The Sword of Stars: Chapter 1, Part 2 (J2 AU, NC-17 Fic)

[paleogymnast]

Continued from Chapter 1, Part 1

After what felt like years, but was probably a little less than an hour, they reached the grand public entrance to the Monastery grounds. Unsurprising to Jensen, Father Peleggi then stepped to the front, leading Jensen and Master Jared around to the private entrance on the southwestern side of the sprawling complex. It was the entrance closest to Father Peleggi’s personal chambers, which was no doubt their destination. It would spare Master Jared the public spectacle of entering through the Grand Foyer and ensure Jensen came in contact with as few people as possible before his sentence was determined.

Sure enough, once inside the heavy honeyblossom-wood door with its intricate carvings, and sturdy, top-grade, fromnant-hide strap hinges, Father Peleggi led them through a maze of high-ceilinged corridors with plush, lilac-colored carpets, brightly lit by goddess lamps garnished with lavender blown-glass sconces. They passed so many doors and turnoffs and junctions so quickly, if Jensen had not known their destination, he would surely be lost. They came at last to Father Peleggi’s study, the dark broodwood door a stark contrast to the bright surroundings. He led them inside and indicated for Master Jared to have a seat on one of the pale blue brocade upholstered chairs that graced the broodwood-accented study. “Wait here,” he commanded, nodding to Jensen to stand in the appropriate space, a patch of grey carpet directly across from the grand, deep, reddish brown-hued broodwood desk. The spot of the accused.

Jensen nodded and stepped onto the spot, standing at attention, back rod straight, before glancing back at Father Peleggi in acknowledgment.

With another quick nod, and a glance to Master Jared, the priest stepped back into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Now all there was to do was wait.

Jensen felt flushed and frozen, hot and cold at the same time as he was left alone in the room with the man he’d wronged. At least Father Peleggi had taken the tainted scroll with him, but Jensen knew it wasn’t really a reprieve. Father Peleggi was showing the scroll to Brother Benedict.

“Ah-hem.”

Jensen heard the sound of a throat clearing behind him and whirled to face it, his fingernails digging into his palms in rhythmic sets of seven... it wasn’t sending the panic away or banishing the fear from Jensen’s mind, but it was maybe-just maybe-keeping the terror from overwhelming him. He wanted to squeeze harder, draw beautiful crescents of crimson across the palms of his hands, but the stranger-Master Jared-probably would disapprove of Jensen being visibly damaged, and it would certainly add to Brother Benedict’s level of apoplectic rage and anger. So, Jensen resisted.

“You can sit if you’d like,” Master Jared said, his voice sounding gentle, as he waved a hand at the other chair in front of Father Peleggi’s desk. Jared had seated himself as instructed, but didn’t look particularly comfortable. “Just until they come back,” he added when Jensen didn’t respond. Jensen could hear that hint of strange and unfamiliar inflection creeping into Master Jared’s voice again.

What was he thinking? Jensen wondered, offering Jensen a chair at a time like this was unheard of-Jensen felt a sick sense of calm wash over him as he realized the man was probably testing Jensen, seeing if he had the good sense to not make his situation worse. Taking comfort, especially comfort as presumptuous as sitting like an invited guest in Father Peleggi’s office, especially after Father Peleggi had indicated his desire for Jensen to follow protocol and stand accused-such insubordinate behavior would only make his situation infinitely worse.

Jensen shook his head, the movement swift and definite. “No sir, with the utmost respect, sitting would be most disrespectful in my current state of disgrace,” Jensen admitted, staring just over Master Jared’s shoulder and resisting the urge to kneel or bow again-there would be time for appropriate supplication when Jensen was faced with all those he had wronged... For a split-second, Jensen wondered if Brother Benedict would read the damaged scroll and summon those who had been named in it-make Jensen confront those innocents he had hurt-but Jensen realized telling them about the scroll would be an act of cruelty and in strict violation of Holy law, and would quite possibly punish the innocents, so surely Brother Benedict would not do that.

Jensen realized Master Jared was staring at him with a look of concern (probably alarm, which would make more sense), as Jensen stared off into space.

“I-”

“I’m...”

They both began to speak at the same time. Jensen bowed his head in shame and stayed quiet, allowing Master Jared to speak.

“I’m sorry for bumping into you-for causing you such, discord,” Master Jared offered, his voice sounding even stranger than before, as if he were choking on something.

