Seeking Veritas

Seeking Veritas

  a tale of Anarill

  Marie Brown

  © 2014

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: An Unpleasant Evening

  Chapter 2: To Walk the Path

  Chapter 3: Embarkation

  Chapter 4: On the Road To Perdition

  Chapter 5: The Path of Redemption

  Chapter 1: An Unpleasant Evening

  "You should have attended the Purification with me," Leola said, fluttering her lashes coyly as Dorian lead her from the dance floor.

  "I believe your father and brothers provided suitable chaperones," Dorian responded, not looking at his companion.

  "Yes, of course, but it would have been better if you had attended as well."

  "We discussed this before, many times," Dorian said, keeping his tone polite and noncommittal. "You know I had too much to do at work to leave for any length of time. I trust you enjoyed yourself?"

  "Oh, yes!" Leola sighed dreamily. "It was wonderful. I've never had the opportunity to actually watch as someone's soul was cleansed and purified of sin. I could actually see the sin as it left, thick oily clouds of it."

  "That wasn't sin, it was smoke," Dorian snapped, disgust getting the better of discretion. He shook Leola's hand off his arm and stepped away from her. "From a man burning alive."

  "Of course it was sin! I know he was burning, of course, it is the only way to purify such vile and disgusting sin and make a soul fit to enter into Veritas. What is wrong with you, dear? You sound as if you'd rather that poor man went straight to Perdition, rather than his reward."

  "I can't help but think of how he felt, that's all," Dorian said, running his hand through his hair as his guts roiled. "Standing there in front of cheering folk, tied hand and foot to a stake, as the flames crept closer and began to burn, with all the gathered crowd just waiting for his screams to begin. . . The Purifications sicken me."

  "You shock me, sir!" Leola's eyes widened, and she stepped back a pace. People in the crowd around them began paying closer attention to the altercation in their midst.

  "Have you no compassion? That was a man, I'm telling you, of flesh, and bone, and intellect. Would you wish to feel the flames eating at your body?"

  Leola sniffed, tossing her hair. "If I were to become a vile pervert, of course I would want to be Purified. It is, after all, the only way to enter into Veritas. What is wrong with you, Dorian?"

  Dorian glanced at their avid audience and sighed. Some battles just didn't warrant the cost of fighting. "Nothing is wrong, my dear," he said, feeling the lie like molten lead eating his tongue. "I am just a touch out of sorts this evening. Please excuse me. I feel the need for a walk in the clear night air."

  Dorian bowed to his lady and exited the ballroom, through a trail of scandalized whispers, giggles, and raised eyebrows.

  Out in the mild warmth of nighttime, Dorian loosened his slender bow tie and starched collar. He took a deep breath with relief, paused for a very brief moment with his eyes closed, considering his destination, then moved purposefully through the night. Not much choice, really, as Leola would likely seek him out in his home to continue lambasting him with her religious fervor. That meant finding a place Leola would never dream of entering, a place filled with sin, depravity, and men: the Bachelor's Lounge.

  As always, the Lounge held a crowd of young men, and some not so young, reclining at ease in padded wingback chairs or hunched over gaming tables. A cloud of hazia smoke billowed gently as Dorian entered. He looked around the familiar old room and smiled. He hadn't been here in a while, since he was technically not a bachelor anymore, and it felt good to be back.

  "Dorian!"

  The sound of that voice broadened his nostalgic smile into a grin. He moved towards the source of the shout, his closest friend and Leola's brother, Osval. He hadn't attended the Purification either, on the same grounds as Dorian.

  "What are you doing here, Dorian? I thought you were escorting Leola to the Martinson's ball?"

  "I was," Dorian replied, grin dimming a bit. "Your sister became upset with me, because I have no liking of the Purifications."

  Osval shuddered, but made a properly pious response. "The Purifications are necessary to save the souls of those lost to sin."

  "So they are," Frederik, a mutual friend, chimed in from across the card table. "But that's neither here nor there. Sit down, Dorian, and we'll deal you in."

  So Dorian sat and enjoyed the company of his old friends as he hadn't in what seemed a very long time, although the pleasure didn't last more than a few moments before the unthinkable happened.

  A ripple of shock spread through the room from the doorway before Dorian had even gotten his first ale from the barkeep. He felt a sharp stab of dread and looked up, just in time to see Leola sweeping into the room, head held high and nostrils flaring with exertion. Dorian couldn't help making an irrelevant, and unflattering, comparison between Leola and Osval. Both shared a distinct family resemblance, but the nose that looked perfectly at home on a man's face looked more horselike when applied to a woman. He brushed off the inappropriate thought and rose to greet his lady.

  "Hello, Leola, what brings you here?"

