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“What are you willing to give me if I deliver him to you?”
“Power. Immense power.”
From then on, Shu watched for an opportunity to hand him over.
~
New Witchington and the world that surrounded it was curious to say the least, home to people from different corners of the land, perhaps even another dimension altogether. Different people brought different scriptures, different things Shu had never heard of before.
“Did you see this one, Brother Shu?”
“Oh, I haven’t, actually,” Shu nodded as he took the book from Phreid’s hands, a leather book that had long since lost most of its pages, leaving only a chapter’s worth of fading ink.
“I found it in the ruins leading to the End.”
Shu scanned through the words, the paper threatening to crumble under his touch. It was a story of a man who betrayed his leader, his god, for a mere 30 pieces of silver, leaving him to be captured by the shackles of death.
“All for a few pieces of metal, huh? Can’t imagine anyone doing that.”
Phreid gazed up towards the ceiling of the church, yet his eyes were closed, as if he saw far beyond what Shu ever could, “Somehow it isn’t hard to believe.”
“How so?”
“Well, when someone desires something so deeply, who’s to say they won’t throw away anything just for a chance to get their hands onto it?”
“But their conscience!”
“But their humanity,” Phreid gently replied, placing a hand on Shu’s, “We’re all human. We all feel greed. We all err.”
Silence. Phreid was right. The unending series of theft, the inability to ever take anything in the town seriously, the pranks they all pulled under the blind spot of Death’s scythe, not all of it were good qualities, but all of it was human.
“Say, Brother Shu, would you ever do this to me?”
“Of course not, Father Phreid!” The answer was immediate. Shu would never betray Father Phreid, head oracle of the Church of Chat, the one who brought the word of Chat to New Witchington! He was the one who gave him a place under Chat’s loving wing, and a voice to guide him through this mysterious world filled with endless unknowns! Why would he turn his back against Father Phreid for anything in the world?
“I see.”
From the corner of his eyes, Shu could see Phreid’s ever-present smile falter just a little. He assumed that he was just tired from reading, nothing more.
~
A veil of darkness and a voice.
“Hello, my child.”
This must be the voice of chat, Shu thought, The voice that only Phreid could hear the clearest.
“Aren’t you tired?”
“Well, it is past midnight,” he quipped. The air in New Witchington was always this comfy, sleepy warmth, one that forgave anything under the excuse of “It’s funny”. Habits die hard.
“Aren’t you tired of always being second?”
“There hasn’t been any competition in New Witchington recently.”
“Aren’t you tired of always living in Father Phreid’s shadow?”
Shu’s breath hitched. Who was he to speak blasphemy against Father Phreid and to speak lies against himself?
“Understanding chat may sometimes be tough, sometimes you may encounter messages that are beyond repair. You shall have abilities to banish such messages within your power as you hear them,” he began reciting the scriptures under his breath, clutching the fabric of his cloak, his nails digging into his palms, leaving marks and a dull throb. The devils were in his face, tempting him with rewards that he never even cared for.
“All these stressful times, and you’re still tied up by his words. My child, I weep for your blind ignorance, oh sheep that has strayed from the brightest path!”
“I’m not ignorant!”
“Everyday, you tail him like a lost puppy, cooing Father Phreid this Father Phreid that, putting on this mask that you so desire to let crack… My child, you do know that I am an omniscient being, right? My eyes are in the thousands, witnessing your every step and breath. You ache for his power, my child, you ache for your chance to lead the Church of Chat beyond his incompetent, stagnant ways.”
Father Phreid, Father Phreid, what do I do? How can I banish away messages that are beyond repair, when the broken messages are the truest ones of them all?
Chat was right. Shu was growing tired of lying. And was it even wrong? As Phreid said. we’re all humans, we feel greed. As long as his belief towards Chat remained the same, does it matter if the last thing left in his heart for the father of the church wasn’t growing jealousy and disdain. He was good as a friend, but not as a father. He was too soft, too gentle, too weak to defend themselves from the other growing religions who sought to tarnish their name.
He was human. His feelings were normal and justified. And his actions to get what he wanted would just be “funny” to New Witchington and to his conscience, nothing more.
“Let me strike up a deal with you, my child.”
“No.” He was running out of witty words.
“Your heart says yes, so I will follow the truth. It’s about time Phreid… retired from his duties.”
