Seeking Veritas, Page 3

  Chapter 3: Embarkation

  Dorian waited in the back of the Church. He felt horribly ashamed of himself. Now he knew there was no hope for him other than walking the Path. He quivered inside with the aftermath of the verbal flaying the priest had given him. The only good part of the entire experience was the priest's confirmation that the Path of Redemption would fix him, make him worthy of life in polite society.

  Although he still felt a shred of doubt. Because here he sat, on a humble wooden bench, feeling the heat of the sun through the bits of shadow cast by the sparsely-leaved tree spreading overhead, and waiting for Osval. He needed to see a familiar, friendly face, more than he'd ever admit. He probably should wish for Leola, but truthfully, he no longer existed to her. Once a priest sanctified a pilgrimage to the Path, a person died to society. His position as a non-entity was marked clearly by the drab, shapeless Pilgrim's Robe he wore, its undyed roughspun wool the antithesis of modern fashion. Only safely negotiating the Path would return him to life, and to more comfortable clothing.

  He shouldn't worry about physical comfort. Dorian focused his mind on the health of his soul.

  By the time Osval actually emerged from the Church, Dorian felt more calm. His trembling self-loathing had transformed into calm acceptance. Yes, he carried a lifetime's worth of unclean sin inside him. But he'd taken the first steps towards fixing himself.

  "I'm glad you waited," Osval said, blinking in the sunlight.

  Dorian rose from his bench. "There's no sense in abandoning you when you've come this far," he said, "although I still would prefer doing this on my own."

  "Well, your preferences in this case matter little. Come, let's get on the road."

  They began their pilgrimage right then and there, with no fuss. Dorian found himself wondering how Osval managed to emerge from the interview with the priest so calmly. Had he not suffered a similar degrading experience, where the priest flayed his soul raw and laid it out for careful examination and thorough condemnation? Or was his skin simply thicker, more able to withstand such painful scrutiny?

  "I'd like to make something clear right now," Osval said, voice tightly controlled.

  "Yes?"

  "I don't see any reason we should ever discuss what may or may not have transpired in that Church."

  Ah. Perhaps Osval merely hid the distress more successfully.

  "Agreed."

  They walked in silence for a while, through the streets of Cambrialle. The few people out and about had a variety of different reactions, seeing the pilgrims in their midst. Most common was the look of guilt. How many secrets did the city folk hold? How pervasive was the problem of intense sin, and the lack of desire to do anything about it? Were the priests right when they said society was doomed to Perdition?

  "I can see this isn't going to be much fun," Osval said, finally breaking the introspective silence as they reached the outer edge of the city.

  Dorian glanced at him, the ghost of a smile playing about his lips. "Fun? We're not supposed to have fun. This is, after all, a journey of reflection and repentance."

  "Indeed." The look Osval gave him held little of piety, more of annoyance. "But renewing one's faith shouldn't mean renouncing all enjoyment of life."

  "Perhaps not."

  "And that is why I'm here," Osval suddenly laughed, although the sound fell short of his usual carefree gaiety. "I have to make sure you come out of this still recognizable as yourself, after all."

  Dorian smiled, but didn't reply. Did he want to remain recognizable? Memories crowded into his head, demanding attention. The person that had lived through so many good times with Osval concealed a deadly secret within. Did he truly want that person to survive?