ZE-RAK walked through the pitch-black night, a torch held high before him. The flames danced, swallowing the darkness in fragments and casting moving, misshapen shadows that seemed to dance in his wake. Each step was a small ordeal, a painful reminder of MASSI's blow, but he advanced, driven by a necessity stronger than pain.
In the distance, a brighter, more organized light pierced the darkness. A sacred bonfire, fed by resinous woods, illuminated the training ground, transformed for the night into an open-air temple.
That must be it... the spirituality class.
As he approached, he distinguished the apprentices sitting in a circle around the fire. Their silhouettes were cut out like shadow puppets against the wall of flames, and their shadows, distorted and gigantic, seemed to stir behind them like ancient, anxious spirits.
As soon as he crossed the circle of light, the conversations died down. All eyes turned to him, heavy, charged with the rumor of his unusual fight against MASSI.
Then the murmurs resumed, low and mocking, more discreet than during the day but just as pernicious.
"Look. There he is. The one who stayed standing."
"He dares to show himself after being pulverized?"
"MASSI was too hard on him..."
"Or not hard enough."
ZE-RAK ignored the comments as he ignored the throbbing pain in his chest. He extinguished his torch in the damp sand and looked for a place to sit apart, in the shadow just beyond the circle of fire, where the heat was less intense and the stares less direct.
Suddenly, a religious silence, deeper and more respectful than the one imposed by MASSI, fell over the assembly.
From the darkness, a figure emerged.
The Priestess.
She was draped in immaculate white fabric that seemed to absorb the firelight and give it back as a spectral halo. Behind her followed her young assistant, her face humble, carrying a woven basket filled with herbs of strange shapes. Two guards with impressive physiques, scarred faces and eyes that barely blinked, followed them. They stopped at the edge of the light, like sentinels between the world of men and that of the spirits.
Seeing her, ZE-RAK's heart missed a beat. A complex and painful mix of sadness, repressed anger, and instinctive mistrust overwhelmed his defenses. The memory of his father in the judgment hall, of his empty gaze, of this woman's implacable and ambiguous presence during the injustice... everything came back in a burning flash, sharper than the bonfire's flames.
A word escaped him, a barely audible breath laden with all the bitterness of a son made orphan by the law of men and the silence of the gods:
"Sh*t."
---
The Priestess took her place facing the fire, but her gaze seemed to see through the flames, toward something beyond. She let the silence settle, thicken, until the crackling of the wood became deafening.
"Before speaking of spirituality... let's first speak of the supernatural," she began, her clear, melodious voice carrying strangely well in the calm night without needing to force it. "In your opinion, what is the supernatural?"
No one dared to answer. The weight of her authority was too great. She let the question hang, then continued, her gaze sweeping the circle of young, impressed faces.
"The supernatural is what surpasses our ordinary, what defies our immediate understanding. A bird that flies, that's normal. It's its nature. But if a sheep grew wings and flew before you... that would be a miracle. A shock. A madness. Because a sheep shouldn't fly, right? It's this violation of the established order, this upheaval of the laws of the world as you know them... that is the supernatural."
A shiver ran through the circle. The apprentices exchanged hesitant glances, wondering where she was going with this.
"And the spiritual, then?" she asked, as if answering their silence.
She paused, letting the word resonate.
"The spiritual... is the supernatural that no one can glimpse by themselves. The spiritual world is a forbidden domain, a forest so dense that no one enters without being invited. No one can claim to know it, to map it, to understand its rules. Even if one has knowledge of deeply buried secrets, it will always remain supernatural. The spiritual is much deeper. The true secrets, those that form the very foundation of existence, are found there."
She took an herb from her assistant's basket, a plant with heart-shaped leaves and purple veins. She raised it toward the sky.
"A simple plant, to you, among so many others. You will pass by without even noticing it. You will trample it. But for me," and her eyes shone with an inner light, "it cures the fever of newborns, heals an infected wound in three moons, calms a spirit tormented by nightmares. For you, the ignorant, it would be a miracle. For me, it is only natural. It is a revealed secret."
Murmurs resumed, intrigued this time. The idea of a healing herb seemed credible, almost banal.
