Traverse The Fog

Chapter37

Cyrus felt a vague sense of interest coming from the vicar—well, not exact interest on him, per se, but on Bird, who rested on his head.

"Clear skies." Cyrus pressed a hand to his heart. "My name is Wade, Cyrus."

The vicar's gaze momentarily remained fixed before he inclined his head into a bow.

"Clear skies, Wayfarer Wade." Ithral nodded in a kind gesture. "Have you heard the truth of Lord Úrán? Do you wish to become one with the earth beneath your feet?"

Here we go, just like the old world.

"I'm sorry." Cyrus shook his head, trying to maintain a respectful visage. My upbringing makes it hard to develop faith in any god." His gaze then turned to the globe, flashing with mirthless humor. "And with what's happening outside Avalorn..."

The hidden implications of Cyrus' statement were not lost on Ithral. But the vicar's visage remained statue-like, mirroring Cyrus' movements and gazing meaningfully at the globe.

"I know how you must feel, Wade." A pause. "But one must have faith to keep going, Wayfarer Wade." Ithral thumped at the brown fabrics covering his chest thrice. "And something as simple as faith for a better tomorrow allows you the strength to act today."

"Praise the lord!" Lesley followed up with three thumps.

The vicar cracked a smile at the young woman. "Praise Úrán." His gaze returned to Cyrus. "Tell me, Wade. Have you ever felt hopeless against the trials that challenge your life?"

Those words struck a nerve in Cyrus' heart. Deep within, the suffocating grays of his pointless past life still ebbed, waiting for the moment to take over—no. Cyrus crushed the feeling welling up.

"Yes." Cyrus shrugged nonchalantly, appearing calm. "But who hasn't? It's like asking if a man needs to breathe."

Ithral smiled at the remark. "Then you should also know that such hopelessness would strangle the very air from your lungs."

Cyrus remained silent, swallowing the lump in his throat and pressing his book and camera to his hip. "Your point?"

Ithral began climbing the smooth marble steps, drawing close to the globe. "My point is that you need not be alone." He placed a hand on the smooth, metal surface of the globe's ocean. "My lord will always lower his hand to help you stand back up."

"That sounds nice," Cyrus said, his expression devoid of emotion. "But couldn't I join another religion to achieve the same faith? Does it have to be yours?"

Lesley shivered at his response. Such... blasphemy. However, the vicar remained serene.

"It doesn't," he began, gazing at the far exit as if searching for something. "I truly want to help those who need help. And if it means you are finding faith somewhere else, so be it."

Cyrus was taken aback. This vicar was rather considerate in his attempt to convince him. Nevertheless, he expected there to be a 'but.'

"But." And there it was. "An underlying principle separates Lord Úrán from the others."

"And what's that?"

Ithral smiled; his light brown gaze glimmered with a green light. "Saying the quiet part out loud wouldn't hold strong meaning unless you realize it yourself." He stepped away from the metal globe and descended the steps to stand before the two. "Rather, let me pose a question: Have you read the scriptures from our book? What about the tomes from Athrú and Lasgrias?"

Athrú and Lasgrias? Were they the deities behind the other churches in Avalorn? With this in mind, Cyrus shook his head. "No, I haven't."

"Ah." The vicar hid a chuckle in his sigh. "Fair enough. After spending two decades here, I found it difficult to find those interested in a higher power." He then turned his direction to the west. "Wait here. I shall return with one of our scriptures."

And so he went, leaving the three alone. And as if this signaled Lesley, she stepped closer to Cyrus, her voice drawn to a whisper.

"Want to walk around Avalorn after this?" she smiled charmingly, placing her hands behind her back and leaning in. "I could tell you about the gods, and we could have dinner together when it's late."

Cyrus was taken aback. What Lesley suggested would kill two birds with one stone. To indulge in something other than fruits and vegetables, as he had in the past week? Well, sign him up.

"I don't see a problem with that." Cyrus gazed in the direction Ithral left. So long as it doesn't get weird.

"Great. I know a place with great food," She replied, her blue gaze lighting up in anticipation.

Soon, Ithral returned with three small, leather-bound tomes. "For you to keep, Wayfarer Wade. Each one holds the ideals of the three religions in Avalorn."

Each book carried a different symbol on its cover. The first one, undoubtedly from the church of Úrán, carried a globe, while the other held a squall. And yet, the red leather book carried Cyrus' attention, for it carried a flame. Was this the god that called for him?

"You're so quick to offer these books." Cyrus slowly removed his gaze from the red book toward the vicar. "Are you sure I will read them? And if I do, aren't you afraid I'll join another religion?"

Ithral's serene gaze met Cyrus, and a pale smile formed on his sculpted features. "Naturally, I would wish another to my flock." —He then turned to the globe, voice softening into a whisper— "But so long as a Wayfarer is relieved from his burdens, then I am content. 'For he who stands up, moves forward.'"

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The vicar then stood still as a statue, as if lost in memory's past. It was paradoxically peaceful and gloomy. For one moment, he appeared as if he could lift a boulder with a single hand, and in the next, Ithral seemed ready to crumble. Yet just as quickly it came, Ithral recovered, turning to him serenely while gesturing towards the rows of pew benches.

"I hope the words of my Lord would soothe your heart. And if it does, I expect to see you here during one of my sermons."

The vicar's words and appearance seemed sincere. So much so that Cyrus felt a strange need to take up his offer, yet he hesitated. Better to opt for more noncommittal words.

"I'm busy with my Wayfarer training for now. But once I'm done, I'll see about attending one of your sermons."

Hearing his words, Lesley sweetly smiled at him, her big blue eyes wishing to be noticed. "We can meet up on those days before heading here. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Really? Cyrus nearly choked. "Sure..."

