Amid a long yawn that she wasn't able to suppress, Roslyn turned to the next page of a record book she was reading through. She had given up on sleeping and had decided to actually begin work. There were so many things that she ought to update herself on. So many new people in this town that had moved in, or been born, or had died since she had last been here. Whether her neighbor from twenty years ago had died because of a sudden fit of cold, or another neighbor had grown into an adult and birthed a child, it was her obligation to be at least aware of it. It was important data.
Why? Because it gave her a sense of familiarity with the issues that the town might be going through; or issues that individuals had gone through, and if she knew of them, then she would be less likely to make a mistake around certain individuals, areas, or topics.
And thankfully, the previous priest had done a good job here. Bernard Eidure had certainly been exactly the thing a growing town like Jersten needed. His notes were detailed, and his knowledge about all things medical was on par with the best priests at the Academic Hospital back in Atarkan. By all means, he was much more qualified than Roslyn, but his skills were needed in other areas of the Kingdom. Roslyn could only hope that she could fill those shoes, which were certainly too large for her to wear for the time being.
She turned the page and saw a name she recognized: Joor Kenver, the man many had known as the local drunkard, although not someone who caused any trouble, really. Roslyn remembered him, but only vaguely, and in truth, only the things that others spoke of him were what stuck with her. She didn't know how much of it was true, but one thing she knew was his love for his late wife. That's the one thing always mentioned when he was brought up. 'Joor? He was a great husband... too bad about his wife,' things like that. The man was sad, and the sadness that he held was the thing that ended up killing him. It wasn't romantic, it wasn't something to be praised for, even if he did love his wife; even if he held her so close to his heart until the day he died.
Joor had died three years ago. He had been found by the door to his house, collapsed against it on a snowy day. He had probably been on his way back home and been unable to open his door for one reason or another, only to die by the cold embrace of winter. Bernard's note about him read as follows: 'By midday, Vien came to me; sorrow followed her, and she reported that Joor had died; she led me from the temple to Joor's house at the northside of the town, where a half snow-veiled man sat eyes closed, his back against the door. He held an expression unlike I've ever seen before, not on a man frozen to death: peace. Made me wonder whether, after death, he had claimed for himself a place where there is no need for another cup of ale to numb and mask grief? An hour later, I had burned his body and held a short funeral; only Vien had attended, but she made sure that I would place his ashes into a grave next to his wife's.'
Roslyn stared at the page for a moment longer before turning to the next one. She, too, hoped that Joor had found his peace. She was ready to read the next page, to move on to the next record, but a knock came from the door; curiously, it came from the temple-side door, not the back door...
She sighed and got up and went for the door, wondering who it might be this time. Who was there to bother her when she was far too tired to feign courtesy? Perhaps it was Orfia; again, ready to debate the topic of Kanrel, or blame her for her father's tears... Roslyn braced herself and opened the door. Only to frown because of the sight. It was a stranger. A man she had never seen before, or at least one that she didn't remember having ever met.
A man, perhaps in his early forties or late thirties, with black hair, a short, unkempt beard, dark brown eyes, and a nervous expression he held as if whatever came next might be the end of the world. The man said nothing. They stared at each other a moment too long.
"Hello?" Roslyn broke the silence. Was the man in trouble?
The man seemingly flinched, but then cleared his throat. "Uh, yes. Hello... You might not recognize me, but I'm Dar... Do you remember me?" His voice was soft, and this nervousness seemingly seeped through in every aspect of who he was. His posture, his tone, his voice, his eyes, everything about him screamed nervousness. Which wasn't a bad thing, not at all. Roslyn just couldn't remember the last time that she had spoken with someone like him, and at the same time, it wasn't at all what Dar used to be years back. What she remembered was a confident young man... What had changed him?
"Of course, I remember you. Come in, come in, I heard from Vien just yesterday that you wanted to chat with me about things," Roslyn encouraged, stepping aside, inviting him inside, hoping that he might pull a chair for himself and calm down a little, maybe then Roslyn might learn why Dar acted the way he did and what had happened to him.
Dar offered a smile that lived for a second, but didn't linger for even a moment longer. He stepped past Roslyn and looked around the room. "I've not visited for a couple of years... everything seems to still be more or less the same," he said. Then, his gaze attached to something.
Roslyn closed the door and stared at Dar, soon following his gaze, and seeing what he looked at: the window and what lay past it.
