Caste spent the single full day he had before they left the nomad camp in preparing his belongings. Unlike the others who only need fret if they left a sock behind or misplaced their favourite set of gloves, Caste’s packing had to be methodical and exact. He couldn’t afford to leave anything behind. After all, what would a bunch of illiterate nomads and Mauls do with his copy of ‘The Exegetical Implications of the Second Coming’? Probably use it as fire starter.


    After the lights had gone out in the tent, Caste had made a mental list of the things he needed to pack and check then repack the following day. The first thing he did when he woke up was use his rescued ink and quills and parchment to write a list. He ignored Giordi’s teasing and Judd’s warning about being ready, choosing to prepare well so that he packed well.


    All those with lesser responsibilities scattered the moment they could, throwing all their belongings into their swags at the last minute and winding up with each other’s clothing in their haste. But Caste would not be so rushed or so incompetent.


    However, he found he was a little light when it came to putting his hands on his physical belongings. He checked through his swag and pack, unable to locate a specific chest. The hateful nip of panic began to gnaw at him and he ignored it as best he could, laying everything out on the ground in the tent and glaring at it as if they could possibly be concealing the chest within their grasp.


    “Uh, Caste?” Emeri’s voice broke into his anxious haze. “Are you alright?”


    “No I am not.” He groused. “When I left for Mavour I was promised that the belongings I left behind would be faithfully transported from the southern camp to this one. But it seemed my faith was misplaced as I am missing a chest.” He groaned and ran his hands through his red hair. “It’s probably been left behind…out in the rain…exposed to the elements. A monster has probably chewed its way through it or these nomads thought it would make good firewood.”


    “Caste!” Emeri yelled in his face to get his attention, standing in a corner of the room where her sleeping mat was. She drew back a cover. “Is this the chest?”


    Caste’s spine rippled with relief as he darted towards it, unbelieving yet knowing it to be true.


    “It is! It is!” He exclaimed then glared at Emeri. “What’s it doing in here?”


    “Well, it is obviously very old and despite the care and attention made to preserve it and its contents, there are clear signs of decay on the corners and mildew trying to form.” Emeri patted it gently. “Something so delicate could not be left out in the elements despite everything being covered with waterproofed sheeting so I brought it in here, kept it off the ground and tried my best to discourage the mildew.” She took the handles on either end and picked it up. “Here.”


    Caste eyed the box, recalling its contents and the danger he had faced, both planned and unplanned, in order to retrieve it.


    “Caste, I’m sorry,” Emeri insisted, “I didn’t mean to worry you. I thought I was looking after it the way you would want it to be.”


    Still he didn’t take it, his forehead in a perpetual frown.


    “Keep it.” He said quietly.


    “Caste?”


    “It doesn’t belong to me.”


    “Yes it does.” Emeri tried to hand it to him but he stepped back. “It was part of the pile that you made me swear not to leave behind before you left for Fort Mavour.”


    “Well, now I’m giving it to you.”


    “But why?” Emeri asked, stepping towards him then pausing as he recoiled.


    Caste turned aside, wringing his fingers. “You recall how Jerom thought it would be amusing to trap me in the flooded foundations of Fort Omra?”


    Emeri put the chest down and folded her arms. “You say amusing, I say murderous attempt.”


    Caste nodded. “Well, the reason I went down there was to retrieve that chest.”


    They both looked at it. “But why?” Emeri asked. “I don’t understand.”


    “You didn’t open it?”


    “Of course not. It wasn’t mine.”


    Caste wasn’t sure his restraint for knowledge would have held him back like Emeri’s had done for her then he realised she didn’t know what was in it. He floundered then knelt and opened the chest, finding the letter he had read upon opening, what felt like, a lifetime ago.


    “Here.” He said, holding it out to Emeri.


    She took it and unfurled its edges, her keen brown eyes skipping across the inked words.


    “To whoever finds and reads this confession, I pray you live in an enlightened era where the contents of this chest, in which I seal this letter, will be far better received than my time.” Emeri read aloud as she put her hand out, sitting down blindly, not willing to take her eyes from the letter. “My name is Cleric Iliet and the contents of this chest have passed from cleric to cleric of Fort Omra, sometimes discovered and other times not. I will be blunt and allow the dictates of your conscience guide your heart and hand. In this chest is evidence of a civilisation before the construct of the wall, even before the rampage of monsters began. A civilisation of people we have come to term as ‘Mauls’.” Emeri gasped softly, her fingers trembling. “We, the officers of the Order of the Grail, have done these souls, who had as much right to the respect and civilisation of Terra as any pale skinned human, a great disservice. They are not humans twisted by the mount of Maul or tainted in any other way than with our own prejudice. The Order of the Grail, out of fear and racism, devalued and dehumanised these people and this was passed with great authority from the throne of Astaril itself to the very reaches of Terra. It should never have been so. Upon my discovery of this chest I did as my training dictated and sent copies to Astaril only to be told to burn the chest and its contents. I wrestled with my conscience until I was confined to my bed with a dangerous fever only to rise weakly, seal the contents securely and hide the chest in the flooded foundations on a ledge that had no sign of water damage. Perhaps one day there will be a braver cleric than I to be bold against these unjust foundations but until then, I pray that these remarkable records remain safe.”