It was all Jensen could do to suppress a gasp of surprise. “S-sir,” he stammered, “I assure you I am sorry, greatly sorry, and it was not your fault. I hope I have not done anything to make you think I wish to shirk my responsibility and shift blame for my actions.” Jensen hoped he’d managed to keep his tone respectful. The customs in Campus Worth must be truly strange, for Jensen found the young Tavernkeeper’s behavior unfathomable.

“No, no… I…” Master Jared began, making as if to stand, rising a few inches from the upholstered broodwood chair, and then seeming to think better of it as he collapsed back in what sounded like a huff of defeat. “I did not mean to imply I doubted your sincerity; I simply wish I had been more attentive too. I was distracted with curiosity at the festival, and had I not been, perhaps we would not have collided, and you wouldn’t be standing accused.” The words tumbled from Master Jared’s lips with clipped determination. Jensen couldn’t be sure, but he got the sense Master Jared was very carefully selecting each word, as if he feared Jensen would misinterpret him, which was very peculiar. If Jensen did, it would not be a reflection on Master Jared’s clarity, but on Jensen’s low-caste, bumbling nature. But then again, Master Jared was preparing to have an audience with Brother Benedict, a Council member, and well… Jensen supposed that was intimidating and nerve-wracking for most anyone, especially if one had not encountered a council member before.

Rather than respond to Master Jared’s comment, he tried a new tack. “Master Jared, I would not fear Brother Benedict’s arrival. You have done nothing to anger or displease him… or the Council or the God and Goddess,” Jensen said softly.

Master Jared shifted in his seat again, his eyes swinging toward Jensen, and catching Jensen’s before he could politely look away. Master Jared looked… alarmed. Jensen squeezed harder at his palms. He just wished he could make this situation make sense, but nothing he did or tried, made Master Jared’s behavior any less… unusual. Perhaps it was just beyond Jensen’s meager intelligence.

“I just wish you didn’t have to face Brother Benedict,” Master Jared murmured, glancing away in an unnecessary display of deference and casting his eyes on an empty spot on the carpet.

Before Jensen could ponder the comment, the door burst open, and Brother Benedict rushed inside, followed closely by Father Peleggi. Jensen dropped fluidly to a kneel, bending forward at the waist and prostrating himself, head hovering a mere centimeter from the floor. He heard the rustle of robes and saw movement out of the corner of his eye that signaled Master Jared had dropped to a genuflected bow.

They didn’t have to wait long for Brother Benedict to act. “Jensen! What is the meaning of this careless behavior?” he boomed, sounding shocked and disgusted and utterly annoyed.

Although Jensen could not see him, he could imagine Brother Benedict’s customarily calm, pale features turning bright red while spittle flew from his animated lips.

“You, Master Lecki, may rise,” Brother Benedict said in a much softer voice. “I am sorry this wayward… charge has inconvenienced you and caused disruption to your day on such an auspicious occasion.”

Jensen could hear the sneer in Brother Benedict’s voice, knew the ire in it was directed towards him. Jensen pushed himself closer to the floor, wishing it could swallow him whole.

“Jensen,” Brother Benedict commanded, his tone clipped, “rise and explain yourself.”

Jensen scrambled to his feet without hesitation. “Sir, I was approaching the dais, carrying the scrolls, and I allowed my… excitement over being chosen to perform such an honorable task get the better of me. I allowed myself to be distracted, and I did not see Master Lecki approaching. I stepped directly in his path and knocked him to the ground. And…” Jensen found it hard to continue, but the choked grunt emanating from Brother Benedict spurred him to continue. “And I stumbled and dropped the scroll.”

“Jensen,” Brother Benedict began slowly, the rage barely contained in his voice, “we entrusted you with a most sacred task. In spite your lowly caste, we trusted you could rise above. You have shown such… promise… in your dedication to fulfilling your duties, improving your station, striving for purity, perfection. Yet your lapse in judgment has now tarnished and interfered with the will of the God and Goddess.” He sighed, “Look at me Jensen! What have you to say for yourself?”

Jensen jumped raising his eyes to glance at Brother Benedict. The man’s six-foot frame made him an imposing figure under normal circumstances, but his regal stance, the way his silver-hemmed purple robes hung in waves around his feet, eyes hard and unforgiving, made it difficult for Jensen to hold his gaze. Jensen felt as if he was burning in Brother Benedict’s glare. He could feel the tension radiating from Jared and felt more guilt for causing the man such added pain, “I failed, sir, I allowed pride to well in my soul, and I failed. I have let you down,” he couldn’t look at Brother Benedict any longer. “I will accept my punishment, whatever you decide,” he murmured while staring resolutely at his own chest, head held down by the unbearable weight of his guilt.

