All are welcome. Those attempting to bring excessive belongings aboard will be refused passage, for we must ensure room for all who wish to come, Human and Simian alike.
Pamphlet distributed throughout Penance on the 21st day Under the Moon of Nes.
***
A silvery, cold dusk had fallen over the Stoneworks of Penance as Ruairí wheeled Argyll’s chair through its wide streets. The Stoneworks was one of the more expensive parts of the city to live, and as a result it was mainly Humans who lived here. Naturally, Argyll’s reach wasn’t as strong here as he would have liked it to be. It was on Ruairí’s account they came, though, so Argyll had no choice but to come too.
The sooner my new chair is ready, the better, thought Argyll. Red Ezra had said that it would be ready for him first thing in the morning, but he could scarcely wait any longer. The new chair represented freedom, and independence, and not needing to be wheeled around by a man he could only half trust.
Though the chair wasn’t the only thing Argyll longed for. Looking down at his useless legs, he couldn’t help but wonder how much easier all the work these few days held could have been if only he could still walk.
Tears welled up in his eyes, which he quickly cast aside. Fortunately, with Ruairí spending so much time looking at the back of his head, the times Argyll’s emotions betrayed him were not shared with the Human.
I must be their rock, Argyll reminded himself. I must not falter.
“Where are we going, anyway?” he barked. More often than not, being blunt and abrasive did wonders to hide how he really felt; something he found himself doing more and more these days.
“To a sermon,” said Ruairí, taking them off the main road to a narrow alley that ran between widely spaced-out bungalows.
“Presumably, there’s more to it than that. And I’ve sat through enough of them already.”
“This one will be different.” Ruairí stopped before a back door to what looked like a tavern. Empty barrels lay stacked next to it, with empty glass bottles boxed and ready for collection.
Ruairí unlocked the door and pushed Argyll through, with some effort. They crossed a kitchen packed with cooking utensils, hanging from the walls and ceiling like weapons in an armoury. Ruairí wheeled Argyll through, out into a wide tavern space.
With windows shuttered, and the front door barred, the place was barren and bare. The two made their way across this, to a staircase that descended into darkness below. And from this darkness, a low voice echoed.
Argyll turned to look up at Ruairí. “I assume we’re going down?”
When Ruairí nodded, Argyll sighed. It wasn’t the first time they had to descend a staircase together, but it was a never a simple task. Ruairí took to them backwards and slowly, pulling Argyll down, one careful thud after another.
Fortunately, there’s no one to see this, thought Argyll. The mighty Silverback, defeated by a simple staircase.
When they reached the bottom, Ruairí took a moment to catch his breath, leaving Argyll to wait in silence as he panted. When he caught it, he took to the chair once more, and pushed Argyll through a long corridor. Muffled voices at the end of it were growing clearer now.
“We open our hearts to Seletoth,” muttered one low monotone.
“May He fill them with love,” was the response, distorted from the many voices who said it.
Ruairí and Argyll entered wide chamber with a tall ceiling, void of furnishing, packed with many people. Humans, all of them, maybe a hundred, all eyes closed in prayer, facing one man who wore a heavy pendant across a white shirt.
“We open our eyes to Seletoth,” he said.
“May He show them His Truths,” came the refrain.
Argyll turned to look up to Ruairí, as the prayers droned on. “This really is different to the others,” he whispered. “No pomp or spectacle. Why so much secrecy?”
“We open our minds to Seletoth,” said the priest.
“May He fill them with wisdom,” said the rest.
Ruairí didn’t answer but left Argyll alone and moved through the crowd.
Argyll sighed. And now I’ve no choice but to sit through the rest of it.
The priest, upon seeing Ruairí, paused and extended a hand to him.
“Brother Ruairí,” he said. “We are truly blessed to have you in our presence.”
Argyll leaned forward. This is new.
Ruairí stood beside the priest, bowing gently to him, then turned towards the congregation.
“Sons of Seletoth,” he said, using the flat tone reserved only for sermons. “Against all odds, you survived the night of the horde, and here you stand in defiance against those that would have seen you perish. These are frightening times, for the plague that the Firstborn fled has reached our lands, and there are rumours that our Lord is dead.”
Concern rippled through the crowd. Near Argyll, one man shook his head, looking to his neighbour with a brow lowered in concern.
Ruairí raised both hands up, and the murmurs stopped. “But I have come to tell you that the Lord still lives. For last night, He granted me another Seeing. And He has told us what we must do during this trying time.”
With this, he made direct eye-contact with Argyll, and more whispers resounded through the chamber.
“The Simians of the Triad are planning on leaving this land. We must do what we can to help them. But the Lord demands that we are to stay.”
No! Argyll gripped the sides of his chair. What is he doing?
“For this land was promised to us from Him,” continued Ruairí, “And for as long as He lives, we must remain. For this is the word of Seletoth.”
“Blessed be His holy name,” responded everyone else. Everyone other than Argyll.
