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Prolur walked back and forth between the great bookshelves that filled the recently built library. It had been over two months since he had arrived at that monastery, and it was nearly complete.
Lord di Sauria had convinced the laborers to increase their efforts by the double. Naturally, his methods of convincing were promises of severe torture by his personal guards or in some cases even a knight would do his dirty work. Say what you will about the methods, but after a month had passed, the main buildings around the courtyard and the beginnings of a protective wall had been completed. There was more to come—smokehouses, storage, and even a boathouse. The monastery had also officially been named. It was di Sauria who had made the decision, and since he was hurrying the production of his monastery, Elden didn’t feel he could disagree. So it was that the home of Prolur and the other monks came to be named Craucés, after the king.
With the improvements of the monastery came new tenants—younger monks fresh from Haugar itself, and even a few converted Sauranians who had applied as novices. The first three monks now had little time to themselves with the teaching of the students and the planning of daily duties. There were fifty men in all at Craucés now, and it was always full of movement. It was only late at night after they had walked the corridors and checked the sleeping quarters that Prolur, Laster, and Elden could relax in the tower to discuss the day’s events.
Prolur quietly ran his fingers along the spines of the impressive volumes stacked up and down the aisles. He was creating a catalog of the books in the library, and he took notes whenever he came across one he had not seen before. The library was a large building two stories high with a spiral staircase in the center and shelves lining the walls, every inch filled with books. Around the staircase, four tables had been placed in a square. Books and parchments covered them.
The library had become Prolur’s domain—as well as his responsibility. He received books from all over the continent and was even in charge of copying and translating older works. It kept him away from most people and gave him a reason to flee the world. At the moment, he was translating the holy book of the kingdom, the Haugariad, into the Sauranians’ dialect. The Haugariad was the holy text that the country was founded upon. King Tieto I had commissioned it five years after the founding of the kingdom. It contained the legend of the god of war and a historic account of Tieto the first’s life—from the time he found that he was the god’s son to the founding of the Haugarian kingdom. As part of the tradition, each new king would commission a new Haugariad, adding himself to the royal lineage in the back. The kings had long since stopped trying to convince the people that they were direct descendants of Tieto I. Instead, they would place themselves among the branches of the family tree as cousins and the like, expanding these branches even farther. The people accepted this, and it kept the peace. Most of them had no idea that Tieto’s family name died along with him and that Elfram I de Haugar, his successor, was only an adopted son.
King Crauco had asked for his Haugariad no more than a few days after his rise to the throne.
Prolur moved to one of the tables and dipped a quill into the inkwell. Suddenly, he heard the front door of the library open and close. Lightly—as if someone was trying to sneak into the building undetected. Quiet footsteps fell on the wood floor and slowly up the staircase. It shook in the familiar way of someone coming closer to the second floor. Prolur took a few steps back to get a better view of the top of the stairs. The shape of a young man with olive skin, short, dirty blond hair, and blue enthusiastic eyes, dressed in the robes of a monk, appeared before him.
Prolur was momentarily stunned and could not believe his eyes, but he snapped out of it when the man smiled.
“Rauman!” he exclaimed and walked towards the youngster with his arms stretched out, wrapping them around him. Now it was Rauman’s turn to be surprised, and he very carefully returned the embrace.
“It is good to see you again, Father Prolur,” Rauman said when they had released each other.
“It is good to see you as well, my friend,” Prolur replied. “Please have a seat.” They sat down at the table containing the Haugariad.
“You look very well, Father Prolur,” Rauman began. “There is something different about you.”
“Please, we are informal here. Prolur will suffice. I feel much better here. There is more freedom and less suspicion.”
“Well, it seems to have done you much good.”
“Most of it is because of this.” Prolur indicated the library. “And the food is wonderful.” They both laughed at the thought of the horrible meals served at their old monastery. “What brings you here?” Prolur asked when the laughter had died down and they had dried their eyes.
Rauman scratched his head and stared off into the bookshelves as if he was trying to read the titles of its books. He looked older, although it had only been a few months since they had parted. His cheeks had sunk in, he wore dark circles around his eyes, and his chin that used to be clean-shaven was covered in stubble. “To be honest, Prolur, I have been sent to join this order. The monasteries on the island are becoming filled with novices and boarders, and those of us who are younger have been moved to every corner of the kingdom.”
