Part Four
While Slate is ‘subdued’ by the Watch, Arcareius the White awakes in acolyte cell in the Cathedral of the Trinity. His life was simple since being found on the altar of the Trinity as a babe. It was deemed by the High White Jessica Pureheart, that he would be trained as one of her successors.
Glancing at the small mirror in his room, Arcareius dons his habit. Most people would say he is beautiful, high cheekbones, soft and full mouth, deep golden eyes with white-blond hair. The only marring he has on this perfect body was six scars on his back, three on each side. He has had them since being a babe, no one knows how he got them.
As much as the calling to Arcareius was easy to hear, the other successors didn’t admire his faith. At the age of only fourteen, he passed the test to be view as a member of the Church while most acolytes don’t complete the examination until their mid-twenties. This caused no end of bitterness in his fellows, but as much as Arcareius was blind to the others scorn and jealously.
Heading to morning pray, Arcareius moves through the white halls of the Trinity’s Cathedral. Ignoring the whispers of his fellows, Arcareius strode into the sub-church as that is what a humble man would do.
Kneeling at the marble pedestal, Arcareius murmurs the words of the White, “We are the holy fires that burn within. We bear the sword of justice with conviction. Our earth is pure as the cycle of life and death, we are Trinity’s light that brings clarity and purity to mind, body and soul.” Taking a breath, he pleads to the Trinity. “In your boundless wisdom would you guide your fragile follower, he doth know what need of him but fears that his path is not a straight line as most claim.”
An older but gentle voice rings out in the pews, “Maybe It is just waiting for you to figure out yourself?”
How dare someone commits such heresy in the Trinity’s Church, Arcareius whips around to see the High White standing there smiling at him. She has a presence that has not diminished in her later years. Many laugh line surrounding her brilliant green eyes with only a touch of her ruby hair within the mess of grey.
“Oh, High White, I was merely praying to the Trinity to give me some guidance,” Arcareius said as he kneeled in front of the High White.
“Do not worry and rise, my son, in Its light we flourish. As much as we, old folks, prattle on about the Trinity, we know that each one’s path to White is their individual journey.” Jessica explained. “Maybe my old ears lend you a listen, how about it Acolyte Arcareius?”
Looking into the eyes of the holiest person in Faviniona, Arcareius hesitates his next words for only a moment. “I do not know, your Grace, I feel wrong somehow. I listen to the journeys of other Whites, and you all had a full life in each Aspect. Even your Grace did a stint in the Orange Crusaders. I am being moulded to be a White, maybe to be your successor, I am an only twenty-two-year-old, and I don’t know enough to lead the Church.”
With a bark of a laugh, mirth rises in High White Jessica. “Finally, my son, you have realised that your path is longer than you thought. I have never said there is a distinct journey to White, but you have to understand that. We can preach and tell you our stories, but you have to listen to concede that your path differs from your sisters and brothers of the White.”
“Then what should I do?” Arcareius asks.
Standing up, with no sign of age. “Then we go grab a tram and head to the Blue gaol.” As Jessica leaves Arcareius dumbfounded in the aisle of the outer Church, she glances back. “Coming, my son?”
With a rustle of hemp cloth, Arcareius jogs to catch up with his High White. The only thing on his mind is why are we going there? If Arcareius could hear Jessica’s thoughts, he would know.
Samuel Colbran 