The Highland Priest
The door of the rundown inn creaked. Creak. The loose door swung back and forth with an unpleasant groan. Beneath it, a steady trickle of blood mixed with cerebral fluid flowed outward, stirring a peculiar sense of dread in anyone who passed.
Squelch. Squelch. Inside, the sight was one of corpses mutilated beyond any hope of recognition. A few seemed to have tried fleeing toward the door, yet there were no footprints leading outside. No one had escaped. And in that place... a priest sat casually among the bodies, eating his meal.
Blood dripped from his soaked utensils. The stench rising from every direction would have been unbearable for any ordinary person, yet he remained utterly composed. Amid the corpses he leisurely sliced his meat, ate, then climbed back up to lie down on the filthy bedding as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
It was all so familiar. People dying. Eating atop their corpses. Sleeping there. The reek of decaying flesh, the thick metallic tang of blood, the soiled sheets. Every detail was intimately known to him. It was sad, but that was simply how things were. An Inquisitor had to grow accustomed to any kind of bedding, after all.
I should set out early tomorrow.
That was why he could calmly consider the next day’s schedule even in a place like this. To the priest named Jenkinson Beckett, none of it mattered in the slightest.
How long had he walked since leaving Billington? By the time the sky began to blush orange, signaling the approach of evening, he had reached the highlands. What welcomed him was an endless sea of wheat fields, so vast it seemed to swallow the horizon. The sheer scale was overwhelming. It was exactly what one would expect from the continent’s largest wheat-producing region, and the sight drew an involuntary sigh of admiration.
Farther in the distance lay a village built by the people who tended these fields. The journey had taken considerable time, so Jenkinson headed there first. He would rest briefly, recover his strength, and then continue through the night toward Yoqheim.
“Oh! A man of the cloth. May the Goddess’s blessing accompany every step you take.”
The man drew the holy sign and bowed his head the moment he saw him. Jenkinson returned the gesture and replied in kind. The speaker was a farmer with a friendly smile, hoe resting on one shoulder as he walked toward the village.
“May the Goddess’s mercy dwell in your hoe. I’m looking for a place to rest awhile. Is there anywhere I might stay?”
The man stroked his thick brown beard, then smiled warmly. “Of course! I was just about to finish for the day myself. Please, rest at my house.”
“I’m grateful for your kindness, brother. In that case, I won’t refuse.”
Jenkinson accepted the offer without hesitation. The man’s demeanor suggested this place was not yet heavily corrupted, which came as a relief.
When they reached the village, the first thing to greet him was a watchtower. A sentry glared down from its height, and every villager in sight was heavily armed with firearms. They were clearly prepared for raiders from the cities who coveted their wheat. At least public safety did not appear to be a concern.
“Quite strict security,” Jenkinson murmured, studying the tower and the armed young vigilantes. The farmer chuckled.
“Haha. The cities are full of nasty types. They kidnap village girls outright, and they say they drag men off to sell their organs. Did you run into any trouble on the road, Father?”
Jenkinson answered the man’s worried question in a calm, even tone. “I did encounter some friction… I sent them all into God’s embrace so they might repent. Since I left none alive, I doubt anyone will trouble this village again anytime soon, unless a new group moves in.”
The farmer’s face paled at his words.
“I… I see.”
The trembling voice and sudden distance made Jenkinson realize the man had begun to fear him. He offered a gentle smile. It was a familiar reaction. People fearing him. So he simply smiled. Experience had taught him it was the best choice in moments like this.
Even here, the farmer Makel—who owned the largest fields in the area—was afraid of this eerie priest. Yet he trusted him for one reason alone: the man was a priest. Priests were sacred, after all. They were servants of the great Goddess Yuno.
“It’s roasted just right. Please, try some. And this beer is excellent. Oh—do priests not drink?”
When Makel asked with concern, Jenkinson waved a hand dismissively. “Our order actually regards alcohol as the Goddess’s gift and holds it in high esteem. What the church forbids are tobacco, drugs, adultery, and homosexuality.”