“But that is great news which you come bearing?” Prolur joyfully exclaimed; he couldn’t recall ever being as excited as he was at that moment.
“True, yet it is a difficult transition. I have never left the safety of the island, and never have I been this far away from my family.”
Prolur rose, moved over to Rauman, and lay a friendly, close to fatherly, hand on his shoulder. “I will do my best to make you feel welcome,” he said. “You showed me great warmth when you arrived, and all you received in return was a cold stare. Let me repay you by treating you to the best Craucés has to offer.” Rauman rose and took Prolur’s hand in his. “Yet there is something else,” Prolur said as he looked deep into the young monk’s eyes. “Something in your eyes tells me that you carry with you more which must be told.”
Rauman’s eyes dropped to his own shoes with a nervous air and then darted back to Prolur. “I do, but this news must be delivered to both you and Haugén Elden. It is a matter of some importance.”
Prolur nodded. Whatever it was that Rauman was carrying, it was a burden of great weight. This he could tell.
Prolur took Rauman by the arm and led him down the stairs and out to the courtyard where the young monk’s traveling bag lay waiting. Prolur took the opportunity to give a slight tour of the parts of the monastery that were visible during the short journey between the library and the main building.
Elden was in a foul mood when he opened the door to his chamber. The greater part of his morning had been spent tutoring novices in the laws of the Haugariad, and the result had been catastrophic. He had retreated to the haven of his desk where he was easing his woes with a glass of wine in sweet tranquility when Prolur came knocking. The visit made him light up, but only slightly. He was not surprised at seeing Rauman because he had been notified well in advance as to his arrival.
“Yet another surprise for you, Prolur,” Elden said with a hint of a smile as he produced two glasses from his armoire, filled them with wine, and handed them to his guests. Rauman looked at the one he had been handed with suspicion, and at first, he refused to accept it, but a quick glance at an approving Prolur convinced him that it would be bad manners to refuse.
“Please be seated, Rauman,” Elden began. “I am sure Prolur has informed you that we do not use titles here at Craucés. Only the novices are asked to use them as a sign of respect to the elder monks.” Elden drank from his glass, and the other two followed his example. Rauman, who was unfamiliar with the delights of Dourian wine, felt as if his throat was on fire and broke out into a violent coughing fit.
“Help yourself to a glass of water,” Elden said as he laughed at the sight. “There is a jug in the armoire.” Rauman hastened and let two glasses of cool, clear water soothe the walls of his throat.
“Rauman is always eager to work and would probably like to know what duties will befall him,” Prolur said as he sipped his own wine. “He is apt and experienced, so I firmly believe that he can perform more than everyday tasks such as gardening, cleaning, or kitchen detail.”
“Naturally,” Elden replied. “It would be a great relief for me if you could take charge of the tutoring of the novices in both our laws as well as our language.”
Rauman nodded and swallowed another mouthful of water. “I would be honored to mold the future monks of our kingdom.” He said it with a smile but quickly became serious. “I come bearing important news as well. Something that I think both of you should hear at the same time.” From the left sleeve of his robe, he produced a small envelope, which was dyed purple, stating that it was bearing official royal business. In the center of the envelope was the golden seal of the Allguén. Rauman handed it to Elden, who rose as he accepted it, as was the custom.
With great reverence, Elden broke the seal, opened it, and pulled out a purple parchment. He stroked his chin as he let his eyes wander across the carefully written lines. A concerned look came over him, and slowly he placed the parchment on his desk. Still silent, he raised his glass and emptied it
“What does it read?” Prolur asked. “Is it bad news?”
Elden gave a slight nod and let his glass rest next to the letter. “It is a summons,” he began. “An order from the king himself.” He fell silent once again, and all that could be heard was the heavy and nervous breathing of the three men.
Prolur broke the silence. “Please, Elden, tell me what it says!” He nearly screeched as he pleaded with the haugén.
Elden picked up the paper and began reading. “After lengthy council between His Majesty, Crauco I of Ravenshelm—King of Haugar, Saurania, and protector of the southern isles—and Allguén Boulo II, it has been decided that Father Prolur of Craucés is to lead the blessing of the Sauranians of the Eccliati region. One week from this day, he will be escorted by a garrison of soldiers and a company of laborers to the Eccliati mountains, where his work will commence at once, in the name of Haugar on this day the 21st of Wexeal. Signed Crauco I Ravenhelm.” Elden handed the parchment over to Prolur, who was able to break his paralysis long enough to accept it. He read the writing over and over again, too afraid to believe what it said.