  "You know perfectly well what brings me here," she snapped, sailing gracefully across the crowded room towards him. "What kind of beau abandons a lady at a ball?"

  "Clearly an unsatisfactory one," Frederik laughed, rising as the lady approached. Osval rose as well, taking his sister by the arm and attempting to guide her back out of the bar. She shook him off.

  "Indeed," Leola glared. "And to find you here, in this smoke pit, rather than out walking as you claimed, merely increases the injury done to me. You, sir, are on dangerous ground for one who claims to love me."

  "I never said that."

  The words popped out before he could stop them and he groaned, clapping a hand to his forehead. "Leola, forgive me, I—"

  "Oh!" Leola reeled as if smacked. "Well!" Her cheeks paled, then flushed, then paled again, and she drew herself up to her full height. "If that's the way you feel, then, you may take your poor manners and your dislike of our religion and do with them as you will. I have no more time to waste on the likes of you."

  Head held high, Leola exited the Bachelor's Lounge, leaving a wake of stunned silence behind her. Osval glanced at his sister, then his friends, then his sister again. He sighed, then followed after Leola.

  "Uh. . . Now what?" Keltas, another friend from childhood, spoke up, breaking the silence to voice the words echoing through everyone's minds.

  "Now," Dorian drew an unsteady breath, "I am going to sit back down and drink my ale when it gets here. Then I think I may go home for the evening."

  "Sounds like a good enough plan," Keltas said, reaching for his own ale.

  Dorian settled back into his chair, moving slowly. He wondered at his own reaction. Nothing. He felt absolutely nothing he should feel, only a ringing sense of relief. The breakup may as well have happened to someone else.

  He sipped at his ale when it arrived, brooding. What made him feel so wrong inside? The truth nibbled at the edges of his consciousness, but he ignored it. He ignored his friends, as well, nursing his ale and allowing the card game to flow around him, steadily sorting through his thoughts and feelings. All pointed towards the secret within him, the thing he didn't want to think about.

  Dorian set his half-finished ale down and slipped quietly away from the table while three of his friends argued over the point value of a certain card and its conditional modifiers. He ignored the looks from other patrons of the club, whether concerned, condescending, or amused. In fact, he ignored everything, shutting the world out of his consciousness as completely as he could manage, moving steadily through the gaslit stree
ts to the sanctuary of his home.

  Once inside, he locked the door securely behind him and ran a hand through his hair, disordering it.Why not? He felt disordered on the inside, after all, why not look the part?

  The sideboard held a bottle of fine spirits, an engagement gift from Osval. He snorted. So much for the future. Well, perhaps the strong liquor would ease his discomfort better than a simple beer.

  Perhaps it eased him too much. Dorian rarely drank strong spirits. The effect of the first glass, which went down smooth as honey, had him feeling all sorts of warm and tingly, that perhaps his secret wasn't so bad, and that he really wanted more of the lovely spirits. The drink made him feel good, physically at least, so he went ahead and had more, then even more after that. Part of him remained conscious of his thoughts, but most of him focused on his body, and how unusually good he felt. Things never done in polite Bandoran society suddenly seemed a good idea, such as taking off some of his restrictive tight clothing and thinking about his shameful secret as just a part of himself, nothing to be ashamed of, something to be enjoyed instead. Off came more clothes.

  I'm drunk, he thought at one point. Drink is a sin. Sin is fun!

  So he went ahead and sinned some more, a sin even bigger than mere drink, and fell asleep on the couch with a smile on his face, dreaming of his secret. His beautiful, wonderful secret.

  A sudden urgency roused Dorian in the dark of night and sent him stumbling for the flushpot. His body wanted to be rid of all the spirits he'd drunk, and held him retching miserably over the flushpot for entirely too long. When the heaves ended, leaving him empty of everything inside, Dorian realized he was cold and sent his body staggering for his warm bed instead of the couch, then dropped into unconsciousness once more.

  The second time he went scrambling for the flushpot wasn't nearly as pleasant as the first, and far more undignified than merely throwing up.

  Why did I do this to myself?

  His body didn't answer, just tried to turn itself inside out. He groaned, thinking about sin and the wages thereof. Perhaps the Churchmen were right.

  By the time Dorian reached his bed again, he was shaking and more than half convinced he should renew his faith. If this was the aftermath of sin, he never wanted to sin again!

  Faith. Simple, direct, easy to understand but hard to live. Perhaps if he made a greater effort to follow the teachings of the Church, his life would simplify a bit. The teachings of the Church were meant to guide people through life, and he felt in sore need of some guidance now.

  But would the Church embrace a sinner such as himself?

  Dorian passed out again.