Chapter 13: 1-6
And so the Goddess said, “Punishment befalls the sinners whose tongues savored thou. Satisfying thou may be, evil grants false largess. Forgiveness comes to those whose desires are used in mine name. I say to all, mercy I shall bestow upon servants whom carry thy blood for the common good. Hence fear not, children of mine, thou shall rest in mine arms on thy final day.”
Her touch lingered on his cheeks as they slid off.
…
…
…
Alwin Foster stands in front of Lord Zaeru’s statue in the darkness. If it weren’t for the single candle light on the mahogany table, then the priest wouldn’t be able to appreciate his God’s features.
On top of a stone pedestal is Lord Zaeru, the God of Khythia.
Lord Zaeru had the face of a man far older than Alwin Foster. The sculptor skillfully chiseled intricate details, from the number of wrinkles on Lord Zaeru’s forehead to the strands of the long beard cascading down and reaching the floor. His hands were spread open, capturing his loving and generous character while also encompassing his wisdom and power.
Alwin Foster couldn’t be any prouder of serving his God.
There were nights like this one where Alwin Foster couldn’t succumb to the slumber. He’d wake in the middle of the night, think about the day’s events and evening’s routine prayers, but he couldn’t fall asleep. To find tranquility in the cool nights, Alwin Foster would often visit the Zaeruen Chapel near his home.
He’d light a candle on the table in front of the statue, then clasp his hands together as he silently prays on one of the front pews. He’d convey his gratitude, his unworthy requests of asking for another beautiful day when he wakes once more.
The candle shines upon the God’s eyes, and Alwin Foster is just a shadow in his presence.
However, something felt off about this night. Alwin Foster’s heart is heavy and his stomach is curling uncomfortably. He prayed and prayed for peace of mind in everyone’s hearts. Whatever terrible thing was going on, he begged for it to stop. Someone and somewhere out there in the world is suffering, and Alwin Foster could only pray.
But perhaps, this was his God’s sign.
There was a reason he was awake to be here.
The chapel’s doors suddenly burst open and Alwin Foster jumps at the noise. The cold wind sweeps into the room and blows the candle off. He turns to see a shadow like him, a silhouette of an unsteady man. From what he can see from afar, it seems that the man is in robes. He hears him taking deep and heavy breaths as he stumbles his way further in the chapel.
Clearly he was injured.
“What happened!?” Alwin Foster quickly walks over to the stranger and catches him before he could fall over. Alwin’s left hand accidentally brushed against the man’s stomach as he caught him, feeling a sticky and wet texture coat his fingers.
The injured man’s body slumps against his own and he feels the liquid soaking his clothes.
“You are severely injured!” Alwin assists the man to sit on the nearby pew in the middle of the chapel. The stranger groans as his body settles on the wood.
“I will call for a healer, please hold on!”
Whoever this stranger is, innocently injured or not, Alwin believes that they had the right to be saved and face life once more. But before Alwin could dash out the chapel and call for the village’s healers, the injured man grabbed his wrist and held on tight. Alwin gasped at what strength the man had left.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“Are you…a priest?” He asked, coughing.
“I have to go—”
“Don’t go.” Alwin freezes at the broken tone. “Please answer me.”
“I am.”
“Do not call for a healer.” He lets go of Alwin’s wrist, his posture relaxing as he leans back on the pew.
“Why? You will lose your life at this rate.”
“I choose to breathe my last here after I confess.”
“...” At those words, Alwin Foster’s own posture shifts into calmer disposition. He frowns as his eyes soften. He believes that he understands the man’s intentions; he wishes for a final confession before he returns to the God’s side.
Alwin is silent for a moment before he straightens up by the man’s side, then looks up to stare at the shadow of Lord Zaeru.
“I respect your wishes.” He says as he hears the man take in a sharp breath.
“Thank you.”
“Whenever you are ready.” Alwin closes his eyes.
“Won’t you…light a candle?”
“I am not allowed to see the confessor’s face as it would violate Zaeruen’s Seal and your right to privacy.”
The man chuckles, tired and crumbled. “I…understand.”
The priest is quiet.
He understands that they have started, and Father Alwin Foster will wait until he finishes his part. He isn’t familiar with Zaeruen ways, but he doesn’t find it unpleasant so far.
“To be honest Father, I’m not religious at all. I do not believe in the existence of Gods or Goddesses.” He admits with an amused tone that was directed at himself, “But I’m a desperate and pathetic man who couldn’t find anywhere else to run to but here.”
He wasn’t really sure why he was here in the first place. He wasn’t sure if he wanted someone to forgive him, even if it meant just one person in the world. He also felt like he was cheating because out of all the people he chose it was a priest, of a different religion no less. Then it hit him when he barged through the chapel doors. It was now that he realized that he needed a witness. He feels that he does not deserve mercy. If not forgiveness, then someone who will listen to him at least.
To listen to his story and his desires.
“I doubt the intentions of the divine.” He adds, but shakes his head and sighs. “So I am here to talk to you…Whether some god out there shows me mercy or not, or whether you personally forgive me or not…it does not matter…as long as…even if it means…that only one person in the world will know…and I will face the consequences…”
He rests his hands over the bleeding wound on his stomach.
“Father, I have committed countless sins…my hands…my body…is drenched in blood…my beliefs became a cruelty to many…and I do not shred a single regret for what I have done…but…at the same time…my actions haunt me…”
It pierces through his skin and claws at his heart. The same claws gripped his heart and the pain wouldn’t subside as it didn’t hold enough strength to crush his heart. It made him realize that he didn’t have much time left.
“And that’s it…” The confessor ends with a cough.
“...What do you hope to get out of this confession?” Alwin asks.
“Punishment.” He answers firmly. “If the divine exists, then let me be brutally condemned for eternity.”
“...”
“If I survive, then let me be punished by all and face what I deserve. So father…If I somehow survive…”
“I am not allowed to take you to the authorities.”
“Heh, is that your Zaeruen rule or something? What if it were a part of my last will?”
“...Then I shall respect your wishes and do as you will.”
After hearing those words, He couldn’t help but smile as his heavy eyes came to a close. He’s sure he doesn’t have any time left, the world is beginning to slip away and he can barely hear the rest of Alwin’s words or formulate a coherent thought in his head.
He mutters out,
“I’m sorry.”
Outside the chapel, the dark clouds that blanketed the moon make way. The moonlight shines through the stained glass of the chapel. Light illuminated the church and shone an array of colors upon the confessor, shrouding over his body that slumped on the pew.
What could anyone make out from his face? It’s crimson all over, parts of his skin burnt and peeled off. There was barely any hair left, those left are sticking out of his rough and melted scalp. His lips are wet with red, sliding down his chin and dripping on the brown robes. Blood oozed out the side of his body, coating the wooden seat and dripping down the marble floor.
The priest dared not to look at what was left of the man and kept his eyes on the ground, watching his shoes slowly dip into a red sea.