Brother Benedict was silent for a few moments. Jensen could hear Father Peleggi shifting slightly, his robes making a brushing noise as they rubbed against each other. Master Jared it seemed hadn’t dared to move beyond straightening up from his bow. Jensen didn’t know what else to say or do; it was up to Brother Benedict to render his judgment and punishment.

Father Peleggi spoke at last, the whisper of his robes giving way to a light clearing of his throat and then words-soft, but clear-seeming to fill the room, “Brother Benedict, Jensen’s lapse of judgment certainly cannot be excused, but he was immediately repentant and both immediately accepted responsibility and was quick to identify the root of his sin. I think it would be prudent to take that into account.”

Jensen held his breath, but still Brother Benedict did not respond.

“Sir, Y-Your Counsellorship,” Master Jared stuttered, sounding uncertain, “Jensen was nothing but graciously courteous and responsible after I fell. I would not wish for him to be punished harshly; I believe my own unfamiliarity with the Plaza and… and wonderment at the preparations for the Piety Festival contributed to the… um, a-accident.” Master Jared hesitated a moment, and Jensen was pretty sure he was looking to Father Peleggi for encouragement. “If I may sir,” Master Jared continued, his breath hitching slightly, “I believe Jensen was actually so intensely focused on doing his job, he simply did not see me. He wasn’t inattentive. He was intently focused, as if he understood the utmost importance of his task; and after… after we collided, he did everything he could to protect the scrolls.”

Jensen felt his face burning again with ugly, red embarrassment-such a tainting, passionate color; he as was weak and had no control over his reaction. He still couldn’t tell if Master Jared really was defending him, but every time the better man spoke words of kindness Jensen couldn’t hid his surprise.

“It was the top scroll that fell to the ground, Jensen?” Brother Benedict asked at last, his tone unreadable.

“Yes sir,” Jensen answered with a gulp, not lifting his eyes; he dug his nails into his palms with increased fervor willing the sharp blades of pain to block out the overwhelming sense of dread and panic that threatened to drown him.

“Very well, then.” Brother Benedict’s voice boomed, his words once again clipped and commanding. “Jensen, face the man you have wronged.”

Jensen turned to face Master Jared, eyes darting uncertainly up to Master Jared’s face and then darting away, glancing to the books filling the bookcases, the familiar details of the dark, broodwood accents.

“Master Lecki, what punishment would do you demand for this boy?” Brother Benedict demanded.

“Sir, I… Will my punishment conflict with that of the Church?” Master Jared stammered.

“No,” Brother Benedict sneered, his tone smug as if he understood something no one else did and he took pleasure in the secret.

The revelation surprised Jensen, but he knew Brother Benedict well enough to keep his hopes for leniency in check.

“Oh.” Master Jared cleared his throat. “I do not wish for him to be punished, sir.”

“What?” Father Peleggi uttered before catching himself.

Jensen’s eyes whipped around, taking in the astonishment and disbelief on the Priest’s face. Brother Benedict’s features, in contrast, had taken on a particularly pinched look but slowly eased into dawning understanding.

“I understand your… hesitance, to assert your position when your are so new to St. Pious,” Brother Benedict said, holding his right hand up in a gesture to hush Father Peleggi, “and I can imagine getting sucked into this most unfortunate incident must be most distressing as you adjust to life here, but I assure you not to worry; you are fully entitled to the privileges of your station.” His smile was almost sickly, as if he was somewhat disgusted by Master Jared’s hesitance, and was praying for confirmation it wasn’t worse-leniency.

Master Jared gave an audible gulp, his features blank. “Thank you for the clarification Your Councillorship.” He spoke slowly, drawing out each word as if uncertain what he would say next, perhaps stalling for time. “If I may…” he trailed off until suddenly his eyes flashed with a sharp, clear light that gave Jensen chills. “If I may, sir, I would like for Jensen to accompany me, spend time in my, in my service, for whatever time you deem reasonable given his offense.” Jared paused, his head cocking to the side, as if considering the punishment he had just offered to ensure it was sound. “I do not wish to take him away from his other duties, or remove him from your service, only that he spend some time assisting me.”