The Order of Mercy generally looked favorably upon consensual relations between unmarried men and women. The reason was simple: it helped prevent them from turning to same-sex attraction. Therefore, unmarried priests carried the responsibility of occasionally teaching proper sexual conduct through direct example, guiding the unmarried away from sinful paths.
“Hoo, I never knew. I assumed priests would forbid sex entirely.”
Makel’s face showed genuine surprise. Jenkinson took a sip of beer and smiled.
“It’s good brew. As for prohibitions… It seems you’ve confused us with monks, Brother Makel. Monks do indeed forbid sexual relations.”
It was not an unreasonable mistake. Unlike priests, monks strictly abstained from relations with the opposite sex.
“Monks and nuns are those who have surrendered their bodies completely to God.”
They were people who had entrusted their fate and entire lives to the divine. In essence, they were God’s husbands and wives. Though they usually served as attendants to high-ranking clergy, not even the Pope could treat them lightly.
Jenkinson smiled, sensing the man still did not fully understand. He decided to explain more simply.
“Let’s use an example. Suppose you own a servant. If that servant has relations with another female servant, what would you say?”
“Hmm… Isn’t that their own business? As long as the partner isn’t someone troublesome, I wouldn’t make an issue of it.”
Makel thought for a moment before answering. Jenkinson nodded.
“Exactly. A priest is a servant of God, so relations are not a problem provided the partner is not an issue.”
Understanding dawned on Makel’s face. Put that way, it did sound reasonable.
“Now suppose you have a wife. If that wife has relations with another man, what would you do?”
“…I would definitely make an issue of it.”
Makel imagined the scene and answered firmly. Jenkinson smiled again.
“Monks and nuns are married to God. Relations with others would therefore constitute adultery. That is why it is strictly forbidden. Priests, however, are servants of God. There is no reason to forbid a servant from having relations. So we do not.”
“Indeed… I understand perfectly now.”
Listening to Jenkinson’s explanation, Makel was impressed. Perhaps because this was the first priest to visit the highlands in his lifetime, the man’s words were kinder and far easier to understand than he had expected. Before long, fear had given way to respect—the kind one might feel toward a learned scholar.
“The beer really is excellent. The bread too. I’ve received quite a fine gift.”
Having finished every last bite and sip, Jenkinson rose from his seat.
“The sun will set soon. I should be on my way.”
He was about to press two gold coins into the farmer’s hand and depart when Makel stopped him.
“It’ll be dark soon… Why not stay the night? You’re heading to Yoqheim? Going to a dangerous place like that after sunset is far too risky.”
As he spoke, Makel subtly returned the coins and continued trying to dissuade him. In his heart he wanted to tell the priest not to go to such a hellish place at all, but that seemed impossible. At the very least, he hoped the man would leave in the morning. Yoqheim was dangerous enough by day; at night it was far worse.
“Then I’ll accept your kindness. Excuse me for the imposition.”
Jenkinson smiled at the man’s hospitality and stepped inside the house.
“My clothes smell of blood. Would it be all right if I washed?”
When Jenkinson indicated his bloodstained garments, Makel nodded. Traveling in such clothes would indeed be difficult.
“Of course! Leave them with me. I’ll wash them right away.”
Makel led him to the bathroom inside the house. As he filled the fairly spacious wooden tub with warm water, he offered a friendly smile.
“It’s the first time a clergyman has visited these highlands, so I’m a little nervous. You saw it on your way in, didn’t you? Those envious glances from the villagers.”
To the man speaking with a touch of pride, Jenkinson replied with a gentle smile. “If the people like you, brother, that is all that matters. I’ll be in your care, then.”
To enter the bath Jenkinson began removing his clothes. Makel let out a small sound of admiration at the priest’s toned, muscular body before taking the garments and leaving.
“I’ll bring fresh clothes for you to change into. Please wear them afterward.”
“Thank you.”
Grateful for the consideration, Jenkinson lowered himself into the tub and let the warm water ease his fatigue.
This feels good, doesn’t it?
Soaking in the bath, Jenkinson stared at the wooden ceiling and thought. And so his day in the highlands drew quietly to a close.