Death After Death

Chapter 375 - A Lifetime Vow

Simon’s first question when the door was closed behind him and he was being escorted out of the dungeon was, “Who was that woman?”

He was ignored the first time he asked it, but when he followed up with, “I didn’t really understand half of her questions,” the knight walking with him finally responded.

“Nor should you,” he answered curtly. “You’d be better off forgetting half of what you heard. She is… an anomaly. We keep her to find the truth in matters that don’t justify simply burning the offender.”

“Burning? Like at the stake?” Simon asked, feigning panic. Burning alive wasn’t on his death wishlist, but he’d died in worse ways. “I can assure you I—”

“You did fine,” he said dismissively. “If there’d been a problem, she would have told us.”

Simon wasn’t so sure about that, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he switched topics and said, “So if I passed, will I be allowed to join the brotherhood now?”

“You will be allowed to take the test,” the man confirmed. “That is as much of an honor as any man deserves.”

Simon knew it would be pointless to ask the man about those tests, but still, he did so anyway and let himself get rebuffed. It would have been strange for a recruit not to show excitement at that moment.

Before any testing was done, though, he was allowed to bathe and change. It was the middle of the night, only a few hours after he’d finished drinking, so he wasn’t particularly hungry, or even tired, but there was a strange ceremonial aspect to all of this. He was given an outfit that consisted of a white tunic, gloves, and breaches. He was even given a sword, though he noticed that it was dull as he belted it on.

After that, he was taken to a small chapel near one wall of the defunct castle, where he was led in a prayer that involved several saints he only vaguely remembered. The metaphors and symbolism of the prayer were florid, though, and left no doubt what this was about. Wings of white, purifying light, and the sanctity of silence were all words that were repeated ad nauseam before he was finally told to draw his sword as the priest explained Simon’s task.

“You are to stand vigil at this shrine for a day and a night,” the man explained. It was simple enough, and Simon nodded at that, even if he didn’t understand the man’s final words until long after he’d been left alone.

“You are to do this with a pure mind and a pure body,” the priest cautioned him. “Do not allow yourself to be dirtied by the world. Rise above it.”

Simon thought that was a metaphor for the first two minutes. It was only then that he noticed that the room's darkness was more than just shadows. A thick dusting of soot had been put on every surface of the room. It was on the floor, the altar, the walls, and the pillars. Everywhere that one might lean to sit or rest was covered in the stuff.

“So that’s what he meant about being dirtied by the world,” Simon nodded. It made for a decent test, he supposed. Anyone lazy enough to take a nap, hoping no one would find out, would betray themselves when they stepped out into the light. Fortunately, it was one that was easy enough to pass, too. All he had to do was stand there and wait.

Simon was used to such hardships and spent the time reflecting on Cassandra specifically and the Whitecloaks in general. Despite all of his time here, there were so many secrets. It really wasn’t a simple situation.

He wasn’t about to complain, though. He was making headway, and another test or two more after this, and he was confident he’d wear the white.

While he yawned a few times, Simon had zero problems with this test, and at sunrise the following day, the doors were opened again, and he was given a big speech about how he’d been reborn. This was delivered by the same priest after a cursory inspection of his outfit that didn’t bear a single trace of soot.

From there, he was rushed off to do battle with another knight. This was done with steel blades that had been dulled, but the fight wasn’t nearly as challenging as the one he’d engaged in the other day. In fact, the ceremonial nature of the thing made him fairly sure that he was supposed to win.

After that was a more mysterious test, though it was undermined by the rushed nature of all of this. While the affair had started as a solemn and strange ritual like the Feast for Beggars he’d attended so long ago, it seemed that at some point the decision had been made, and they were rushing him from event to event like they were checking boxes on some kind of list.

At least the test was still clever, though, in its way. He was led to a different dungeon, where he found three occupied cells. “Choose the worst among them, and pronounce their sentence,” was the only explanation given, but even without the sight, he suspected he would have passed.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Two of the men were too clean and clean-cut to be prisoners. They were obviously knights who’d changed into something less comfortable. The third man, though, was a real criminal. His soul wasn’t exactly black. It was more of a dark gray, and Simon didn’t have to look too deeply to see that there was no blood on his hands. Theft seemed to be the more likely crime.

He pretended to study all three for a minute, and then two, so he wouldn’t make things too obvious. Then, he fingered the dark-souled man and stated his assumptions. “I don’t believe he’s deserving of death,” he decided finally. “Perhaps the removal of one or both hands, depending on how much he’d—”

“You must decide that yourself,” the knight escorting him interrupted. “You will not always have a senior brother with you in the wild places, and you will have to mete out such punishments alone, without your judgment and sight to guide you.”

