What Was Forgotten by Tim Mathias

talking to himself, but then he decided he didn’t care. Let them listen. They may learn something. As incoherent as he may ramble in his exhaustion, he knew that, out of anyone at this monastery or any other in Lycernum, he was destined for greatness. He had the most powerful natural gift for communing with and commanding the Beyond.
    Osmun lifted himself to his feet, realizing that his skill was all the trial ought to consider. He could spend the rest of his life studying, but the church needed him and his skills, as much as Andrican derided him for thinking so. They would end the trial, he realized, if he refused to play their game, and they would make him a cleric if not doing so meant that he no longer aided the church.
    He opened the window and looked outside, uncertain of the time of day. The clouds were heavy and dark. If the sun was out, it was wholly unable to penetrate the gray veil that covered the sky. He left his room and went to the dining hall for tea before he left for the Cathedral. Every monk, fellow priest, and disciple that passed by him as he sat alone drinking his tea looked at him with what Osmun could only assume was pity. He shook his head as he took another sip. It had lost its flavour. He pushed the half-empty cup away from him and left.
    It wasn’t pity, he decided. It may look as though they pitied him, but surely it was borne out of some fear. They were intimidated by him. Envious.
    He eschewed his usual meandering route through the city only partly because of the rain. Mostly it was because he needed to have this matter put to rest. If the spectre was still haunting his footsteps, he did not notice. It was the only mercy of being as utterly exhausted as he was.
    The words, though… its words still reverberated in the back of his mind.
    Osmun still was not sure what time of day it was by the time he reached the Cathedral, soaking wet. The sheets of rain were keeping the usual thrum of the city to a minimum. There were moments as he walked that he thought he was the only person in Lycernum.
    The brass bell in the Cathedral tower began to chime as he pushed open one of the iron doors. Inside, a worship service was coming to an end. The hall was half-empty even before the faithful began to leave the Cathedral and walk outside into the rain.
    On the stage was a young priest, perhaps younger than Osmun, who smiled peacefully at the congregation as they left. As he noticed Osmun approach him, there was a visible effort on his part to keep his gracious demeanour in place.
    “The clerics,” Osmun said. “Where are they?”
    “You must be Osmun Arus,” the priest said. He bent over slightly, but remained on the stage, several feet above Osmun. “Are you quite alright? You look ––”
    “Are they here?” Osmun asked flatly.
    The priest’s smile faded somewhat, and he replied, though Osmun only heard the ever-present voice in his head rush to the forefront. The priest stood back up.
    “You seem unwell, Brother Osmun. Is there some way I can help you?”
    Osmun walked away abruptly. He could hear the priest trying to get his attention as he went, but his voice quickly became just more background noise.
    He went to the library and found it empty, so he tried the door that led to the iron-walled room where they had the trial, but it was locked. Osmun kicked the door in frustration, sending a loud clang off the stone walls of the library and out into the halls.
    The two clerics were at the entrance to the library as Osmun went to leave. Andrican wore the same stern, unimpressed look he always did. Egus looked pleased at first, but his disposition changed when he got a good look at the young priest.
    “By the Beacon, look at you,” Egus said. He squinted as if he thought his eyes were deceiving him.
    “You look even more unwell than the last time you were here,” Andrican said, his voice devoid of compassion. “What have you been doing?”
    Osmun tried to compose himself. “I’ve come to