“Very well, Master Lecki,” Brother Benedict acknowledged with a pleased nod of approval. “If it is amenable to you, I shall see Jensen is prepared to begin repaying his debt to you at six tomorrow morning.”

Jared considered the information for a moment before nodding. “That would be most acceptable,” Jared agreed.

“Good, then I see no reason to interrupt your day any further. Father Peleggi can show you out so you can go about your day,” Brother Benedict smiled inclining his head toward Father Peleggi. “Father, I trust that will not be a problem?”

“No Brother,” Father Peleggi replied, but only after shooting a worried look to Jensen. Clearly Brother Benedict’s reluctance to punish Jensen outright for soiling the scroll had surprised or concerned him as well. “I would be happy to show Master Lecki out.”

Brother Benedict smiled and stood aside, as Father Peleggi opened the heavy wooden door and gestured for Master Jared to follow him.

Master Jared cast his eyes once more over Jensen as he left the room, throwing Jensen another encouraging, dimpled smile, and the he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him, leaving Jensen alone in the room with Brother Benedict.

Sweat beaded and dripped down the back of Jensen’s neck, rolling slowly, ever so slowly down his back underneath his tunic, as dread pooled cold and slimy in his stomach. Jensen lifted his eyes cautiously meeting a sickening smile on Brother Benedict’s face, a smile twisted by the coldness in his eyes.

“Follow me to my chambers,” Brother Benedict commanded, turning, striding towards the door, and holding it open for Jensen to exit. Once in the corridor, Brother Benedict set a brisk pace down another series of twists and turns, leading Jensen towards the very center of the monastery where his office lay, with Jensen following reluctantly, lagging about three strides behind.

At least the halls were empty; Jensen shuddered at the thought of the young acolytes seeing his shameful procession.

Brother Benedict silently ushered Jensen inside his office, holding open one of the carved double doors inlaid with amethysts and rubies and trimmed in platinum and gold leaf. Although technically any fully pledged member of the religious orders could adorn their spaces with true red and true gold-the color of the Goddess and God, symbols of pure love and pure wealth untainted by the impurity, passion, greed, and decay that tarnished the burgundy and yellow castes-it was only the members of the Council who customarily did so. Of course, silver and platinum were reserved as marks of honor for Councilmembers themselves, so the platinum leaf was an immediate indication of Brother Benedict’s status and importance.

Once inside, Jensen was greeted with a display of opulence that made him squirm with its unfamiliarity. Plush couches, upholstered in patterned red-and-gold brocade, lined the walls to either side of the door. The floor was covered in a plush, silver carpet with the symbol of the Zyretan Church woven into its center. Amethyst-tinted godlamps hung on silver pendants from the ceiling, and bookcases constructed from broodwood inlaid with amethysts and delicate shapes carved from honeyblossom wood filled with fromnant-hide-bound volumes lined the walls. Before him stood Brother Benedict’s imposing desk constructed in the same fashion as the bookcases with two red-and-gold upholstered armchairs behind it. Jensen had only set foot inside Brother Benedict’s office twice before-once when he was a small child and had first become a charge of the Monastery (and that was so long ago he didn’t really remember) and once he was fourteen and the Council had deemed it an appropriate time to remind Jensen of the proper conduct and behavior for Zyretan adults. In Jensen’s recollection, neither experience had been particularly pleasant.

As the door swished closed behind them, Brother Benedict once again glided around Jensen to take a seat behind his desk. His eyes bored into Jensen with unsettling intensity as he held out the scroll before him on his open palms. “Jensen, I-and the Council-are deeply disappointed in you. As I know Father Peleggi told you, we had hoped you could rise above your lowly station and make something of yourself, find some strength of character, purify your soul through hard work and concentration, and for many years we have seen you improve, rise above the tainted and impure rank of your birth.” He paused and leveled his eyes at Jensen, curling his fingers towards himself, not quite covering the scroll, but beckoning Jensen nearer.

Jensen approached and stood at attention facing the desk, his hands clasped loosely behind his back twisting together, nails digging, as he frantically tried to steady himself for the blow he felt was sure to come at any moment.

“I dare say, this incident will set you back considerably. Jensen, I honestly do not know if you will ever be able to regain the trust you had earned.” Brother Benedict’s voice sounded genuinely sad, even if his eyes shone cold and cruel.

Jensen swallowed, but did not speak, the news was unfortunate, but unexpected. He counted himself lucky the Council hadn’t shackled him and sent him to the slaves’ quarters or perhaps direct to the holding cells to await execution.