"Thus, what is supernatural for you, the ignorant, is merely a revealed secret for me, the initiated," she said. "The supernatural can become natural through knowledge. But the spiritual..." Her voice lowered a tone, becoming deeper, more unsettling. "The spiritual is of another nature."
Her gaze darkened, seeming to remember stories too ancient to be told lightly.
"The spiritual... is the animal that speaks."
The apprentices stiffened as one. Some opened their eyes wide, others paled, remembering the tales that had frightened them in their childhood.
"Imagine," she continued, her voice now a hypnotic whisper that forced them to strain their ears. "A hunter, alone, aims at a majestic beast, a stag with imposing antlers. The moment he releases his arrow, the animal turns its head, and its gaze is no longer that of a beast. It is intelligent, ancient. It opens its mouth and says in a voice that is not a voice: Spare me, and I will offer you what you seek.
Perhaps it will lead you to a land rich in game, or whisper to you the hidden virtues of a plant you always believed to be poisonous. Upon his return, for this hunter and his loved ones, these gifts belong to the supernatural. But soon, these secrets become habits, knowledge... and cease to be mysteries. The supernatural blends into the natural and becomes something credible."
She looked at them, one by one, her piercing gaze seeming to probe their souls.
"Of course, there are secrets buried even deeper. But they remain supernatural."
She leaned forward, her eyes shining with an orange reflection in the glow of the flames.
"But then, why and how did this beast speak? Why to this hunter and not another? Was it the beast itself... or something speaking through it? Could it do it again? Could another of its species do it?
That is the spiritual: a phenomenon that can neither be understood, nor reproduced, nor explained. A secret that reveals itself to a few, capriciously, and whose ultimate meaning escapes everyone. It is the hand of the ancestors, the voice of the spirits, the breath of the world deciding to manifest itself."
Her voice became a chilling whisper, laden with a millennial warning, a law older than the tribe itself.
"If this happens to you, listen. Obey. For a taboo will arise from it – not to speak of it, no longer hunt here, protect this species, burn this plant... – and if you transgress this taboo, it is inevitable that you will die. It is not a punishment. It is a consequence. Like fire burns and water drowns. Don't act smart. Don't believe your will is stronger. You... will... die."
The silence that followed was thick, heavy with fear and a respect mixed with terror. The frantic beating of hearts could be heard.
ZE-RAK, in his corner of shadow, stared at the flames, frozen. The Priestess's words resonated in his skull like gong strikes. Her mere presence awakened in him a deep sadness, a sensation of disconnection... as if his mind was emptying, but at the same time, her words found a terrifying echo within him. A phenomenon that can neither be understood, nor reproduced. Like his visions? Like that spear that didn't exist? Was it supernatural... or spiritual?
"That is why," she concluded, straightening up, her aura of power regained, "there are taboos, sacred laws that you must never, ever transgress. We will see that another time. The night is advanced. Go and rest. And remember my words."
The lesson was over. The apprentices dispersed, silent and pensive, their eyes still full of the terrible and fascinating images she had evoked.
ZE-RAK stood up, his mind heavy with unanswered questions. His gaze neutral, he relit his torch from an ember and left without a backward glance, without seeking to meet the Priestess's gaze. He felt her weight upon him, like a shadow observing him, that perhaps knew.
---
On the way back to the instructors' huts, the Priestess walked slowly, followed by her escort. In the half-light, she suddenly spoke, without turning around, her voice lost in the rustling of the night.
"So? What did you think of him? Of ZE-RAK?"
The young assistant started, surprised by the question that broke the protocol of silence.
"Even if he is seen as... the son of a traitor..." she chose her words carefully, "I found him attentive. Silent. Like the others."
"Is that all?" asked the Priestess, her tone remaining neutral but insistent, inquisitive.
The young girl hesitated, searching for what was expected of her, digging through her memories of the boy sitting in the shadow.
"... Yes. That's all. He said nothing, did nothing. He was listening."
The Priestess raised her eyes to the moon, suspended, cold and distant, her marble face bathed in a silvery light. Her murmur escaped, almost inaudible, a breath charged with a meaning that far exceeded its simple formulation:
"... I see."
Then she resumed her walk, letting these two words, heavy with secrets and omens, be lost and blend into the complicit darkness of the night.