The Eccliati region was a small region to the north of the capital of Saurania, Quinstad. It was centered around a massive chain of mountains, the Eccliati, where few men had set their feet. According to Sauranian history, a small group of people challenged the mountains in the hope of finding great deposits of valuable metals. Several of them died due to the hostile terrain of Eccliati, where the weather abruptly changed from snowstorms to heavy rain and ice-cold mist so thick that it was near impossible to see anything farther than a foot away. Once they reached the center of the mountain chain, they came upon no riches. The mountains were barren, but they did find a valley of fertile grassland where they settled, realizing that the journey home would kill them. They lived in isolation from the rest of the world, feeding off the land and whatever birds and mountain beasts they could catch. From time to time, new parties of Sauranians would venture across the mountains in search of treasure or a tranquil place to escape the world outside. When the Haugarians invaded the land, it was unknown how many actually lived in the Eccliati region, and since the king was eager to tax the whole of the invaded land, a garrison of elite soldiers were sent to the mountains. After thirty days, a messenger bird came from Eccliati stating that the crossing had been successful and that a fair amount of the soldiers sent were returning. They were never heard from again. Since that time, the region had been ignored by the Haugarians, deemed uninteresting, but the Allguén had decided to convert the entire kingdom—even a remote place like Eccliati—at any cost.
Elden walked around his desk and over to Rauman. “Were you aware of the nature of this letter?” he asked the young monk sternly as if accusing him of its contents. Rauman nodded. “It is nothing short of a death sentence.”
“I have been told that His Majesty still feels threatened by Prolur’s presence on Haugarian soil,” Rauman replied.
“He dares not imprison or send a monk to the executioner without sufficient evidence, so he is forced to resort to underhanded and cowardly actions like this,” Elden commented, and he filled his glass once again. “I suppose that no amount of pleading from me would persuade a change of heart.”
Rauman shook his head, and they both looked at Prolur, who was still staring at the parchment. He turned his head and looked at them in return with sad eyes. His two friends felt his pain but could not find the words to comfort him. He slowly rose from his chair and left the room in silence. Rauman moved as if to hinder him, but a stern hand on his shoulder from Elden halted his movement.
Prolur closed his hand and crumpled the parchment he held in it. An icy wind had begun blowing in from the sea, and in sheer defiance, he faced it and let it whip his face, scratching like the talons of some terrible bird of prey. However, he closed his eyes to keep the salt from hurting them. From the temple building, he could hear the voices of the newly formed choir. They sang traditional hymns from the Haugariad, telling of great deeds and divine love. An older monk, who had an extraordinary voice, had come to Craucés from the south of Haugaria a month earlier. He drilled a handful of novices in the musical arts, and they had evolved into quite a beautiful sounding choir. Prolur had always enjoyed music and hymns, in particular. As a child, he would sit outside the temple, and with his eyes closed, he would dream up images to accompany what he was hearing. In his later years, he would never hear the hymns apart from those few instances that the army allowed it.
“I am truly sad that I could not be the bearer of better news.” Rauman had come up behind him. “I thought it might be better if I was the one to bring it.” Prolur remained silent and kept his face turned towards the sea. Rauman came to stand next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Speak to me, Prolur,” he continued. “We cannot fight it—as you are aware.”
“I do not intend to fight, Rauman,” he answered without turning away from the water. “I will go. I have no other choice.” He looked at the crumpled parchment in the palm of his hand and let the breeze first toy with it and then finally snatch it. Suddenly, the wind changed, and it carried the royal decree off over the fierce gray water. The parchment avoided the icy grips of the waves. As if taunting them, the letter remained just out of reach until a big wave crashed over it and it was gone.
“You must return,” Rauman said as they both watched the parchment meet its fate. “The Eccliati region is very hostile, and the journey there will be strenuous as well. Few have survived the ascent over the mountains.”
“I will return, do not worry. I have too much to live for here.” Prolur turned to Rauman and smiled. He lay his hand on his young friend’s arm and then walked back towards the main building. Rauman followed him and almost walked into him as he abruptly stopped. Prolur turned towards the sound of the choir singing the 29th hymn—Haugar’s lament over the death of his love, the mortal woman Sanía. A song that Prolur knew by heart. “You know,” he said, “the slow parts are the best.”