Deadhouse Landing

Tayschrenn looked to the entrance. A priest in black robes trimmed with red was making his way up the central aisle to the top table. Tayschrenn’s first impression was one of blunt raw power. Squat, bull-necked, his shaved bullet-head sun-darkened; the man fairly oozed authority and might.

He rested his chin on his fists, his elbows on the table. ‘What is he doing here?’ he mused.

Silla offered a knowing chuckle. ‘Come to take the masters to task, they say. Talk is they’ve been lax.’

Tayschrenn studied the girl; like everyone’s, her brows and scalp were shaved, and, like him, she wore the loose dark robes of a full priest. He frowned anew. ‘According to whom?’

She gestured vaguely. ‘Well, that is the word in the study halls. Really, Tay, you should socialize more. Listen to what people are saying.’

‘If they ever said anything worthwhile, I would.’

She raised one hairless brow. ‘Well, thank you so much.’

The Invigilator took his place at the top table and the acolytes returned to their meals. The visiting authority, however, did not eat; his dark glittering eyes scanned the broad hall. His gaze met Tayschrenn’s, and the priest was impressed by the prowess he sensed within this new master, far eclipsing that of the brethren at table with him.

Yet he did not immediately lower his gaze in deference, and chose instead to study that dense aura. For a fleeting instant he sensed within its heart a strange coloration that he’d detected in none other.

The Invigilator broke the connection, looking away to join his neighbour in low conversation. Frowning, Tayschrenn once more lowered his brow to his fingertips, thinking.

The quiet bass resounding of a gong signalled the end of the assigned mealtime and Tayschrenn glanced at his still full bowl. Somehow, he could not bring himself to eat. The crude physicality of the act nauseated him. It was of the flesh; all that he sought so dearly to slough from him and leave behind.

A group of acolytes stopped by the table, greeting Silla. ‘Come to the common room, yes? We have free time.’

Silla extended a hand in invitation to Tayschrenn. ‘Coming?’

‘No, thank you.’

A younger male student made a face. ‘Not the golden boy. Too good for us, no doubt.’

Tayschrenn looked at the lad, who was a few years behind him in his studies. He shook his head. ‘No. It is just that I have no interest in what you spend your time talking about: your joking exchanges, your veiled flirting, your predictable teasing and meaningless gossip. It is all completely trivial and boring.’

The shocked expressions among the group surprised him. Silla urged them to go on ahead, saying, ‘I’ll catch up.’ She glared down at her neighbour. ‘It’s called making friends, Tay.’

‘None in that group are interested in establishing true friendships. They just seek to fill their empty hours with diversions and amusing nothings. I see no reason to try to entertain them, and nor do I find them in the least entertaining.’

Silla tilted her head, studying him as if seeing him anew. ‘Tay … sometimes…’ She sighed. ‘I believe it’s also called having fun. You might want to try it sometime.’

‘As I said. I do not find it fun. In fact, I find it rather painful.’

She raised her gaze to the ceiling in despair. ‘Dear D’rek! Why do I and Koarsden even try? Stew in your own juice, then; I’m off.’

Alone, he set his chin in his fists once more. Stewing? There were many mysteries among the disciplines of higher Warren manipulation that constantly preoccupied him, and now he was presented with this strange new coloration that the Invigilator had brought with him … was it a by-product of initiation into the higher cult echelons? A mystery he was not yet qualified to know? Yet he’d detected none of it among the temple’s older priests.

And was all this stewing? He wasn’t quite certain.

Perhaps he should take a walk. Walking always helped him think.

He pushed up from the table and set off for the deeper halls of the temple; wandering these solitary paths always eased his mind. Once or twice he believed he’d even found solace there in the darkness and felt all about him, for a privileged moment, the deep slow reverberating heartbeat of the Worm of Autumn itself.

*   *   *

The next morning Tayschrenn was meditating. He sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of his cell, his hands up the wide sleeves of his robes for warmth. The only light came from a single narrow opening far up in one wall, through which wan daylight filtered down like a thin mist.

The frail wooden door was shut. Only now, in private, did he dare fully explore the furthest boundaries of his researches into the Warrens. For through his probings – and extraordinary endurance and prowess – he had advanced far into strange regions where Warren boundaries and definitions appeared to merge and meld. Here Thyr and Telas seemed to come together and touch upon even more fundamental, complex and distant realms that he recognized as not of human origin.