Dafiel's Lament
A Daughter of the Land Forgotten


In the dim corridors of the Sanctum, beyond the main hall and great rows of pews where the public came to pray, and deeper into the winding inner workings of the church, a number of rooms lingered largely untouched, laying in wait and furnished for specialized prayer ceremonies in testament to the gods. On some mornings, before lessons began but after the first prayers to Lurin, the prentices of the temple — no longer the youngest-plucked to be trained, but still too young to take on certain higher duties — would be tasked with simple, ‘mind-freeing’ assignments.

Warrek called them ‘chores’ and bored of them generally before the tasks began, which — when Zekiel was left in his company to ‘partner’ on a task — meant that Zekiel would hum and scrub, dust, sweep, or tidy whatever it was that was set before them while his roommate plucked blue threads from his own washrag and spoke of whatever pleased him. This suited Ze fine enough, and though occasionally this meant that the two of them were late to their first lessons due to him being left with a task assigned for two, it was easy enough to explain to their teachers that it wasn’t any fault of Warrek’s. Ze simply hadn’t finished the task as quickly as they had hoped, and Warrek had patiently waited for him.

This was that such day.

Though not late yet, Zekiel and Warrek were in one of the back prayer halls, Ze with a smooth rag in hand, wiping down the assorted statuette-likenesses of the gods, candle holders, and altar tops, and Warrek supervising. What made this day especially exciting, however, was not the morning’s chores, but what came after. Anticipation for it spurned Zekiel into as much speed as he could muster while still cleaning with all due diligence.

“—and my father used to say they were mad. Quite out of their minds entirely, every one of them, and not safe to be about. I intend to letter him after, if we are expected to move very near to them, and I will not. I do not especially care if the High Priest himself told me I must. It is not worth the risk and they evidently are not taking my safety into consideration—”

Residents of one of the local homes of care were being escorted to the Sanctum’s main hall for a morning prayer ceremony — or would be, soon — and several of the younger prentices among Zekiel’s age range, including himself and Warrek, had been tasked with being present for occasion. To speak with the patients. To participate in the passing of holy water and making recitations. To engage, and spread the protection and message of the gods to their most needing guests.

“I think it’s wondrous,” Zekiel said, the glow of his eyes making a sheen on the silver of the candlestand he was at work rubbing down. “I should like to share words with all of them, if I might.”

If Warrek looked dubious or unimpressed, the expression was lost on Ze. “You think everything is wondrous.”

“Everything is wondrous,” Ze piped in in all seriousness, his own smile warming further as he pinched his toweling cloth to clean the candlestand’s rim. “But this is especially so. To think there are so many things which haven’t been said to them, and we the vessels of Lurin’s message—”

“You may talk to them, then, if it excites you so. I want nothing to do with it. What if they attacked? They might hurt me. You must know you cannot predict what a person does without a mind to keep their actions in step with sanity.”

“If they attack me, I will have learned what words don’t please them. And that would be wondrous,” Ze replied. “If it doesn’t please you to be attacked, though, I will speak for you? I think—”

“Zekiel. And Warrek Traever.” The priestess — Sister Bernyce, as Zekiel knew her, now standing in the door to the prayer room — spoke with mechanical rigidity, her syllables plucked and oriented so that none ever received any more emphasis than another. It was a fascinating way of speaking, Zekiel thought, though he couldn’t make his own tongue mimic it with quite such precision as she. “Come. To the main hall. Leave your things.”