"Then, I'll see you two then." The vicar nodded, focusing on the waiting patrons. "Now, if you excuse me."

He soon took his leave. Once alone, the two spoke of their next steps. Since the dejected Lesley could not achieve her sponsorship goal, the two decided to depart to continue the day.

Was it a date? Cyrus would say no, as all they did was travel the streets of the Corrcho with Bird in tow. Yet he wasted no time gathering more information.

For instance, The Shard of Earth, the religion worshipping the deity Úrán, was a prominent religion that spanned hundreds of city-states. Meanwhile, Athrú, the god worshipped by The Winds of Providence, and Lasgrias, the goddess of The Eternal Flame, were considered minor deities.

"So, there are dozens of gods still alive?" Cyrus asked, turning to Lesley.

By now, Lesley had already removed her hood, revealing more of her beautiful freckled features. And in her hands remained the three scriptures and two library books.

"Yes," she said, her gaze landing on the camera in his hands. "But Cyrus, aren't you forgetting something?" She scoffed. "Don't give me that look. I mean, you have yet to take a 'photo' of me."

Oh. At least Cyrus was smart enough to agree to the idea. And once they found a scenic place, he took the shot.

Click

On its screen was a white-robed woman with long blonde hair. With her came such a beautiful smile and longing look that it even paused passersby.

"I look great," Lesley said, leaning closer, her robe brushing against him. "Right, Cyrus?"

"Yeah, you do." It took all of his efforts to answer with emotion.

Time passed. The skies began to darken, and Lesley led them to a rather elegant restaurant. And what luck! Bird turned out to be a golden ticket, and upon notice, the hostess escorted the two to a more private section.

Inside, the ambiance was beautiful, with dim lighting creating an intimate atmosphere. Tables were meticulously arranged around an empty circular stage in the middle of the restaurant. The night promised to be popular, with well-dressed patrons scattered around, engaged in hushed yet eager conversations.

However, Cyrus paid no attention to his surroundings, focusing solely on the most crucial aspect—the menu. Meanwhile, Lesley's gaze sparkled with excitement in the dimly lit room.

"The Fireflies are playing tonight! I've heard they made it to Avalorn a few weeks ago," she whispered, gaze roaming over the patrons. "Their music and choreography are considered top-class."

A band? One that travels between city-states?

"It's impressive that they willingly head out into the fog," Cyrus mindlessly said, his gaze glued to the menu.

Lesley giggled, her voice teasingly sweet. "Really, Cyrus? We've had a couple of groups enter Avalorn every year." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "If I didn't know any better, I would think you live under a rock."

Cyrus cursed inwardly. He has had so little time to integrate himself fully.

"So, what are you studying at the Academy?" Cyrus asked, hoping to change the subject.

Lesley deflated like a popped balloon. Quickly, her gaze flickered from him to Bird, who rested on his head. Was she searching for something? It wasn't until a moment of awkward silence that she reacted.

"I'm an earth apprentice," she whispered, searching his features for traces of disdain.

"What's so bad about that?"

Caitríona snorted, her whisper slightly incensed. "Come on, Cyrus. Everyone knows that when a mage turns to religion, it means their talent is worthless." —Her whispers quickened as if speaking of sins— "If anyone from the academy witnessed me entering the church, I would become a laughing stock." She derisively laughed at herself, her pale hands balling into fists on the table. "Could you imagine it? An apprentice for half of her life, unable to become an adept."

So that's why she kept her face hidden at church. With this in mind, several conjectures popped into Cyrus' mind. "You're joining The Shard to... avoid humiliation."

Lesley slumped onto the velvet seat, slowly nodding. "Without Lord Úrán, how would I be better than what I am?" She looked towards the center of the room, where the dim lighting shaded half her face. "It's a good deal, I think? I would go and learn earth magic, become a specialist, while the church gains another follower." A quiet, breathless laugh escaped her lips. "But even after a year of attending sermons, I'm still not worthy of being a neophyte."

A rare trace of sympathy crossed Cyrus. Who didn't understand the struggles of trying to succeed in life? Yet even he, who had been against the concept of religion all his life, noticed a flaw in her logic.

"Miss Leasly," Cyrus began, catching her attention. "The Church isn't looking for deals, but true devotion. You heard Vicar Ithral; Úrán wants to help carry the followers' burden alongside them. And that means being sincere with your faith in him."

But what did Cyrus know? For all he knew, what the vicar said could be simply pretty words. After all, what was faith to the divine?

"You're right," She groaned, face buried into her hands. "Maybe I should hold off for a while. Maybe speak with the vicar for help."

There was a lull in the conversation. Lesley appeared to be lost in thought. Not that it mattered to Cyrus. Right now, food was the most import—"Does it bother you?"

Cyrus blinked. "What does?"

Lesley leaned in, ocean-clear gaze locking onto his, her voice into a feathery whisper. "What I'm doing. The lying to everyone. Does it bother you?"

There was a pause between them. Cyrus knew better than to compare him to her about lying.

"No, it doesn't bother me, Miss Lesasly," he said sincerely. "We all have secrets we don't like sharing with others. And sometimes you do what you must do against life's challenges."

But Cyrus stopped there. A small part of him wanted to convey how constructing a tower of lies could eventually lead to its collapse, but he felt his face was not thick enough.

Pleased by his response, Caitríona's soft smile bloomed splendidly as she pulled back her hair to reveal more of her beautiful face, now illuminated by candlelight.

"It's Cait," she whispered, voice soft yet heavy. "Call me Cait."

The gears turned in Cyrus' head. Should he? But that would mean he accepted the dynamic she wanted. But fortunately for him, both of their attentions were diverted by the staff swiftly moving musical instruments and chairs around the stage.