Collecting Legends

by Shadowy Star

Legend Eleven

His church was small, Reverend Patrick Marrey thought on his way to the main room. It didn't matter that much to him now that he was going on fifty and knew that. It had mattered some long time ago when he'd first come to Sattin back then. He'd been an ambitious one, barely having earned his priest's robes, and thought of a great start here and what he could do and move.

Somewhere in between then and now he'd realized most of populace of Sattin worshipped other gods and didn't care in the slightest about the One God. He'd been determined to change that back then, had tried many times and failed just as many. He'd lacked understanding in the ways of human thinking back then, hadn't understand the most would choose an easy religion where you got something in return for all your praying. It had took a long time for him to accept he wasn't just the kind of person who could influence minds of many, like the priests of the Revival had been. He remembered just how much and how fiercely he'd envied them for their sheer will and devotion that could convert the most atheistic of minds into that of a believer. When he'd finally accepted it he'd been surprised at just how much pressure had left him at that. He hadn't realized how he'd been neglecting his duties due to his ambitions.

He sighed softly. It was then that his work became more a calling and not a means to his ambitions. He had his church. But nothing more. He never married, first trying to push his career and then trying to make up for that. Where did his life go? he asked himself sadly. And now he was too old...

Walking unhurriedly down the corridor that connected his rooms to the church, he suddenly saw a bright light in the main room where there should have been a dim twilight of a few candles left for the night.

No chance that lazy boy of an acolyte was up this early in the morning. At that thought he grinned sarcastically but his mirth vanished as quickly as itd come.

He'd never been a courageous person but he couldn't call himself a complete coward either.

He stepped into the atrium and couldn't help but stare.

Someone had lit the candles required for the Morning Mass already and had covered the alter in the proper way and with the right cloth.

Patrick squinted his eyes which he already needed reading glasses for, and finally was able to make out a silhouette kneeling before the altar. He released a deep breath in relief and moved a little closer, already intending to call out to that early visitor.

Yet, he never did.

He couldn't tell what it was about the man before the alter that stopped him. It wasn't certainly about the man's strong, lean frame or the way he was kneeling though that caught his attention, too, reminding him of something he couldn't quite put a finger on. It wasn't about the way how his lips moved in what was obviously a prayer. It was, maybe, the expression on the youthful face, so bare of any emotion it almost seemed made of cold marble. It was an expression of someone well schooled to hide his true emotions so that even here, where the man must think himself alone, he didn't allow anything slip through his facade.

Patrick recognized that expression. It was the same he himself sometimes would wear when the pain of his rheumatic joints was nearly killing him and he would still put on his robes and go down to the altar and somehow made it through the Morning Mass, and through the Evening Rites, and through the late night ceremony of Thanks that needed to be offered.

He strained his thankfully still sharp ears to catch a word of what the other man was saying but the man was whispering very softly and nothing of it reached his ears.

So he stepped in closer to see the praying man was young, barely older than twenty-five. Most probably less. His hair seemed auburn and most likely reached down to his shoulders when untied. Now that head bowed a little more, and then, suddenly and very, very quickly, the young man rose to his feet, turning to face Patrick in the process.

The speed of that movement finally rang a bell in Patrick's memory. Only Knights of the Order of the Golden Flame knelt like that, only on one knee, with hands folded just like that.

"Thank you for not interrupting my prayer," the young man spoke in the meantime, his tone warm. His eyes were the color of green jade and held a kindness Patrick never had seen anywhere before. A light shone from those eyes, bright, and warm, and somehow, knowing. No, not that young, not with eyes like these.

And here, that until then very ordinary morning, for the first and the last time in his life Patrick met a True Priest, equal to those first ones who'd had nothing but their faith and their force of personality to bring a new faith to the world. There was something about that man that caused people to follow wherever he decided to lead them.

"You are a priest," Patrick stated, politeness fleeing him, chased away by his curiosity in seconds.

"Was," the young man answered, slightly inclining his head. "Before the Second Sacrifice. I apologize for using your church in a way I can no longer lay claim to."

"Why did you leave?" Patrick asked, shrugging off the apology. His intuition told him there was a tale behind this.

The young man smiled a tiny smile that wasn't quite sad but not full of joy either.

So the tale wasnt a happy one, Patrick concluded.

"Shift of priority," the not-so-young man said then, and there was no trace of regret in his voice, and Patrick wondered what could more important than their faith.

The young man seemed to sense his thoughts.

"Faith isnt everything," he said. "In my case, well... I could say... life got in the way. Or more correctly, death." His eyes were distant, looking somewhere far away.

And then the young man smiled again, and this time it was full of great relief, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"There are many ways to serve the One God," he added, and turned away, and walked out, leaving Patrick to his own thoughts and ways to serve their God.

Patrick sighed, with renewed faith, and then, he smiled brilliantly at the ceiling.

Who said almost fifty was too late to get a life?

TBC...