Emergency

I awoke in the morning to the warmth of a campfire playing on my skin.

I laid there, and sighed up at the ceiling.

“Damn,” I said, groaning.

The warmth was enticingly comfortable, inviting me nearer to a source that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. It felt like I was submerged in it, as if in a tropical lagoon—and I understood why. The travelling sinner from last night must have reached the city in the night, and the sheer girth of their soul in my sensory field was encompassing me and some portion of the city, truly gigantic. Such was an odd and uncommon state for me.

Usually, while hunting, I would be drawn as if by magnetism towards the souls of sinners, after a few days of starvation. But if the soul was large enough, I could enter into its circumference before finding the identity of the mark. I would no longer be drawn forcibly nearer to the target, but I wouldn’t be able to leave that circumference until the target was terminated. Tracking them, and hence locating them to dispatch them, became very vague, with warm directional currents buffeting me from all sides.

So basically, I didn’t know where my soon-to-be victim was, except that they were somewhere in the city. And, to be this size, egregiously awful

I rolled over and sighed again. I would eventually find the epicentre if I just drifted on the currents, but... hell. I really didn’t want this to bleed over to the Ordination, tomorrow, which would coincidentally be when my hunger would shift from ‘present’ to ‘punishing’.

I rolled off the bed, stretched, and exited. I came to the Temple courtyard when I decided, after a mite of hesitation, to don the Bishop’s habit again.

I supposed I did want my place in the Church to be legitimate. Bishops, or Antibishops in my case, of my calibre typically answered supplications with miracles and prayer—giving people food, curing diseases, finding lost items, repairing broken items, summoning signs of succour for the soul, and so on, depending on what gifts of Czjeir they received. Mine were quite varied. Surely I could be useful.

And there was also the aspect of the Church itself... I wasn’t too fond of politics, in any environment, but there was a basic commonality of experience between myself and some Bishops that felt oddly like a wisp of connection. At the very least, they understood when I said, ‘Czjeir talked to me,’ which was the biggest event of my life.

“Oh,” I muttered as I wandered the streets.

I had twenty plus ones to invite to the Ordination.

“Eh...”

I really couldn’t think of anyone to invite, much less twenty. Good old Mephi... a socialite as always.

“Oh well, I guess...” I stepped around a crowd and entered an alleyway packed with people, many of them seated at the sides of the street as they listened to a roadside flautist play. Perhaps I could just invite these people, if anyone was good as anyone else...

I looked up, and noticed among the throng the typical black habit of an Abbot from behind. It was Sub-abbot Pietus, I realised, swinging a censer that dispensed red powder over the alleyway. The powder sparkled like starlight, and then with a queer distortion of space, the alleyway widened to safely accommodate all the people inside it.

I debated, then called: “Hey, Brother Pietus,” as I jogged up to him.

“Oh—Brother tel-Sharvara,” he turned briefly, interrupted from his censering. “Ah, good morning. I hope you are well—I am just out widening the roads, as you can see.” He gestured to his censer.

“Am I interrupting, or...?”

“No, no, I can do this as I walk. Where are you off to?”

“Well...” I fell into step beside him. The sight of an Abbot and a Bishop out and about caught some looks, mostly of reverence, something I was not used to. “I was thinking to find that sinner from last night, but there’s been some, ah, complications, so... I guess I’m just wandering around until I find it.”

“Well, you are welcome to wander with me,” Pietus said. “What do you make of Brother Demacus? Saying that your condition needs help.”

“Well, ‘the condition’ hurts. It’s not too bad right now, but...” I tilted my head. “There’s this really, really thin line between, being plainly... defiant, with my diet, and being too indulgent, and even if I’m balancing on that line as best I can, that third day and onward seriously hurt. I feel like I lose my mind, my... I never had much to begin with, but my autonomy—you know? Like I’m just... a moving stomach.”

“I doubt Czjeir would have made you just that. You have the capacity to think, at least.”

“Or an animal...”

“You fashion yourself like one, but again, the mind you have is human. I see you not like an animal, but like Justice incarnate.”

“Justice... really... it’s a pretty harsh justice.”

“Justice is harsh,” he said simply. We turned down another narrow road. “Uncompromising. It will always dissatisfy some. But I am distressed to hear that it hurts you so.”

“I dunno, maybe that’s Justice against me—like, Brother Vettri was right, I am at least a murderer, and you can’t really expect... that’d be rewarded without any consequence, not by Czjeir. I mean, I can accept a consequence. Just as long as I... you know...”

“I do not know. What is it?”

“As long as I’m not a moving stomach, that there really is intentionality to what I do. If there isn’t, it’s just... self-indulgent, pointless suffering for everyone, really.”

“Czjeir would never.” Pietus nodded. “He would never inflict pointless suffering.”

“Yeah...” I really hoped so. I tilted my head. “But, it doesn’t sound awful. I mean, if Brother Demacus is right, and it was a misfire, and this is something that really needs treatment... I think I’m in a place, where I can say, I really wouldn’t mind not hurting anymore. Or doing this anymore... and if I could just be a member of the clergy, well, it doesn’t sound like the worst thing.” I laughed briefly. “Becoming clergy after my background, occultism, murdering. What awful kind of Saint is that.”

“People change and turn, Brother tel-Sharvara. It’s one of the only hopes we have.” Pietus closed his eyes. “Although my past, personally, is not sordid, there are many in the Church who have come from questionable backgrounds... thieves and infidels. We exist to help these people.”

