“I was the priest here,” the man continued, emphasizing the word “was”, his eyes wistful and slightly out of focus as he recalled the past, or possibly he was speaking of his present. It was difficult to tell really in this strange place.
“I spent more time here than anywhere else in my life. Inside these very walls. That you have sought sanctuary here despite not asking formally, or even informally, well, that’s just fitting. As for myself, I never thought I’d walk these halls again, honestly.”
“How do you mean? Surely, you’ve visited this place since…” Kre paused, uncertain how to finish the thought. Was the strange man dead, or was he something else? What even was the proper term for that kind of something else when used in polite conversation?
The man chuckled, a dry rasping sound that seemed to echo in his throat, “You really are a naïve little lamb, aren’t you? And here, I thought your people were far more knowledgeable about our kind than all that.
“Your people have certainly pilfered our treasures and trampled on our history since you first set foot on our lands. You Tehynshins,” he said with a smirk, “as you call yourselves, could at least have given us the courtesy to learn a little something about us.”
A light snort escaped Kitalia’s mouth before she could stop it. This was pretty much the same sentiment that the Ylveryans held regarding the Tehynshins.
“Let’s not get started on the traitors that you call your ancestors there little girl,” the man snarled, the humor gone from his eyes.
“What are you talking about?” she snapped back, her posture indicating that she was in full aggression mode.
He shook his head in response her accusatory question. “Another time flower, another time.”
The stranger turned back towards Kre. “See that up there?” he asked, gesturing towards the far end of the room.
Kre turned and looked over at the area where the floor rose up two steps onto a dais with a large rectangular stone sitting in the center.
“You mean the altar? It’s kind of hard to miss, really.”
Kitalia took that moment to turn along with Kre as she sidled up next to him. “Whatever you do,” she whispered urgently, “do not agree to anything it asks.”
“I’m not that stupid, you know,” he retorted sharply. Even though she didn’t respond, he knew exactly what she was thinking and, truth be told, he couldn’t deny that history was not exactly on his side of this particular argument.
“Go on,” the man urged, gesturing up towards the altar. “Go and see what your histories lack the teaching of.”
“What do you mean?” Kre asked, taking an almost involuntary step towards the dais and the altar. “What’s up there?”
Kitalia muttered something incomprehensible under her breath and wished Bel were there with them. Between the two of them, they might have a chance at controlling some of Kre’s foolish, sometimes even dangerous, acts of curiosity.
The stranger’s hands clenched the top rail of the pew in front of him, causing the wood to splinter and crack under his tight grip. The two spun back around as they watched the stranger’s normally serene bearing take on a far more aggravated and aggressive tone.
“Bel,” the man muttered slowly through gritted teeth, “as you call that foul creature… is not invited to this particular party.”