And suddenly, Dar spoke—rather quoted: "The sea of autumn gold brushed against me as I went by; the wind would surely remind me of this years to come,"
"A grand feast of memories, entwined with regrets, O so I behold for a new morrow as such, O let this sorrow go by me; let us dance in yesteryears and this fool's gold,"
"It is sad to see that we are so blind, and so the wind sweeps o'er us, carries away our autumn gold." His voice was solemn, softer than before, and a silence forced itself to fill the air of the moment... but a sigh escaped Dar's lips and he turned toward Roslyn with a complicated smile on his lips. "Something my father wrote before he passed away; he had died during this time of the year just last year... He was a priest like you," he explained. And for the time being, his nervousness was gone, only to be exchanged for another, far too visible feeling.
Roslyn nodded. It was all that she could muster, for she never quite learned how to comfort another, other than with a hug. "Please, take a seat," she said instead, and walked around the table, returning to where she had sat just minutes before.
Dar muttered a thank you and sat down. Again, he gazed around the room, now prying at the books that lay on the table, but in the end, he met Roslyn's expectant expression. "I suppose Vien already told you what I wanted to talk with you about?"
"Yes, she did. Something about Kanrel," Roslyn said with a slight shrug.
Dar smirked. "That woman never could hold her tongue; I can't believe that I once proposed to her while drunk..."
Roslyn arched her brow. "Proposed what?"
Dar coughed as a slight red began to form around his cheeks. "Never mind that..." he muttered, then raised his voice: "But yes, Kanrel... There was just something I learned from Isbit that I thought you had a right to know as well." He shifted on his chair, his brows furrowed.
"Go on."
Dar swallowed and peered past Roslyn, his eyes set on the window. He didn't want to say whatever he was about to. But in the end, he sighed, not relaxed at all, but chose to speak either way. "You ever hear rumors?"
"Sure... What kind of rumors exactly?"
"About the forest, and..." Dar stopped and swallowed again.
"And?"
"And the death of Isbit's mother?" he managed to say after mustering his courage.
Roslyn stared at him for a while. There were indeed some rumors that she remembered... The kids that she hung around with all had the same things, especially about the forest... That you should never go too deep or you'll get lost. Things like that. But there was the thing about how the forest would whisper, or something, though Roslyn never heard such whispers herself, so she had always suspected it to be just another thing to keep the kids from straying too far away from the village.
But when it came to Isbit's mother's death... she only knew that it had been a big thing because she got lost in the forest and never came back. And for that reason, the "do not go into the forest or you'll get lost" had been more than effective as a campaign to keep her and the rest of the kids within the safety of the village.
Roslyn shared with Dar what she remembered, and Dar nodded along. He kept glancing out of the window for some reason.
"There's a bit more to the story... Things that only a few people knew, even I learned about it just recently..." he stopped and stayed silent for a while.
Roslyn sighed. "Where are my manners? Let me make you a cup of tea," she said and got up. And when Dar protested, saying that there was no need, she ignored him and made a cup for him anyway. The man needed something to calm down; otherwise, this would take all day when it should be over in less than an hour.
Soon enough, Roslyn placed a cup of warm tea before Dar, who accepted with a thank you. He placed his hands around the cup and blew gently into it before taking a long sip. They didn't talk for a while, but slowly, Dar got visibly less nervous, and there remained a tinge of apprehension.
"So, you were saying?" Roslyn encouraged him.
Dar placed the cup down after another sip. He stared ahead, meeting Roslyn's eyes. "It was murder," he managed to say at last. "She was kidnapped by cultists—her—her head was separated from the rest of her body... and only her head was ever brought back."
Roslyn remained silent, only her brows furrowed.
Dar swallowed and continued, "And in Isbit's family house, he found a secret cellar after his father's death..."
"Inside there was a strange mask, shelves filled with books and paper, and a noose that hung over what seemed like an altar, where an ornate book lay at rest... Isbit brought the mask to Kanrel, and apparently, he knew what it meant. He brought Kanrel to the cellar, and Kanrel took all of it for himself, vowing Isbit into silence, making him fill the cellar and never speak of it to anyone." Dar seemed more anxious after each word he said. His other leg kept popping up and down quickly.
"They never spoke of it after that day, but not long after... Kanrel went into the forest and never came back."
Roslyn massaged her temple. None of it made sense to her. It meant that the Priesthood knew of what might've happened to Kanrel... but chose not to investigate further? The Herald chose not to look for her son? Or had some information not reached her? Roslyn focused her gaze back onto Dar. "When did you learn about this?"
Dar shrugged. "About a month ago, when we first heard that you would be coming back here."
Roslyn nodded to herself. "And did Isbit ever mention anything about this to anyone before then?"
Dar shrugged again. "I'm not too sure, you'd have to ask him yourself... but I do know that when multiple priests came here after Kanrel's disappearance, he had many interviews with them... so he probably told them," he said.
Roslyn nodded along. She had her doubts about even that. Then she almost slapped herself. She shouldn't think like this. She shouldn't go down the same line of conspiracy that Orfia had gone down. Roslyn was a priest; her job was to gather all the necessary data and then make a judgment... She was a scholar, not your everyday village madman...
