Lights in Darkness

It was a beautiful night to be losing faith in your God.

The Royal City of Zel was a spectacular sight this time of year, and tonight was the culmination of it all. The sun had not yet dimmed out of the sky, and the sparkling lights were just beginning to take over its job. On the streets, people sang and celebrated. Children smashed snow demons and played War with snowballs. Merchants and larger stores sold angel food cakes, ceremonial candles, and Exorcismas bushes. Beggars begged with an extra jingle in their cups, and so did men from the Charity of Zel, although presumably they were paid for it. Sir Iskin Farendos leaned his plainclothed back against the cold building wall and pondered the melodrama of his sentence: It was a beautiful night to be losing faith in your God. Disregarding the criminal infidelity of the thought, it was still pretentious enough to make Iskin feel sorry for thinking it. In an attempt to shake it off, Iskin pushed off from the wall and began walking down the street.

Yes, it was Exorcismas Eve, and the entire city was draped with decorations and raised holiday cheer. Iskin passed by a house and felt the bright warmth emanate from it. Inside, parents told little ones the fabulous story of the day the Almighty Zel Banished the demons away from Nolix and down to hell for good, ending the final battle between angels and demons, which lasted nine days and nights. While good little children slept, the Angel of Giving soared over the world depositing gifts, guided to each house by the nine Exorcismas candles on each bush. Iskin stepped to the edge of the narrow sidewalk to allow a group of carolers by:

“Have yourself a happy Exorcismas...”

Iskin felt a twinge of guilt. He, like most knights, had time off for Exorcismas, and he was supposed to be having dinner with his wife. He’d told her he could be late.

“...From now on, your troubles will be miles a-waay...”

Iskin glanced at the carolers. One of them turned back to give him a worried look. No doubt she was put off by his dull gray and shabby clothes. Iskin had never felt comfortable out of uniform.

“...One for each night, the candles shed a sweet light...”

The lights...by Zel, the lights! Iskin wished that they hurt his eyes, so that his dislike of them would seem justified. He looked up at the darkening sky and thought about the Angel of Giving. It could be called one of the few “heresies” that the House of Zel tolerated. The story was well known to have been made up by Zelist priests to add a more celebratory, child-friendly feel to the Day of Exorcism-Mass, as it was called back then, and to have an excuse for the exchange of gifts. Everyone knew that in reality, angels were too holy to interact with humans so directly.

A flash of light behind startled Iskin. He whirled around, hand flying to the place where his sword would have been. An old beggar person of indeterminate gender jangled a cup at him.

“Arms for the poor? Alms, for the pure?”

Iskin took a deep breath, and glanced at his arm, still crossed over his chest and reaching for an invisible sword.

"No need to kill me, sonny," the beggar person rebuked him.

Who says "Sonny?" thought Iskin. "Just reaching for some spare change, humble ma—wom—beggar," he said.

“But you don’t have any money,” said the beggar, staring intensely at Iskin. Beneath the wrinkled face, the eyes seemed to be a piercing, clear blue. “You’re homeless like me, right?”

“What? No—” Iskin looked down at his tattered overcoat and short pants. “It’s just my clothes.”

“Oh, your clothes are homeless, then.” The beggar’s brow furrowed. “I should have thought about mine.” Iskin noticed that the beggar’s clothing, while certainly that of a poor person, was in fact cleaner and better held together that Iskin’s own.

“Just take this money, ple—” Iskin’s hand reached his pocket and found that it was empty.

The beggar grinned up at him. “Told you you didn’t have money.”

Iskin turned away from the beggar in frustration. Talking to people who weren’t entirely sane was never comfortable. Iskin headed for the park across the street. It began to snow. Iskin liked snow, but there was a certain ineffable sadness about it as well. It made everything look so white and clean and pure…maybe the sadness came from the covering of the world, or maybe it was just the cold. Cold that made you want to find someplace warm…someone warm.

The magically shielded candles placed in the trees were standing out against the sky more, now that the sun had set and its light was retreating. Iskin glared at the candles, and the iridescent reflections of the candles off the shields glared back at him. What did any of these colored lights have to do with Zel and the Banishing? Why was everyone allowed to get so silly at this holiday? Sure, it was a celebration, but all the lights and presents and buying and bushes were extraneous. Why would Zelism, a religion so committed to encompassing every aspect of its followers’ lives, embrace all of this frivolity around one of the High Holy Days of the year, but be so strict with its rules around other aspects of life?