“It is unlikely anything short of a sign from the God and Goddess themselves could elevate your position now.” Brother Benedict’s dark eyes narrowed looking beady and sunken against his pale features and prematurely white hair.

Tears were threatening to spill from his eyes, the reality of being all-but-guaranteed Permanent Burgundy, made Jensen feel like a part of him was curling up, shriveling, and dying. What point was there? What hope if nothing he did could change his fate, his fortune? His whole life, Jensen had known promotion was unlikely, but there was no certainty or quantum attached to the prospect, so he had gladly toiled away for the dream. Now... now he believed no less in the rightness and truth of the Church, and he was certain he deserved this-and more-but he was doubtful of how to motivate himself with such slim prospect of reward.

But that was a question for another time. Now Brother Benedict was waiting for Jensen’s reaction, the scroll still poised tauntingly on his palms.

“I am heartfully sorry, sir, and ashamed and disappointed in myself. I am sure I deserve much harsher punishment for my failure... the scroll,” Jensen sucked in a deep breath, “the scroll is ruined and now some worthy soul will not get her due reward.”

“Yes, that is so,” Brother Benedict agreed, bobbing his head in a nod. “And to complete your punishment, you will bear the burden of reading the scroll, so you may know what your behavior has prevented.” He extended his palms farther across his desk, flexing his fingers back so Jensen could better access the scroll without fear of tainting Brother Benedict with his touch. “Go on, take it,” he urged.

Jensen reached out and plucked the scroll from Brother Benedict’s hands. Sure enough, it was the same scroll he’d dropped, the same scroll he’d pulled from the dirt in the central plaza only a few hours before. It still bore the tell-tale streaks of red dirt and flecks of dust-the physical evidence of Jensen’s failure. He shifted it in his fingers, moving it between his fingertips in preparation to unroll it, but Brother Benedict stopped him.

“Nuh-uh-uh,” he scolded, wagging his finger in admonishment.

“Sir,” Jensen began, his voice making a breathy squeak in surprise, “don’t you wish for me to read it in front of you?” As he finished speaking, he realized how foolish he sounded. Of course Brother Benedict already knew what the scroll proclaimed, if he did not wish for Jensen to open it in his presence, he had a good reason.

“Jensen, really? I already know what the scroll contains, and do I really need to point out you are in no position to question me.”

Jensen gulped, fear turning to a solid lump in his stomach, as Brother Benedict leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in an expression of almost perverse pleasure. “Do I need to remind you on Whose orders the Council speaks and acts? Or do you wish to question the will of the God and Goddess as well?”

Jensen swallowed, breathing in through his nose and out, slowly counting to seven. He wished he could ground himself by digging his nails into his palms, but clutching the scroll prevented him from doing so. “No sir, of course not.”

Brother Benedict scrutinized Jensen for a long moment. He bobbed his head. “Good. I wish you to take the scroll and read it in a place of private meditation. You will then pray in reflection of its contents until the Festival concludes. You will then set about your duties as scheduled.”

Jensen was surprised he would be allowed to return to his normal schedule, but stopped himself before he opened his mouth and questioned Brother Benedict again.

“I believe my instructions will make more sense once you have read the scroll.” Brother Benedict leaned back, settling into his comfortable armchair, gazing on Jensen over steepled fingers. “I will fetch you in the morning to deliver you to Master Jared for your punishment. Now go, and may the Grace of the God and Goddess enlighten you.”

Jensen bowed again, sliding fluidly to his knees and bending forward until his nose was a centimeter from the floor, and then rolled himself back to a stand, spun gracefully on his heel, and slipped out of Brother Benedict’s quarters.

He didn’t breathe properly until he was at least three hallways away, his feet guiding him to the small chapel ringed by private alcoves where the acolytes-and Jensen-were permitted to pray in solitude. He slid the intricate silk screen closed behind him, and dropped to his knees before the altar, bowing to first the God and the Goddess before daring to unroll the scroll. Slowly, gently his deft fingers unfurled the parchment, revealing the words contained inside in perfect calligraphy painted in silver ink:

“The Council bestows upon its ward, Jensen, the rank of acolyte and promotes him to the religious caste. He is granted the privilege to wear the pale purple robes of the caste and is entitled to all the benefits, duties, and privileges bestowed upon members of the caste and rank. ”

Jensen couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, as he realized what his mistake had cost him.

On to Chapter 2 | Back to Chapter 1, Part 1
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