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Emeri was quaking with emotion as she looked at Caste. “Unjust foundations…that is what he wrote in the notion of the fort records. Unjust…he was not speaking of the foundations of the fort but of the foundations of Astaril!”


    “It would seem that way.” Caste nodded.


    “Then, that means this chest…” Emeri knelt in front of it, her hands hovering over it. “Knowledge of our forgotten heritage…of our culture…” Caste nodded again then jumped as Emeri stood up and advanced on him. “You have to take it to Astaril!”


    “What? No!”


    “Caste, you must!” She exclaimed. “That chest contains the proof of our humanity.”


    “I will not take it to Astaril.”


    Emeri’s jaw dropped. “But Caste…it’s the truth!”


    Caste snorted. “Truth…your truth. Your heritage. Your culture that would be considered blasphemous to the Grail’s foundations.”


    “Unjust foundations!”


    “That chest has no business being in Astaril.” Caste could see that his words were bouncing off her, not even registering in her mind as she paced.


    “It would be presented as evidence before King Rocheveron and the old laws would be challenged against its proof. Along with Judd’s voice after he is knighted, we could begin to see real change until my people are freed from all servitude and persecution!” Emeri lunged at him, throwing her arms around him. “Caste…you have saved us!”


    Caste disentangled himself immediately and put distance between himself and the confused young woman.


    “It will never work.” He argued. “Cleric Iliet already wrote about how he tried to submit the documents to the Order. They burned them and told him to do the same to the originals.”


    “Perhaps he did not stand up for what was right, but he begged those who read the letter afterwards that we might find the courage ourselves.” Emeri held out the letter. “An enlightened era! A time where the Order would not be so full of corruption and pride.” Caste closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his nose, pacing back and forth. “That time could be now!”


    “Emeri, you such a fool.” Caste turned on her and hurt flashed across her open, honest face. “The Order would no more welcome that chest of blasphemy now than it did when Iliet discovered it.”


    “You don’t know that!”


    “Yes I do!” Caste snapped. “Because Cleric Severo tried the same thing as Iliet and received the exact same response! Burn the lot!”


    Emeri’s eyes were as wide as could be, clutching the letter to her breast, standing in front of the chest as if to protect it.


    “No…they couldn’t…”


    “They did.” Caste flopped his hands to the sides. “Why do you think he hung himself?”


    Emeri’s rich complexion became a shade lighter. “What did you say?”


    Caste paused. “No one told you?” He didn’t need an answer as she sank to the floor. “It was after the hydra, or maybe before…”


    “I knew he had died but to hang himself…” Emeri’s kind eyes filled with tears. “But why then? What happened to him?”


    Caste cringed and squatted down in front of her. “He saw me with the chest. He told me what he had done, sealing it into the foundations because he couldn’t burn it.”


    “That poor man…to have been so disappointed by the Order that he would drink himself into a stupor…” Emeri wiped at her cheeks but more tears fell. Caste sighed and drew his handkerchief out of his pocket and held it to her. She took it, sniffing. They were quiet for a time, each wrestling with the future and grieving for the past. “You could still do it, you know.” Caste glanced up at Emeri whose eyes were cast to the side. “Take the chest to Astaril, present it to King Rocheveron…”


    “It would have to be authenticated by deacons, archdeacons…even by Bishop Peele,” Caste argued softly, “and I guarantee you, it would be rejected, denounced and burned.” He shook his head. “No, better that it stay here with you and your people.”


    “What about truth?” Emeri whispered. “What about putting one’s pride and ego and reputation aside and standing up for what is right?”


    Caste licked his lips. “Cleric Iliet wrote about an ‘enlightened age’ in which the chest’s contents would be accepted…clearly we’re not there yet.”


    Emeri’s brown fingers curled around his as her face moved in closely. “Caste, an enlightened era where powers and authority are transparent does not happen because we wish it. It happens when good people stand up for what is right…like you did…when you saved me,” he shook his head but she wouldn’t relent, “when you said all those things in front of Fereak and Jerom…to protect my people…to protect me. I didn’t realise how brave you were before…I know you have the courage to do this.”


    Caste lifted his eyes, so close to Emeri he could feel her breath, count her eyelashes and smell the warmth of her skin.


    “No, I don’t.” Caste said softly and she blinked, disappointment growing with every word he uttered. “I will not lose my place in the Order, will not endanger my ambition or sacrifice everything I have worked for, for this.” He stood up and backed from her. Though the distance was not great, it was as wide as the wall was long. “Perhaps one day, if I become bishop, I will be able to effect change on this scale…”


    Emeri stood up as well, her lips trembling even as her jaw tightened and her eyes became hard though they filled with tears. “No, Caste Undern, if you cannot stand for justice and truth now, excusing your actions with hollow promises of future hope, all for the sake of your ambition, you will only do the same again to protect your damn position.”


    Caste had nothing to say to that because he knew, in his heart, she was right.


    So he turned and left the tent.