Like marriage, said a voice in Iskin’s head. Shut up, Iskin told it. Then from across the park, he caught a glimpse of red hair. He would recognize her anywhere. He increased his pace through the park and stepped into the snow, almost tripping, but he was sure on his feet.

“Talsia! Talsia.” He caught up to her. She turned around and smiled. She always smiled when she saw him. Probably she smiled at everyone. Probably most people smiled at him. But her smile made him sit up and take notice.

“Happy Exorcismas,” he said in spite of himself.

“Hello, Iskin. Happy Exorcismas,” she said. “I was just going to get some food and go home.”

“You’re not having dinner with your fami—oh, right.”

“No, they’re—yeah,” her speech overlapped his. “They’re not eating much tonight.” They laughed. Iskin had almost forgotten that Talsia’s parents were orthodox Zelists, which meant they celebrated all nine days and nights of Exorcismas. They did so in the manner that humans were believed to have lived during the battle for Nolix—to put it crudely, living in a trench and eating rats. Talsia, like most people of Iskin’s generation or younger, had rejected these already optional traditions in favor of celebrating Exorcismas without fasting or camping outside or giving up anything really, except perhaps their money. While Talsia lived with her family, her job in a large store allowed her to spend more time away from home, and even gave her an excuse not to spend most of Exorcismas Eve with them. No doubt by this point, her family wanted to get her out of the house as much as she wanted to leave. She’d be getting engaged any day now.

“Let me buy you dinner,” Iskin said.

“Are you sure? You don’t have other things to do?”

“No, no, it’ll be quick, it’ll be fine.” You don’t have any money. Shut up.

From their right came the sound of singing. Another group of carolers was walking along the path, unless it was the same group. It didn’t matter.

“It came upon a midnight clear…”

“Let’s go,” said Iskin to Talsia.

“O say can you see, by the dawn’s early li—ughf!”

Talsia turned around at the interruption of the song, and Iskin followed suit. A beggar in inappropriately clean clothes was shuffling along the side of the narrow path past the carolers, and apparently pushing them out of the way as he—or she—went. Although Iskin couldn’t see any direct contact between the beggar and the singers, they were clearly being pushed out of the way. Some of them were shielding their faces as though being buffeted. The beggar saw Iskin, turned sharply, pushing a woman backwards into the snow, and waved.

“Oh no,” said Iskin.

“A friend of yours?” asked Talsia.

“Oh yes. Now let’s get out of here before he decides he’s a very close friend.”

--

“Sir Farendos,” said Pefanesk the restaurant owner, over the din of family Exorcismas dinners. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Good Pefanesk, could I trouble you for a quick meal?” said Iskin.

Pefanesk gave him a humorless grin. “You wouldn’t by any chance be expecting free food again in exchange for defending this place against bandits, now would you?”

Iskin gestured to Talsia. “It’s for the lady.”

“Of course,” said Pefanesk.

“Are you sure about this, Iskin? I do have my own money.”

“If I don’t buy you dinner, what am I supposed to give you for Exorcismas? Just be sure to order something really expensive to annoy Pefanesk.”

Talsia ordered. Iskin and Pefanesk grinned at each other uneasily. Iskin could almost see the “Someday you’ll get yours” message behind Pefanesk’s eyes.

“So…” Iskin tried to think of something better to say, and failed. “So how is your work?” asked Iskin.

“Well, it’s not exactly my top choice among all jobs…” They gave each other a sad look. Iskin remembered when they both entered training to become knights. Unsurprisingly, Talsia never made it past the preliminary stages. The House of Zel had only recently legalized women as knights, and they were extremely rare.

“Back in school, it seemed a lot more like everyone was equal. Everyone could do the same things,” mused Talsia.

“I often wish I was back there myself,” Iskin agreed.

Talsia was surprised. “You?”

“Me.” There was a pause.

“I have to get back to my family,” said Talsia, getting up. “Thanks so much for dinner. Happy Exorcismas!”