“So what?”
“The book you brought to this land. Take it and write down Phreid’s name. He will then return to me.”
“What are you willing to give me if I deliver him to you?”
“Power. Immense power. One that will make you stronger than anyone in this realm. Beyond Phreid, beyond Vetruvius II, second to only me.”
Just a name in the book. How bad could it be? The townspeople always laughed at his antics, mocking the Book of Death and calling it a fake. And it was a fake, of course it was! There was no way a clergyman would carry such a cursed object around! It’s just a name in the book, it won’t hurt!
From then on, Shu watched for an opportunity to hand him over.
~
Phreid died.
It was sudden, accompanied by the ring of a bell and the collapse of the ground, and Shu could only watch Phreid’s lifeless eyes open for the first time before him, the dull blue that he could only assume was once a bright cyan, something he hid away for the sake of the greater good. The white robes on him that were never anything but spotless were dyed a muddy crimson, the colour spreading from the spike of the dripstone that stabbed itself mercilessly through his abdomen.
Death had no consequence in New Witchington. That’s what Shu and the rest of the townspeople knew, and what things should’ve been like. That’s why a joyous barbeque consisting of the entire town in an enclosed place was held the day after a presidential assassination. That’s why all the pranks were always just for fun.
“Father Phreid told me that he heard the prophecies from Chat. He knew he was going to die forever, and never return,” Kalvin had said before the entire party was thrown into a panic. Suddenly, their greatest entertainment became the most terrifying nightmare, and the concept of always returning to your soft fluffy mattress after having a sword driven through your chest was no more.
And he didn’t even tell me. When I’m one of the clergymen.
Shu knelt before the pit, ignoring the pebbles’ pitiful attempts of trying to imitate Phreid’s pain of being impaled by pricking at his knees. Someone (he didn’t know who, who dared not look back, lest he forgot what Phreid looked like, lest he disappeared the second he turned away) gripped onto his arms, fearing that out of grief he would plunge himself deep down under and join Phreid in Chat’s arms.
The shouting at the barbeque party turned muffled, something something Aulira being scared she was next like she wasn’t the one who burned their sacred church to begin with, something something Kalvin retelling another part of the prophecy that Shu didn’t know about and in this state possibly wouldn’t ever, a lot more screaming for the Sheriff that never seemed to do anything, yet what was he supposed to do now in the face of a new, permanent fear?
Nothing. It was hopeless. It was over for New Witchington.
No, he couldn’t stay depressed. He couldn’t be beaten down by something so… simple and insignificant. He would find the killer, find who took his Father Phreid away from him, but the church still had to keep going. That’s what he would have wanted.
“Attention!” He stepped onto stage, where Phreid last stood before his untimely demise, slamming his hands on the lectern. The party shut up in an instant, all eyes and ears anxiously waiting for his beck and call. “Father Phreid has, unfortunately, passed away. As per an agreement we have made, should he be absent, I will step up as the Father of the church. While the times are… bad, I hope the Church may continue to be a safe place for everyone. Rest in peace, Father Phreid, thank you for your contributions.”
A gross imitation of Phreid’s artful words, just like the pebbles that left marks on his legs, but Shu was forced to take up the title before he was ready. He could do nothing but bask in the applause and nods from the audience, for he was just a human, and humans liked praise.
“Father Shu!” “Father Shu.”
For some reason, the name sounded more fitting than “Brother Shu”.
~
There was no funeral for Phreid, for he had returned on the seventh day, a measly day after Shu had taken over the title of “Father”.
There was no tomb, no mining away the stone used to cover up the pit to see Phreid’s body gone, just him, standing before Shu, with his eyes open.
And for some reason, despite someone so dear having returned, Shu only felt like he just lost everything.
“Father Phreid!” His excitement, his desperation, his run, all of it like the Engineer’s pranks, a mechanical programmed sensation that felt more like an “I should” than “I felt like doing”, “You’re back!”
He pushed past Bogh and Ms Scripta, only to be met with a live round in front of his face, and a terrified expression, uncharacteristic of the Phreid he knew.
“Why is there a horned creature? And why do you have a snout?”
Shouldn’t Phreid know of the armour in this world as well?
“You can’t be Phreid… can you?” Shu backed away cautiously.
“Everyone keeps calling me that!”
