Metal and Flesh (The Rohvim, Book 1)

2.2 Interrogate

Aeden left his bedroom early, in the hopes that he could slip out of the estate unnoticed. Out of habit he trailed his fingers along the portrait of his lost older brother hanging at the top of the stairs as he passed, and tiptoed out the door, only narrowly avoiding the steward of the estate, Harvey, who didn’t seem to notice the boy creeping through the front entryway.

The walk to the House of Common Worship seemed short, and within minutes he was handing a small bag to one of the younger priests near the front gate. Mission accomplished, he tried to duck out before anyone could engage him in conversation, but a voice calling his name told him he’d failed.

“Aeden! So good to see you! Come here!” He recognized the voice of Priest Anthony, a youngish priest who had recently entered the order.

“Hey Priest Anthony. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

“Indeed, friend.” The two made light conversation, Aeden wondering how he could get out of the hall as quickly as possible, and yet trying to have pity on the young man—Aeden was probably the only visitor he’d had in weeks.

“—and so I thought, my friend Aeden has the same problem! He desperately wants to be in the priesthood, and yet his father wants him to join the royal guard! Well, I just told him to listen to the words of the creator and study the Chronicles, for they say…” Aeden tuned out, focusing instead on the large circular stone dais where the priests stood for their teaching in the center of the hall. Twelve shallow marks surrounded the circle, rubbed smooth with time and weather—the priests prided themselves on the age of the stone and the building, claiming at least two thousand years of history.

“Aeden Rossam! Come here, young man. I want to talk to you.” It was the high priest—the Hegemon of the Worship House. Priest Anthony shut his mouth and hurried away.

“Yes, your grace?” Aeden managed a slight bow. This was the only man of any real authority in the priesthood, and even that was sketchy. This particular Hegemon was the second son of the fourth duke of Elbeth, somewhat advanced in years—well past one hundred and thirty or so, but not quite as old as his father who still held the fourth duke’s title. Aeden tried to force a thin smile, but struggled to look him in the eye—he detested the man.

“Your father was here last week, and I must say I’m truly excited for you to join us!” He rubbed his gnarled hands together. Join them? Aeden almost thought he’d misheard. “But I must say, I don’t think you’re quite ready, yet.”

“You know, I think you’re right. I’ll probably just go join the royal guard instead next year—” Aeden began, but the man cut him off.

“But you could be, with a little study. Tell me, young man, do you study your Chronicles? Have you transcribed your own set?”

Aeden shrugged. “I’m nearly done.” Which was partly true. He was nearly done trying, at least.

“Do you know your history? Are you versed in the politics of the kingdoms and the customs of the many lands around us?”

At this Aeden felt a little more confidence, and the desire to show off to the old decrepit priest overcame him. “Oh, I get by. I am the son of the sixth duke, you know—my father is holder of the ancient scepter of King Rossam the Second, which means that if we lived a thousand years ago I’d be the prince.”

“Tell me then, Prince,” the man said, in a mocking tone, “what is the nearest kingdom to the north, and what is its chief city?”

Aeden shook his head. “Trick question, as the two kingdoms to our immediate north are Volda and Vaasa, with the third kingdom of Ramala north of them. The chief city of them all is the common city, where the three kings hold court in three different palaces, though each also has a ceremonial capital separate from the common city. North of Ramala are the icy wastes, and to their east lies the mythical land of the Falafim, though that is debated since we don’t have much contact with the northern kingdoms.”

The priest glowered at him, and Aeden wondered if that meant he could escape from the interrogation. Alas, the man continued. “And to the south?” Aeden opened his mouth to retort an easy answer but the priest held up a finger—out of the end of which jutted a sickeningly long fingernail. “The kingdom of Franckland, yes, I’m sure you know. But tell me about the lands around it.”

Aeden shut his mouth and thought. He had studied the maps, though to be honest he had never taken an interest in geography or politics. To know his family’s place was enough. If only he was a great wizard like in the old legends, he could blast the holy man back and escape in the kicked-up dust. He mentally reached out an imaginary hand and shoved.

Unfortunately, the priest remained quite still, expectantly awaiting his answer. “Well, in the center of the kingdom of Frankland lies the great fiery mountain, whose smoke can be seen from the city of Penumbra. They’re barbarians so we don’t really know—”

“That’s all you can tell me?” The priest raised a skeptical eyebrow. Clearly Aeden’s pretend magic hadn’t affected him at all. Maybe next time, he thought with an inward grin.

Aeden shifted on his feet and tried to judge from the man’s demeanor exactly how long this interview would last. He tried to imagine a lifetime within the priesthood, and shivered. “Well, east of them is the land of the Daedwithe—the people we must pass through on our long journey when we feel the call east in the twilight of life.”

“Yes. Well at least it seems your mother has taught you something, blessed woman. Do you know why they are the Daedwithe?”

Aeden shook his head.

“They are the shepherds of the departed. Their sole purpose, their holy mission given them by the creator, is to guide us when we make the journey—to shepherd us safely east, past the trials and obstacles. And though they live, they are set apart from the world, never to partake of its joys. Almost as if dead, no?” It was a question, but Aeden knew better than to think the man wanted an answer. “Interesting how the living who are not allowed to live are called to shepherd the dying who go east to live forever. What consigned them to such an honorable and terrible fate I don’t know. Only the creator in his wisdom knows of such things.”

“Yes, your grace,” Aeden mumbled.

How long could he go on? Aeden considered joining the priestly order just to get the man to shut up. The priest opened his mouth to continue the interrogation even as Aeden sighed and hunched his shoulders, which the man seemed to notice. Deep crease lines on the man’s face, betraying many decades of earnest frowning, bunched up into a scowl. “Very well, young one. You may go. Do come back soon.”

“I will,” he lied.