“One hand then,” Simon answered, repressing the urge to be flippant. “His right. That will be a good reminder for him to do right.”

Simon expected that all of this was an act anyway, so it didn’t really matter, but when the man paled and begged for mercy, it suddenly took on a new tone. While he wasn’t sure he’d change his mind even if the criminal had argued for leniency, he was never given a chance, and Simon was taken away before the condemned man could whine about it.

"No, please!" the man called as the door closed behind Simon. "I'll make amends. I'll..."

Would they really let me pass judgment on a man almost at random? He wondered as they left. What if I’d seen a touch of darkness and simply declared he should die?

He wasn’t sure. After those three tests, he expected something to do with magic, like he’d had to deal with the first time, but that never came. I guess they don’t want to have brothers accidentally lose their sight by casting a spell,

he reasoned. They were kept as hermetically sealed from magical knowledge as possible. That had been his whole job the last time he was here. To censor spells and filter the knowledge that would be given to them. In that sense, silent archivists were much more disposable than witch-hunting fanatics. Instead, he was made to pray again and kiss an altar as if that would reveal if there was evil in his heart. He was given admonishments and told that if he wished to leave, there was still time.

That much, at least, was a lie. He could see it in the aura of the knight who told him. To have second thoughts at this point in the process would be cut down. Again, Simon couldn’t shake the feeling that all of this was meant to be done over the course of days, or even with other candidates at certain steps, but things rushed on regardless of how he felt about them.

Once all of that was done, he was taken to the grand hall where he was required to swear an oath of eternal loyalty to the Unspoken. That was when he was finally brought before the Grandmaster and a few other familiar faces he couldn’t name in the inner temple.

While the events leading up to this moment had been a bit underwhelming, the venue itself still inspired some awe.

It was as clean as the first chapel had been grimy, and it was illuminated throughout with hundreds of candles. While it wasn’t exactly ornate, there was some gold on display, making the place feel powerful, even if he knew that any magic here was well hidden.

If I ever make my own religion, I’ll have to remember to hide magic in plain sight, too, he told himself as he appreciated the moment.

“Have you come here, of your own volition, to speak the words and be bound by them?” the Grandmaster asked in solemn tones.

“I have,” Simon agreed. Though he thought it was a little ironic to speak about anything that should be unspoken, he refrained from taking the oath.

Though he didn’t like the idea of swearing eternal anything, given how broad his concept of eternity was, Simon saw no reason not to mouth the words. There were no words of power in the oath, and the document that he swore upon had no runes that he could see. It was just a leather-covered holy book.

“I, Enis of Anderwen, do swear to purge the evils of this world without becoming stained by them. I will strike down the wicked and purge their hellish machinations with fire. I will serve the people, but never speak a word of our holy mission, lest I doom my soul to the same fires as those we struggle against.

I will continue this fight and wear the white until my dying day, or until the world finally knows peace. So help me.”

Besides, on some level, he planned on keeping that oath, at least most of it. He did plan to purge evil wherever he found it. That he would use magic instead of purging it completely struck him as a distinction without difference. As for not telling anyone, well, he’d gotten very good at keeping secrets over the course of his many lives. What was one more?

By the time Simon was done with all of that, the sun was high in the sky. He wasn’t tired, though; he was excited, and as he was led around the castle by a young squire and given the full tour, he listened to everything the young man said, even though he already knew most of it.

The young man showed him where his small room was, as well as the library, the forges, the chapels, and the mess hall. He neglected to show Simon where the Black Library or the secret forges that made the blessed weapons were, but Simon didn’t hold that against him. He almost certainly didn’t know about them either.

I’ve finally done it, with my tongue intact, even, he thought to himself. He might be one of the lowest people in the organization, but he didn’t care. Others could fight over pecking order; he had other concerns.

The young man also introduced him to several important people, like the bursar, who handled payments to the knights, and the quartermaster, who was responsible for outfitting whatever expeditions the order put out. Simon was very respectful to them both; it would have been foolish not to, considering how much power they had.

He wasn’t looking forward to getting paid or outfitted, though. He wasn’t even looking forward to going warlock hunting. He was looking forward to spending some quality time in their library, devouring every scrap of knowledge the Unspoken had on hunting witches, monsters, and whatever else they had in their archives.