Shu looked up and down again. Casual speech. Spiking emotions that wore themselves on his sleeve. Wide open, bright blue eyes. No, this wasn’t Phreid. This wasn’t Phreid at all. He isn’t the Father, the Father is dead, and now Shu has taken his place.
“Well, I’m Father Shu. The current Head of the Church.” If this Phreid-esque creature won’t give his name, he might as well introduce himself first.
“You say as if it’s not permanent.”
“The church has recently… lost a member.” Lay it on light, don’t scare him away, don’t make him suspect the weakness of the church. “He passed away recently.”
“I see, so you’re acting in his stead?”
“Yes.” Speaking like a leader was hard.
“Do you have a name?”
“No, I just showed up here! I don’t remember anything!”
Immediately, the people launched into throwing out names hoping that it would stick, the traditional New Witchington way of doing things so sloppily though always working out in the end. Some suggested to stick to Phreid (the mysterious Phreid figure refused standing in for a dead man in body and spirit), some suggested Flem (sounded gross, immediately refused by the group and the man himself), and countless more questionable choices that wouldn’t stick well as a name, as peculiar the names in New Witchington were.
Suddenly, a whisper, piercing through Shu’s mind like an arrow.
Farid.
“Chat said… Farid.” As the Father of the Church, it was his duty to relay the word of Chat to anyone who would listen.
“Chat…?”
“An inner voice we all have.”
This was truly not Phreid. A man who refused the name Phreid, a man who walked the lands with his eyes open, a man who did not know of their god could not be Phreid.
Phreid was dead. Completely dead.
“Farid… I like it.”
And in his place, was a clean slate named Farid.
~
The one responsible for Father Phreid’s death was found mere minutes before the trial for Mayor Clifford’s assassination.
The murderer was found cowering underground, a notebook thrown on the ground before him, his hands gripping at his face and skin, hoping to rip off any part of himself from his body, to rid himself of this mortal flesh and sin.
He was found by himself.
It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be, he just wrote Phreid’s name into the book. It shouldn’t have done anything. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to kill Phreid. His hand was forced! He was threatened by a higher being! Father Phreid was a respected leader of the Church, and a beloved leader in his heart! Chat told him to do it!
Trembling fingers frantically rubbed against the dried ink, attempting to undo a story that has already reached its end. Father Phreid was dead, and there was no magic in the world that could ever bring him back.
Hilarious, isn’t it? It’s so easy to kill in New Witchington, it’s so easy to expect people to come back. The blood red, jagged handwriting mocked him and the beast within, the one that had always wanted to slash Phreid’s throat and watch the same crimson spill from the wound again, and again, and again till he relinquished the title. If anything, the book gave him an easy way out, making someone else do the dirty work while he kept his hands clean and preached for everyone else to do so.
He was no better than the man in the outworldly scriptures. 30 pieces of silver, a one word title added to his name, what difference was it? Was Father Phreid worth so little? The Father Phreid who held his hand through his journey of enlightenment, the Father Phreid who treated him with all the fondness of the world, the Father Phreid he knelt and cried his throat hoarse for during the moonlit nights? Had he failed Father Phreid, after all of his preachings of kindness and gentleness?
No, it’s fine, for humans all err. He was no God, no deity, no collection of voices. He was human, and as Phreid had said, to be human was to feel greed, to err. It’s just part of his nature! He didn’t do anything wrong. It’s too late for him anyway, Phreid probably died resenting him, and nothing he could do could fix it. If anything, he always hated Phreid anyway, so does it even matter if he never apologised anyway?
The murderer was found by Father Shu, the hero and the predecessor of the title Phreid had left behind. The murderer was Father Shu, the despicable vermin who ripped the crown off Phreid by taking his head.
The murderer would then rip the page off of the Book of Murder, slip the weapon in between the pages of his holy scriptures, then sit as an audience in a trial of another assassin, where he would boo and take jabs and mock the kangaroo court for its unprofessional proceedings, unaware to the fact that he too, was a crow sitting among the sea of doves.
The trial would then end with an unsatisfactory punishment. Vetruvius II would then commit a genocide. The Knights of Ars would gather and become the village’s greatest terrorists. A greater danger would arise in the form of Lament, who would reveal himself to be the one who killed Phreid.
And Father Shu would walk free, bloody hands concealed by his robes, forever haunted by Phreid and his deathly shadow.