The box felt wrong in his hands.
It wasn’t that he was worried he was doing something he shouldn’t. Although he certainly thought this wasn’t right, that wasn’t why it felt wrong.
Instead, it was more like his hands were feeling things that he couldn’t see.
His eyes told him that the box was ornate, made of a dark, lacquered wood about a foot across and half that in both width and height. The clasps on the box were hammered gold, as were the hinges on the back. Silver was inlaid in delicate repeating patterns up and down each edge and small sparkling gems were socketed at each of the corners of the lid.
Kre had no concept of how much things were worth, that is, things that aren’t fruits, vegetables, mutton, and fleece. Even when it came to those things, he was barely competent at market values and economic fluctuations. He never figured it would be necessary since the town advocates handled pretty much all trade on behalf of the multiple townsfolk. But this… he knew that something like this could have bought everything in his hometown at least twice over.
At least, that’s what his eyes saw. His hands told a different story. As he ran his fingers across the lid of the box, his eyes told him how smooth and beautifully polished it was, how shiny the inlay and gems were, but his fingers felt only a pitted, rough surface with sharp, jagged metal poking out along the edges.
It was difficult to get his brain to wrap around the idea that his sense of touch wasn’t linking up to his sense of sight. He wondered if he didn’t know that he was trapped in some sort of visual illusion whether his sense of touch would have been fooled as well.
The entire train of thought left him with a severe headache, and he resolved to simply ignore such irregularities.
“Just put it in your bag for now,” the priest instructed. “Then we can deal the last of the tasks. For that, we shall adjourn to the altar. It would be… fitting, as that is where… well, you’ll see.”
He extended his arm out, inviting Kre to walk out first. Kre did so, cramming the incredibly odd feeling box into his bag as he left the room. As he passed through the doorway, he noticed the priest already next to the altar. The way that he just appeared where he wanted to be next was oddly infuriating and a little disorienting. Still, Kre supposed that he would do the same if he had that kind of power. Why walk if you didn’t have to?
“Come over here boy,” he called out softly. The man was gently caressing the edge of the altar, his gaze downcast. His other hand was lightly hovering over his chest, as if he wanted to move his hand over his mouth, or into a chest pocket, but wasn’t sure if he should or not.
It was difficult for Kre to tell, since that odd shadowy haze still outlined the priest’s body, but it seemed like the man’s was shaking slightly.
“Is everything all right?” Kre asked.
The priest didn’t answer right away, merely kept his eyes down and his hands where they were. When he finally did answer, it was with a softer, almost gentle voice. “I don’t even remember his name,” he said. “You would think that’s something I could never forget, but there it is. I can’t even recall his name. The darkness, it took that from me too.”