“That’s always bothered me,” I said. “Uh, not the helping thing, but—I know that the people I target, most... all, hopefully... of them would never reform. But the fact I even exist, it feels like it... really spits on the possibility that one of these people could reform. If-if I’m sanctioned by Czjeir, why are there hopeless people to begin with? Isn’t it better to use His power to reform?”

“Justice, Sharvara.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell myself that, I guess...” Though honestly, I agreed. I knew the people I’d killed. They were horrible criminals, and even knowing their suffering now, I couldn’t deny that much of me balked at the thought of them going free.

And ultimately, suffering was what awaited those who failed Shien’s Judgement. I never thought myself sentimental, but perhaps I was, about this.

Fair enough that I should be—eternal suffering was horrible.

“Hey, this is maybe, just causing fuss for no reason,” I said, “But how come the Archbishops aren’t housing people in those suites in the Temple? There’s literally enough, for like, everyone.”

“That’s more a matter between Bishops,” Pietus said awkwardly. “Not to disgrace their heart of Charity, but they simply prefer some things remain sacred; such as accommodations for clergy. Although I understand your complaint.”

“I guess it’s not as simple as just filling a need, huh...”

“You would?” Pietus questioned. “That’s a very straightforward way of seeing the world. It’s commendable.”

“Commendable...” I muttered.

“You see it in Pontifices.”

“Okay, that’s a bit much. I’m not like a Pontifex.” I sighed.

“Though, usually...” Pietus trailed off, humming. “They become a slight more mysterious after their final sublimation. I’m sure the same will come of Blessed Attaran—so much straightforward good he has done in his examinations for the seat, which will be replaced by Czjeir’s mysteries.”

“The letter did give the impression that this, uh, Attaran guy is a pretty big deal.”

“But that is where Bishops like yourself excel. Straightforward miracles.”

“I’m really such an asshole—I mean, sorry for swearing, I guess. But I guess it’s hitting me that I’ve had all this potential, not that I really deserve it, but I haven’t been using it for anything good... I could’ve been connecting in with the Church way before this.”

“Regrets wear at us all, should we heed them. It simply means you know now what you desire.”

Was it what I desired? “And it’s something kind of normal, if preternatural. That’s a good feeling.” I sighed loudly. “As long as the Church, like, accepts me as part of it.”

“They have already. If your efforts are earnest, which I am sure they are, you’ll never be turned away.”

“But what about---”

“—Fathers! Fathers, oh!” A yell pierced the alley from behind us, and we turned. A woman in a headdress was running towards us, feet pealing across the stone, only barely avoiding pedestrians around her. She grabbed Pietus’ habit. “Have you seen my child? Have you seen my son?”

“Calm, calm, dear. What is this about?”

“My son!” She shrieked. “He was just here, and I turned, and he was gone! Please, have you seen him?” She looked from Pietus to me and back.

“I’m afraid I haven’t. One moment,” Pietus looked to me.

“Well, no,” I said.

“The crowds are quite thick,” Pietus continued. “He may have gotten lost in them. I am practically done here; I can return to the Temple and ask the Bishops to search for him posthaste.”

“Hold on,” I said, raising my hands. “Maybe I can... uh, what’s his name?”

“Amiyr,” she said, hurriedly, “his name is Amiyr, he is nine, he is about this high,” she held her hand flat at her hip, “with round, beautiful brown eyes and short hair. And he has a birthmark like a heart on his nose. Oh, please, he was just here!”

“Okay,” I whistled, spread out my hands, and focused. A name came to my consciousness from the multitude screaming inside me: Odemsha, and a blue glow arose from my hands. Soon would come my first miracle as a Bishop. The magic itself was well-practiced; I often used it while hunting. This should be easy as anything.

An image arose in my mind’s eye of a black ocean. There were undefined shapes in this ocean, truly a lot of them, corresponding to the locations of people. When I focused upon a name, a signal would arise, as brightness radiating out from a point, and I would know the relative location of the target.

But when I focused on the name Amiyr, nothing responded. The blackness held steady.

“Hm,” I grunted, breaking out of the meditation. “Sorry, I’m useless.”

“We will find him,” Pietus assured. “Don’t worry.”

“Yeah...” I hesitated to add more, because—

“Ah! Tssh,” I exclaimed, as a ripple of static shocked through the back of my mind. I flinched; an image stuck me vividly, of a man in a robe with a horrible mangy beard, staring with haunted eyes. Blood was dripping from his beard. He was chewing.

“What—?”

“Are you okay, Brother?” Pietus asked, grabbing my wrist.

“Hrrgh! Hauh!” I flung his grip off, collecting myself slowly. “Sorry, I thought I just saw something.”

“What was it, Brother tel-Sharvara?”

“A man. He—uh.”

“Did he take Amiyr?” The mother asked urgently.

“I don’t know. It was kind of macabre.” I straightened myself. “Sorry, I don’t know what that was. We should probably do your plan, and just ask the real Bishops.”

Pietus nodded and turned to the woman.

—I had hesitated to add more, because my macabre mind wondered immediately that Amiyr may just be dead.

I had never had that magic fail before. I couldn’t imagine what else could have happened. Neither could I figure why I experienced such a grim image, immediately afterward.

The mother nodded, and after Pietus received her name and address—her name was Uni—we turned with more purposeful step to pursue the Temple. Uni herself continued questioning up and down the street, ‘where is my son! Have you seen him? Have you seen a man with him? Have you seen him?’.