"And is there anything else you know?" she then asked instead of voicing her doubts, to which Dar only shook his head. Roslyn managed to suppress her sigh. If only answers came easily and in moments that were more convenient. She found herself worrying that this would be one of those things that she would never learn the truth of. But for now, she couldn't dwell on the matter. Perhaps she would ask Isbit herself about the matter.
"Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?"
Dar shifted on his chair again. There clearly was. "Well... there is something," he muttered.
"Go ahead."
"The past few years have been difficult for me and my wife, Amer. We've three kids, and we are so thankful to Isbit and his family, as well as the town, for all of the help that they've offered us, but..." Dar's voice strayed.
"But?"
"We are still being treated differently by some folks, more so by those who've moved here in the past five or so years," he explained.
"How so?" Roslyn asked, now genuinely confused.
"Well, my wife and I are both nameless... and so, our children are doomed to be as well..."
Ah, Roslyn had almost forgotten. Dar's father was not his real father. Instead, a priest who took care of him and raised him as his own. Much like Kanrel, but Kanrel had been allowed a name, after all, his mother wasn't just any ol' priest.
Roslyn could already guess what Dar would ask next. "I see, and what would you like me to do about it?"
Dar locked his gaze with her. "I'm here to beg for a name for the sake of my wife and our children. I don't want them to be treated differently because of our situation; I want them to have the same possibilities as the other kids their age. I don't want them to suffer the same way that I and many other nameless have suffered in life." His voice had gained an edge; he wasn't begging for something outrageous, he was demanding humanity, to be seen as an equal. It was his right, surely.
Roslyn felt bad for him. "And had you ever inquired about it from Bernard?"
Dar blinked, his steel gaze broke, and he looked away. "Well... we did, but..." he muttered.
"And he said no?"
Dar nodded. "He said that it wouldn't be right."
Roslyn almost sighed. She knew that he would've said no. And she wasn't surprised at all that the previous priest of the village had been so upfront about it. It was uncommon for a nameless to earn himself the right to a name. The world was not fair to them, and even when things were changing for the better, they changed far too slowly to rectify wrongs that ought to have been rectified long ago.
In truth, there was very little that she could do. But even then, she smiled. "What if I send a letter to Lo'Gran and seek advice from there?" she said, knowing that she herself didn't have the power to do anything at all, even when she knew that it was doubtful that Dar's wishes would be fulfilled. But who knows? Maybe the Herald might really think about it because of Roslyn's connection to Kanrel?
Across from her, Dar shivered as he silently wiped away tears that he was too ashamed to openly cry. "Thank you," he managed to mutter without breaking. They sat in silence for a few more minutes as he calmed down and drank the rest of his tea. Then, he departed with a genuine smile across his face, inviting her to visit him and his family any time she wants, before closing the back door gently behind himself.
When the door closed, Roslyn sighed, shaking her head. If only she could truly do something to help, and not just offer hope that might become meaningless.
From a stack of parchment, she took one, making space for it, and set it onto the table. She opened a bottle of ink and dipped her quill in, thinking ahead how she might formulate such a request so as not to sound too audacious. It was the first time she had found herself writing such a letter, and never had she written one dedicated to the Herald herself. And as ink touched the parchment, she already wondered whether the Herald would even receive her letter, and if she did, would she read it? And if she read it, would she even consider giving it a response? A woman like her was surely busier with things far more important than the experiences of the nameless in a fringe location far from her immediate sphere of influence.
Still, she wrote the letter with great care, giving it the respect that it needed, for all parties involved: for the sake of Dar, who had a genuine request for change; for the Herald, whose time was more valuable than the ink on this parchment; and for herself... to give herself the dignity to at least pretend to have done something for the sake of someone else.
She let the ink dry, folded it, and placed it into an envelope, sealing it with an ornate wax—a standard seal used by the priests when conducting official business—only to set the sealed envelope to the side, since she had plenty of time to send it to Lo'Gran on another day, just not today.
She yawned and stretched her limbs; she felt like it was about to be time for bed, but it was far off. There were too many hours ahead and things that she ought to do. So, with another barely suppressed sigh, Roslyn reached for another log. It was basically a patient register, though a more general record of people in Jersten and their health problems—considering Bernard's 'specialization' in the field of medicine, its contents might be more valuable than all the other secular books combined in town.
While reading it, it quickly became clear that the 'health record' was a newer addition to Jersten, something that Bernard had taken wholly for himself to do. Sure, there might be older, similar records of things, whether by Kanrel and whoever his predecessor had been. But it sure as hell would not be so detailed and well-formatted as this was. Though the size of the handwriting left much to be desired. Roslyn could barely read it; it was so small. But then again, to have so much information of a given individual fit two facing pages of a book needed such dense writing. Not to mention the fact that there were at least three similar books that Roslyn could find, all authored by Bernard.
