefit from what Matthias learned in his talk with the Abbess. Vacant streets lay before him.

     The walking gave Matthias the time to think about more than just his daily routines. The incident at the temple still weighed on his mind. He never forgot the rituals of protection, and his memory told him that he did it.

     While pondering this Matthias realized that he walked off course from the way to his friend’s home. Reprimanding himself for wasting his thoughts on second-guessing, he spun around and headed towards the residential area where Serian lived. A sudden flash of light burst from an alleyway just south the residential area. A wave of heat charged through the street ways. Matthias dashed towards the light. His blood chilled as he heard the scream pierce the air. The smell of burning meat filled his nostrils and ached his lungs. Lights flashed in windows as locals woke up to the horrific sound.

     “My God, help! Someone please!” cried the burning man.

     Matthias kept running towards the alley. The fires that were consuming the man lit up the alleyway. Some people started to come out of their homes to view the spectacle. The man’s shrieking grew more and more fierce.

     When Matthias came into vocal range he yelled at the crowd. “Get water, put the fire out, stop standing there and staring.”

     Some of the people stayed standing, entranced by the sight before them. A few ran to their homes to gather their water basins and get water from a well. Women stood and stared, unable to take their eyes from the man in flames. It was likely that they would never forget the sight. One woman covered her eyes with her hands and turned away. Another ran into her house, the sounds of her gagging and coughing heard from outside. Mothers backed their children back into their homes, beckoning them to go back to their beds to sleep. Some people just stood and stared, others just wept.

     By the time Matthias had made it to the corner, the man stopped screaming. He finally saw why the people were staring.

     The body seemed to be in perfect condition. This did not look like a man who was engulfed in flames. The corpse held together and stayed intact, but the middle of it was gone. The flames emanated from the man’s stomach area. Marks painted on his body by the licking fire showed the only sign of heat outside of his midsection. The fire seemed to drill though him, incinerating a section of his body in a ten-centimeter diameter circle. The wound cauterized into a smoldering black sludge that stemmed the flow of blood from the corpse. The pool beneath him painted the ground crimson and settled with an eerie calm. The face of the man forever stayed frozen in its expression. The mouth stiffened into an eternal scream. His eyes held wide open from the pain that he felt. They stared at Matthias, pleading with him. Only then did Matthias realize who the corpse used to be. Woliver, with his daily story of grief, was made silent. A daily parishioner died. Matthias could not heal him now.

     Matthias kneeled down to next to the body. The smell of the flesh nauseated him. The crowd standing around him dwindled. Only a few bystanders stand to see what would happen to the body. One woman moved towards Matthias while he wept.

     “Are you a monk?” The woman asked.

     Matthias looked up at her, contemplating the question. “Yes, yes I am. I am the Reader, Brother Matthias.” His head turned back towards the corpse.

     The woman stared at Matthias. She looked confused at the notion, and then spoke. “Well, then, why did you not try to save him? Aren’t you monk’s supposed to protect us, heal us when we need it? Where is the Ancient One you keep preaching about?”

     Tears pelted the ground periodically. Matthias spread his hands over the wound on the body. Words of the ancient language came forth from him. A swirl of lights twinkled down from his fingertips towards the wound. The little lights started to regenerate the lost tissue and moved inward to patch the wound. They finally met at the middle; the wound healed.

     Matthias then place two fingers on the eyes of the body and closed them for the last time.

     “What good’s that gonna do? How is that gonna help him?” The woman asked.

     Matthias looked up through his blurred vision. Staring at the woman, shocked. “His family will not have to bury a broken body, or see him with his insides showing after a spear of fire burrowed into his flesh.” He stood up and wiped his own tears away. He took off the robe he wore to ward off the cold and placed it on the corpse. Some monks finally arrived with their prayers and some rituals ready if the man died. Matthias turned away from the scene, letting the monks handle their duties. The night grew even colder to him. The smell of blood and burnt meat infested in his lungs. The taste filled his mouth, and the sight clogged his memory. The body, he thought, I have never seen such a sight in my entire life.

     At that moment he realized the truth of the event. Woliver died through an act of murder. In his life, Matthias never knew of a murder ever taking place in the Abbey since its inception.

     Matthias wondered what kind of weapon could burn a man like that. He knew now that something was amiss in the Abbey.

     *         *         *         *         *              Serian felt the rush of adrenaline surge though him as he raced home. He watched from a distance the reaction as he turned the man’s midsection to ash. He whispered the prayer from his spot on the roof of the market building and chuckled at his own greatness. He noticed that the man took some time to die. A moment of doubt flashed through his mind. He tried to think of some healing prayer to reverse the pain he caused in the man, but none came to his mind. In his lofty perch he watched a man’s stomach slowly incinerate. As the screams progressed louder and louder, his heart ached more and more. This act went against all the practices and codes that he followed all his life.