Earth: A Revised History

The Long Year

It had been a year since that night Berthold had held a ceremony for the dead Captain, then anointed a new one, and since that strange man had approached him. So much had happened since then, and all of it was troubling.

Francis had secluded himself even further, working on some thesis he refused to tell Berthold about, and almost never left his chambers. Johannes, on the other hand, had been invited to one of the bigger churches in a village on the outskirts of the capital.

Berthold missed him dearly, and despite them exchanging one or two letters a week he was concerned. Johannes had told him time and again of raids on his village, and the church had almost been robbed once, which was only prevented by a detachment of Crimson Mages which had been in the area.

Even more so, despite getting compliments from everyone who had visited regarding his first ceremony he had gotten no invitations to any of the other churches in the kingdom. Not even the small ones in the far east. Berthold asked Francis about it once or twice, and he always had the same answer.

"None have arrived!" he said, in what was almost suspicious frustration from the old man. But Berthold didn't believe him, it was just too odd.

With Johannes and Francis both distant from him, that left him with the responsibilities of the church alone. He had held hundreds of small and grand ceremonies in that year, and Berthold believed he had gotten quite good at them. Yet despite seeing dozens if not hundreds of people every day, he felt lonelier than ever.

That's how he found himself feeling that morning, he had finally had a chance to read some new books at the library, which had arrived months back, but he had no one to speak to about them. Berthold had already sent a letter to Johannes, and he wouldn't write another before he got a response. And he hadn't seen Francis in over a week, as even his meals were delivered to him by the younger apprentices.

It frustrated him in a way he refused to recognize, he shouldn't need either of them. Yet they had replaced the family he so wanted to forget.

"Berthold? Francis is calling you," one of the younger apprentices, a boy of fifteen named Orzt, interrupted his reading.

"Oh, he finally wants to talk to me?" Berthold stood up in annoyance, though he was somewhat happy.

"Yes..." he said in resignation, and left Berthold to his own devices.

After a short while of standing there, unsure of what to do, he finally decided to head up to Francis' chambers.

The staircase he remembered was short, but now it seemed to stretch, every marble step a herculean climb heading towards another unknown assignment or more odd requests from a man he just wished would act like something other than a priest.

But he opened the grand wooden doors full of ancient markings just the same, and found Francis hunched over hundreds of pieces of parchment scattered about his desk and the room. Even his simple bed was stacked with them.

"Francis, why did you call me?" Berthold asked impatiently.

Francis turned his head and Berthold could see he had not slept for a couple of nights at least, "I finished it!" his voice croaked, but his face took on a smile of pure pride.

"And what is it, if I may ask?" he strangely found himself genuinely curious. Francis had written theses before, but none so clearly dense. And whatever subject it was on might supply their conversations for a year, at least. Now that he would have more free time again.

"My grandest theses, Berthold. It defines everything our church is doing wrong according to a cross referencing of ancient texts and religious philosophy from the last thousand years," the dark spots under his eyes almost disappeared as a glow crept into them.