Because of this, Roslyn decided not to go too much into detail, not yet, at least. This too was a thing for another day. Instead, she turned the pages and made an observation of two things each time. One, the name of the individual, and two, how much text was there?
If there was a lot of text, then Roslyn should pay more attention to them. Simple.
As she turned the pages, Roslyn came to realize what should've been obvious since arrival: there were so many people in this town. Not as much as in Er'Eren, Lo'Gran, or any actual city, but enough to make it difficult to truly quantify and imagine. All these people... they were under her jurisdiction. It was her job to take care of them...
It wasn't like in Er'Eren, when she had worked with multiple priests, in multiple temples throughout the city. Here, there was just the one temple, manned by just one priest. She slightly shuddered at the thought. You just needed one catastrophic event, and things would be too chaotic and overwhelming for her to deal with on her own.
Roslyn needed to work very closely with people here, so some of the burden could be shared in a manner where things worked smoothly. She didn't want any unnecessary surprises or mistakes that could swell into a storm that could leave her barren and without a fight.
She shook her head as she went through the pages. Only to suddenly stop on a page. On a name. 'Hergen, Orav'.
Her father... and there was quite a bit of text.
The wine is poured.
Roslyn's brows furrowed, and she began reading; a shadow appeared on her face as she kept reading. Her face became a mask of sorts, one that showed no deception. One formed from fear.
'Hergen, Orav—a man now in his mid to late fifties, able-bodied, but no longer able-minded. According to the testimonies of his wife, Orav has become more forgetful, especially when it comes to newer things. This, at times, leads him into confusion and fits of rage. He often gets lost in places that he should by now know rather well. Per symptoms, and the advancement of his condition, it is clear that Orav will soon begin forgetting things more rapidly; he will come to forget most things, lest he dies before reaching such a point. Based on analysis, multiple meetings, and checkups, Orav seems to be dealing with a very rare case of early-onset dementia. There is no cure, and I can only advise his wife with patience and help her create a safe environment out of their house, so that he won't hurt himself in fits of rage or confusion.'
Her cup runs over.
Dread is a cloud that drenched her. It swept in, through a confused understanding of what she had read, and now it rained down on her, pressing her with worry, and forcing her to stand up; burning her legs so that she would. So she ran. Crawling in her skin, so that she would not stop; would not calm; would not question, or even accept, but instead run, to find her father, to seek her parents, to disprove or prove the things that she had just read; to see him before it would be too late.
She had been around men and women with dementia. She had witnessed their suffering; she had witnessed the suffering of their families, and she had suffered, for she could do nothing to help them; for there is some pain that cannot be numbed or healed—unless you're willing to face the void.
She ran, and the feeling chased her. And she needed to run so much faster than she did. She couldn't look back. Past the park around the temple, the benches where lovers would sit in deep silence, with interlocked fingers and sultry eyes.
Past Orfia, who stepped in her way, she said something, but Roslyn couldn't hear. She didn't have the time to listen. She ran toward the northern parts of town, where her parents had lived. She didn't have the time to think about whether they still lived there or not.
She ran through a crowd of people, a collection of faces she had no time to register. She knew none of them, some of them, or all of them... it didn't matter. She might as well know none of them, for in this moment, they did not matter. There was just one thing that had any meaning to it.
The ground shakes with such violence that her world turns upside down; the town of Jersten and the faces around melt with the sky and the gloom of late autumn—in this moment, all become one, only for Roslyn to find the ground and its mixture of dirt and gravel.
Her hands and legs scraped. Roslyn got up, the world spinning. Screams of perhaps surprise or of fear fill the air. What had just happened?
Disoriented, she gets up from the ground and looks around. It wasn't just her who had found herself on the ground; at least the buildings were fine, and the people seemed unhurt.
A shadow moved toward her, rapidly. Reaching for her. Quickly, Roslyn took a step back, and another, but the shadow was too fast, and it reached her. It touches her, it covers her... would her cup break?
Dread piled itself onto her, mixing with what she already felt, but past it pried something familiar... disgust.
But nothing else happens? Confused, Roslyn looked up, up at the sky... A surge of darkness climbed the heavens; a figure with a dark, never-ending cape of blackness flew toward the sun, veiling visions of the once blue skies as it raced along the horizon. Like dusk, darkness had fallen upon the town, now spreading and covering more and more.
Roslyn gritted her teeth; this wasn't the time for things that couldn't be explained. So she ran, there still remained only one thing on her mind; only one thing that really mattered: she had to see her parents, she had to see her father.