Emissary by Uvatha the Horseman

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Book 2: Mordor - A Newly Anointed Priest

Chapter 0 - A Newly Anointed Priest

It was Midsummer's Day, the day Urzahil would become a priest. He and his classmates, eight of them in all, would join the ranks of the anointed, sworn to secrecy and entrusted with dangerous knowledge.

Sunlight streamed through narrow windows beneath the dome high above their heads, tracing bright squares on the white stone inside the Temple. A fire burned on the altar, single log that had been the trunk of a massive tree. Billowing smoke rose from it and disappearing through unseen vents in the golden dome high overhead.

Urzahil stood in the back of the Sanctuary with the other third year acolytes. Before the ceremony, each of them had taken off the plain black robes of an acolyte for the last time, and surrendered them to a Temple servant who'd poured an urn of water over them, then dressed them in ceremonial robes, white and of softest wool.

Urzahil shivered from the chill. The sun didn't reach the back of the Sanctuary, and his hair was still wet.

There was a clamor of drums and cymbals, and the High Priest entered the Sanctuary. The hem of the outer layer of his vestments swept the mosaic tiles. Two assistants followed him, one carrying a folding table and the other, a glass bowl of something clear.

One by one, they were summoned to the altar. The ritual was always the same. The acolyte would kneel, the High Priest would dip his hand in the oil and touch the candidate's forehead, the words were said, and it was done. The newly minted priest would return to the group and the next one would be summoned.

Then it was Urzahil's turn. His name was called and he crossed the open space beneath the dome, the marble floor cold beneath his feet. He felt as if her were watching himself from a great distance away. Important ceremonies required purification beforehand. In addition to fasting, he and the other acolytes had knelt before the altar throughout the night, from late in the evening until the eastern sky started to turn grey.

Urzahil approached the altar. Bundles of aromatic herbs burned in iron holders near it. Tendrils of smoke rose in the still air, carrying their pungent scent. The High Priest was there, waiting for him. A pair of assistants stood at a folding table which held the things needed for the ceremony.

Urzahil knelt before the altar and crossed his hands over his breast, just as he'd been coached. The High Priest went to the folding table and dipped his hand in the oil, which smelled of sandalwood, then pressed his palm on Urzahil's forehead, with his fingers on Urzahil's hair. A trickle ran down the side of his face. It was hard not to reach up and wipe it away, but his hands remained where they were, as the ceremony required.

The High Priest voice was deep and authoritative. "… from the Void, where dwells the Secret Fire which is the source of all life…" He spoke the most sacred words of the ceremony in Black Speech, the language of Melkor. The ancient language wasn't spoken anymore, and hadn't been for thousands of years, but everyone in the Temple knew certain phrases by heart.

The ritual incantation came to an end, and it was done. Urzahil got up and returned to his place with the others. When they'd all been anointed, an elderly cleric dressed each of them in the silver grey robes of a priest. Urzahil held out his arm and turned his palm over, admiring the heavy damask and the embroidered letters on the cuff.

-o-o-o-o-

After the ceremony, a Consecration banquet was traditionally held to celebrate the elevation of the Seminary students into the priesthood. Seating was done by rank, from lowest to highest. Urzahil stood with his classmates outside the Refectory, waiting to be called.

The Steward appeared in the doorway and motioned for them to follow.

The Refectory had been decorated for the occasion. The trestle tables that ran the length of the room, planks on sawhorses, were draped with rust red cloths. Arrangements of flowers had been placed at intervals, roses, larkspur, and delphinium from the Temple gardens.

High Table, on its raised platform at the end of the room, looked particularly magnificent. A long line of high-backed chairs ran the length of it, the one in the center as tall as a throne. But in addition, today it was illuminated by ironwork candelabra at either end of the platform and covered with a snowy cloth that reached the floorboards of the platform.

At the far end of the room, High Table looked particularly magnificent. It was raised up on a wooden platform with a tapestry on the wall behind it, and a long line of high backed chairs ran the length of it, the one in the center as tall as a throne. Today, the table was covered with a snowy cloth which fell to the floorboards of the platform.

By tradition, at the Consecration Banquet the new priests always sat at High Table. The Steward took them to the steps of the dais and showed them to their places. They were at the far ends, four at the left and four at the right. The new priests mounted the steps of the dais and crossed the wooden platform, their footsteps hollow on the planks. Urzahil sat down at the second place from the end.

The middle of High Table started to fill up. The High Priest came in with several members of the Council of Captains and what must be a very wealthy merchant. It took a lot of coin to be one of the Temple's major benefactors.

Below the dais, long tables ran the length of the Refectory. The trestle tables had no cloths, and they had benches instead of chairs. Here were the scribes and clerks, and the many kinds of minor administrator needed to run the Temple.

Urzahil had never sat at High Table before, even though his father had been one of the most powerful nobles in the city. As his father's natural son, he'd always been seated with merchants and tradesmen. He wanted to commit every detail to memory, the white cloth on the table, the pewter polished to a mirror surface, the salt cellar which was a work of art.

"Urzahil, a word." The High Priest's Steward laid a hand on his shoulder. Urzahil pushed back his chair and followed the Steward. Perhaps he'd received a message of congratulations, most likely from task or from Lady Lintoron. The Steward stopped behind the servers' screen at the far side of the platform.

"The High Priest asked me to tell you that one of the benefactors brought his wife, and there's not enough room at High Table for her. I'm afraid we'll have to give her your seat."

Urzahil followed him to the long tables, where the Steward showed him a place among the scribes and clerks. Back at High Table, the other priests were moving over one, and a man and woman in dark colored wool sat one or two down near the High Priest.

Why did he pick me?

Urzahil had been sitting one place from the end, while the benefactor's lady was near the middle.

There were several tables just below the dais where the minor nobility usually sat. One or two places were still vacant. The Steward walked right past them, and put him at one of the long tables were the scribes and clerks were sitting.

The clerks at the Temple were educated people and Urzahil enjoyed their company, but he minded it that someone like himself, the son of a titled Lord, had been seated with the sons of tradesmen who brewed ale or sold sailcloth in shops on the wharf. He was a nobleman, he didn't belong here.

At High Table, his classmates leaned together in whispered conversations. There'd been no opportunity earlier to discuss what they'd all been through, the day long fast before the ceremony, the thrill of wearing silver grey for the first time, and how changed he felt by having gone through the ritual. He'd been looking forward to talking about with the others. His throat tightened.

The first remove was brought to High Table, and the diners turned to their food. His stomach growled. The last time he'd eaten was before first light the day before, and it was midafternoon now. Serving was always done in order of rank, it would be ten minutes or more before the food arrived at this table. It had been like this at banquets when he was living in his father's house, a poor relation. Nothing had changed.

Chapter End Notes

[1] Urzahil of Umbar, later known as the Mouth of Sauron

[2] gûl' - 'knowledge', 'on' - 'large amount of'

[3] Egyptology technique regarding hieroglyphics

[4] Without long, predictable German military titles, the Enigma code could not have been broken.

[5] This arrangement of keeping an open flame away from flammables may also be seen in the power room at Fort Sumter.

[6] Tar-Castamir is correct, Sauron's real name is Mairon.

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