“Uh—happy Exorcismas! I—” Iskin called after her. The restaurant door closed in a spiral of snow and a shimmer of the lights outside. The sky was dark now. Iskin waited until she was gone to pound his head on the table. He should be home having dinner with his wife, his wife, his wife…

All his life, Iskin had accepted every bit of Zelism given to him. Everyone around him was absorbed by the religion, so it was no problem accepting the entire lifestyle. The rules, the customs, the commandments, the illogic, the groundless statements about reality and happiness, the hypocritical preachers, the contradictions…of course, he never thought about it this way until now. Iskin was a successful Knight of Zel. His parents and his wife’s parents had arranged his marriage and the ceremony was in the proper Zelist fashion down to the last vow. He lived in a nice house…even Talsia thought he should be happy. But Talsia was the source of all his troubles. Zelist preachers often spoke of the sin of coveting a woman other than one’s wife. Surely such sinful, anti-Zelist feelings must come from the devil Lucerahk himself. So how could Iskin be so sure that what he felt for Talsia was nothing more or less than pure love? If it was, how could he believe in anything the preachers said? How could Zelism be true? How could there be a Zel at all?

There was a bang on the restaurant window. Iskin looked outside through his hands and saw the same beggar standing there. He got up and headed for the door. If this old bugger kept pestering him, Iskin would show him to a nearby jail.

The restaurant door shut behind Iskin, and he shuddered in the cold. The beggar smiled at him.

“Good news! I decided that you did have money after all,” the vagrant said.

Iskin sighed and reached in his pocket. “No, look, I—” He did have money after all. It was only a few coins, so Iskin did the only sensible thing and offered them to the beggar. “Here, good—what is your name?”

“I am Soriael—I mean Telsik,” said Telsik.

Iskin stared at him. There was something strange happening to the snow. As it reached the area on either side of Telsik’s shoulders, it seemed to stop and vanish there.

“Let’s go,” said Iskin. Telsik stepped away from the restaurant and turned around. Iskin thought he felt something feathery brush against him. They walked down the street, Telsik just ahead of Iskin.

“Don’t hurry so,” said Telsik as Iskin almost bumped into him.

“Listen Telsik, I know you are an unfortunate soul, but this is not a good night for me at all. I need to get home for dinner with my wife, and you need to get wherever you’re going.”

“Weren’t you just having dinner with your wife?”

“That was a friend.”

“She didn’t look like a fr—”

“Move along.” There was silence for several meters.

“Have you ever wondered about the lights?” asked Iskin.

“No,” said Telsik.

“I mean, why are they there? It’s the celebration of the end of a war. Why all the pretty lights all season?”

“‘And the light shineth in the darkness, and the darkness understandeth it not,’” quoted Telsik.

“You know your Holy Book. Of course you do. But that’s talking about one light, the light of the Banishing. Or the sun. Or both.”

“The light fights against the darkness, does it not? This is the darkest time of year. Lots of lights are needed.”

“But that’s ridiculous! All these tiny lights—they’re pretty and sparkly, but they don’t make a difference! It’s still dark!”

Telsik turned around. “No difference?”

Iskin paused and looked. They were across the street from the park, in the middle of which was one of the official Exorcismas bushes scattered throughout the city. Most of the trees were magically illuminated. All around, in the park and on the buildings, there were lights. “Well, not much…”

“Humans want to be light and warm when it’s dark and cold. They’re up against the world. This is about the best they can do!” Telsik spread his arms, and the snow falling towards his shoulders seemed to explode out from him. Then he shrunk back, shoulders hunched, turned around, and continued walking. “But you say it makes no difference, oh well…”

They walked until they came to an alley. “This is were I get off,” said Telsik. Iskin didn’t question this, but walked in with him. The walls were grimy. Iskin and Telsik turned to face each other.

It sounded stupid. It didn’t matter. “Are you what I think you are…Soriael?” asked Iskin.

The beggar wasn’t looking at him. He was taking another look at the lights. “You know,” he said, “when candles and magic lights were first used by humans during the winter in any kind of ritualized way…” then Telsik turned and looked directly at Iskin. “They were worshipping demons.” There was a flash of light, and Telsik, or Soriael, was gone.

Iskin leaned his cold, grimy back against the cold, grimy wall and realized how far gone he was. Not even an angel could restore his faith in Zelism anymore. The carolers passed by again. For reasons of their own, they sang:

“And though it’s been said many times, many waaays…”

Then they were gone. Silence.

“I love you,” Iskin said. No one heard him. Of that, he was sure.