He turned after her, his brows crimping. ‘I’m sorry – did you say “condolences”?’
She stopped, turned as well. ‘Oh. I am sorry. I thought you knew. Our guiding light, Lord Demidrek Ithell, passed on not two days ago.’
‘Ah – I see. No, I did not know. Thank you for informing me.’
The priestess bowed again, then went away down the tunnel.
Tayschrenn watched the sputtering flame of her torch diminish into the distance, turn an unseen corner, and be swallowed by the dark. He searched his emotions. He knew that the man’s death had been close, was inevitable, and that he should rejoice now that D’rek had taken him to her breast. Yet he was saddened. The man had been a kind spirit. Had shown him great generosity and patience. Had been the closest thing he could consider to a father, given that he possessed no memories of his life prior to his abandonment to the streets. Turning, he quickened his pace and headed to the nearest route up.
*
He found the main halls of the temple complex given over to the requisite mourning. Candles burned at every intersection and those ranked of the black all walked with cowls raised, heads bowed in prayer. Incantation and whispered songs of veneration murmured through the halls.
He headed for the Demidrek’s private quarters to offer his services, should there be anything to be done.
Here he found his way barred by a lower-ranked priest, one Feneresh, of no particular talent save a rigid unimaginative devotion to the rules and procedural minutiae of the cult.
‘Tayschrenn,’ the younger man greeted him. ‘What is your business?’
He was rather taken aback by the blunt words, but collected himself. ‘I offer my services, of course, should they be required.’
The fellow inclined his shaven head in acknowledgement, his thin lips pursing. ‘All is taken care of. You need not concern yourself.’
‘I see. Well, may I kneel before our Demidrek and offer my prayers?’
‘The remains have been removed for interment. You are free to pray before the icons of the Demidreks in the temple proper, of course.’
Tayschrenn tried to peer in past the shorter fellow to the private quarters beyond, but all was shrouded in darkness and low guttering candles. ‘I see. Very well. My thanks, brother.’
‘Of course. Glory be to D’rek.’
‘Ah … yes.’ He turned to go, but Feneresh cleared his throat and so he turned back. ‘Yes?’
The priest pointed to his waist. ‘Your honorary rank has been rescinded, of course.’
Tayschrenn frowned, confused for a moment, then realization came and he started. ‘Oh! Of course.’ He unwrapped the crimson sash and handed it over. Feneresh folded the cloth and tucked it away.
Tayschrenn bowed his farewell and turned to leave, but the younger priest cleared his throat once more. He swung back, rather vexed now. ‘What is it?’
Feneresh tapped a finger to his cowl. Tayschrenn frowned again, but suddenly understood and offered a stiff smile. He threw up his cowl and marched off.
Twice in his life Tayschrenn had experienced the terror of earthquakes when the very rock shook beneath one’s feet and was revealed as unreliable, even deceptive. And as he walked the dim halls to his cell it struck him as odd that although this time the rock had not moved, he felt just as shaken. Just as in an earthquake, a blow had struck unlooked for and sudden, and he felt knocked sideways, strangely unsure of everything.
He needed to find his centre once more. He needed to meditate. Most of all, he needed to consider why his hands were fists hidden within his robes, why his pulse was a painful pressure at his temples and his breath short and laboured – and why he, a priest, was boiling with rage.
*
Three days later Tayschrenn was once more sitting in the Great Hall of the temple, a bowl of thin vegetable broth and a crust of dry bread before him. He’d studiously avoided the hall these last few days, but a General Assembly had been called and so he felt obliged to attend. The broad cavernous chamber was now more jammed than he had ever seen it.
An air of expectancy permeated the crowd, and whispered rumours of what was to come made the rounds. As a high-ranking priest, he’d been asked what he thought; his answer that such speculation was a waste of time as they’d know shortly had effectively silenced his interlocutors.
The benches were uncomfortably packed, but another newcomer was pressing in next to him and he felt a hand upon his arm. He looked up to see Silla. Sitting, she squeezed his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Tay. I know you were very close to him.’
He nodded. ‘Thank you.’
The murmuring and talk faded away as the Council of Elders filed into the hall. With them came Tallow, looking like a bull among a line of thin doddering storks and ragged dusty crows. His place near the centre of the front table troubled Tayschrenn. Normally, a visiting official or dignitary would be seated at one end.
Lukathera-amil rose to speak. She was Hengan, one of the dusty dishevelled crows. She was well liked, known affectionately as Luka among the lower ranks. She raised her arms for silence, though the hall was now utterly quiet.
‘Kindred,’ she began, her rough voice thin and dry, ‘we are gathered here this eve to underscore and reaffirm one of the guiding principles of D’rek – that of continuity and reiteration. The eternal reprise and return of life and death.’
Her fellow elders banged upon the table in affirmation and the audience applauded – though quietly, and respectfully, as was proper.
Luka bowed her head for a time, then continued, ‘Though we have lost one dear to our hearts, he is not gone. He is gathered to the breast of D’rek, and for this we must rejoice. We, each of us, may look forward to being reunited with him together with all of the righteous at the side of D’rek when our time, too, shall come.
‘In this time of testing, we are blessed to have among us – due to the wisdom of the Synod of Temples – brother Tallow.’ She motioned towards him and he rose, bowed, then sat down again. ‘He has graciously agreed to serve as interim high priest and Demidrek until we, the Council, have chosen Ithell’s successor.’
The assembly applauded again, respectfully. The elders of the Council joined the applause, their quavering hands soundlessly tapping.
Luka raised her arms once more. ‘That is all. Now, let us bow our heads in prayer and thanksgiving.’ She lowered her head.
Tayschrenn joined in, of course, but search as he might among his thoughts he could not find any single thing to be thankful for. He prayed instead for wisdom among the Council, for the idea of Tallow as temporary Demidrek troubled him. Why couldn’t they simply have chosen someone and be done with it?
Later, during the meal, Silla whispered to him once more, ‘You’re not wearing your red?’
‘It was taken from me.’
‘Oh – I’m sorry.’