It just wasn’t the same.
It felt to Hyran as if he had to strain his voice to its limits to help create even half the sound the choir had been able to make before. The chapel actually seemed empty now, with only dark-skinned Vle to praise and bless the Great Master.
Later, the copying cells seemed almost silent— it was as if no one wanted their quill to be heard. How badly would this affect the copying schedule? Could they keep up with the rate of decay?
It was finally at dinner that the subject was breached. “It doesn’t seem right to be without our brothers,” someone said into the silence at the table. Hyran thought perhaps the anonymous voice was the Abbot’s, but he couldn’t be sure.
“No,” agreed Tichel. “It seems to me that the Great Master would prefer to keep us together, so that more may praise and bless his name.”
“And yet we are commanded to do nothing,” said Hyran. A few gave him looks that said, ‘Well, of course not!’
“There is nothing to say that being elsewhere is an impediment to our brothers in praise of the Great Master. Indeed, they could create their own monastery within this camp of the King’s.”
“True, but they are now off the platform, contrary to their vows.”
“Not contrary. They had permission.”
Everyone looked at the head of the table. The abbot regarded his ‘sons’ with equanimity, and continued. “The King is qualified to allow any of us to leave.”
“As well as allow outsiders onto the platform?” someone asked.
The abbot shook his head. “No, that had to be either me or one of my superiors. And regardless of who gave such permission, it was not a choice. It was politics.”
The abbot’s tone was such that it was clear no more discussion would take place in that direction. After a pause, Brother Clarrow, sent the discussion in a new one: “So, do we pray for our brothers? Is there reason to think they are in danger? Or are they to be martyrs? Without understanding the outside world, we can’t know.”
“It makes no difference,” said a senior brother who was about on par with Allega. “We must trust in the Great Master either way. He has redeemed us, so that death means little to our souls.”
“But that does not absolve our duty to the souls of this world,” countered Hyran. “The Great Master’s redemption is not something everyone knows or accepts always, and therefore they are without comfort.”
The senior brother spread his hands. “What does that have to do with our brothers? They have accepted the redemption, and do not need our prayers.”
“But can we be sure they are still accepting? Did you see Allega as he led him away? The Vle was afraid for his life, shocked to the heart that something like this should occur. We must at least pray for his strength, as well as the strength of the others.”
“Are you saying that our brothers are less than completely dedicated?”
“Not at all. I am merely saying that this traumatic event will force them to reevaluate their— our religion.”
And then everyone turned away and ignored him for the rest of the evening.
As Hyran headed for the copying cells two days later, the abbot approached him. He got a bit worried— had the abbot been so displeased at his comments at dinner that he had just now cooled down enough to talk to him?
“Hyran? May I talk with a moment?”
“Of course, Father.”
“Brother Allega thought well of you.”
“We got along well, Father.”
“But, I mean to say, he thought highly enough that he recommended you for whatever advancement you desired to take. I’m afraid the garden still has one to tend it.”
Hyran smiled wryly. “I have begun to wonder if that will ever change.”
“No time soon, I’m sure. However, you are known for your... unorthodox theology. Not just here, but in other monasteries as well. I frankly find it curious that Allega should have thought so highly of you. However, there is no reason you cannot serve as my secretary today.”
“Today? As in, a temporary appointment?”
“Exactly. As you know, my secretary had to leave.”
“Yes, Father.”
“I have done quite well without him, so I am reluctant to replace him on a permanent basis. However, I would like your assistance this afternoon.”
“Is there a special duty you need me for, Father?”
“Yes. Lord Varabia has come to talk with us.”
“You have permitted his entry?”
“Yes. He is the lord of this land. He wishes to talk with me, so I have allowed him to come do so. Do you see a reason not to?”
“Well, only that he is the embodiment of politics. But I understand that you have agreed to see him as a petitioner. Of course, Father.”
“I’m glad you agree with me. Now, if you will accompany me when he arrives?”
“Yes, Father. When the lift bell rings, I shall come.”
“Very good. Good copying.”
“Thank you, Father.”
They parted, and Hyran went to copy, hoping he could keep his mind on it. If he served well as secretary, he could well get to stay— and skip being a mentor entirely...!
Best not get one’s hopes up.
The lift bell rang soon after lunch, and Hyran moved quickly to the lift. Below, a very distinguished-looking man stepped from an ornate coach, and onto the small platform which would bear him up. The lift operator of the day prodded the horse into action, and the lift moved slowly to the lower level where Hyran and the abbot waited.
When the lift was finally level, the two monks bowed, but only Hyran bowed low. “Greetings, Lord Varabia. It is a pleasure to have your presence grace our monastery,” said the abbot. “May I introduce Brother Hyran.”
Varabia gave Hyran a mere nod, and turned his attention back to the abbot. “I was wondering if I might call a conference of your most senior monks, Father.”
The abbot raised his brows. “A conference? The advice of one monk is not enough?”
“No, Father, I am afraid it is not.”
“Very well.” The abbot turned to Hyran, and nodded, which meant ‘Go ring the conference bell.’ Hyran did, and rejoined the two, who were deep in discussion about redemption, and what it meant to a lord such as Varabia. Hyran fell into step, and simply listened, as was his job for the day.
“So, you don’t agree with the idea that, since I’m a lord, I must have been redeemed by the Great Master before I was even born?” asked Varabia.
“No, because, as virtuous as you may be, you have the Creator’s instincts just like the rest of us, because you were born just like the rest of us. Those instincts, however, may lead you wrong. You need to be redeemed, so that you can restrict the influence of those instincts.”
“I see. So, then, by what right do I rule?”
“Oh, the Creator’s of course.”
“Which is what I thought. So, even though the Great Master redeems us equally, we’re still unequal because the Creator created us so.”
“Exactly.”
“I see. Some people think that belief in the Great Master means you can’t believe in the Creator anymore, and so they’re questioning the Created Right to Rule.”
“That’s nonsense. Someone had to Create all that we see, and it certainly wasn’t the Great Master.”
And then there were those, like Hyran, who did question the right to rule, but not the Creator. Was it wrong to say that the old Creation religion just had a few facts wrong?
They came to the hall of studies, and sat at the large conference table. The abbot sat at the head, of course, as was his custom, and Varabia sat to his right. Hyran took the left position, and then the senior brothers entered the hall.
“Greetings, Sons,” said the abbot. “Sitting here at my right hand is a petitioner, the estimable Lord of Varabia. I have not yet asked what his question is, so I cannot prepare you. Are there any questions?”
“Begging pardon, Father,” said an elderly man two positions down from Varabia, “if I may ask, by what right does Brother Hyran sit at your side?”
“He is my secretary for this meeting. He will not be contributing to the discussion, without my approval.”
Hyran hadn’t realized before how infamous his theology was. Obviously, some really disliked it! But that was not a concern for the moment.
“Are there any more questions?” The abbot’s query was met by only silence, so he said, “Then, we shall begin. My Lord?”
Varabia stood as the abbot sat; Hyran prepared his parchment and quill. “My most reverent brothers,” he began, “My concern, which I bring to you, is the recent proclamation by the King. I am sure you know which one I speak of— I can see vacancies even right here among you.
“The situation is much the same throughout my realm— whole towns, in some places, forced to pack up and walk for days; other towns are missing a large part of their mechant community. What it adds up to, my friends, is a large loss in revenue. That’s the purely pragmatic side. On the more emotional side, my family has been broken up by this move, we have intermarried so much. There are countless families with the same problems in towns, with friendships broken and Vle literally dying of grief.
“My request is not for only myself, however. I come on behalf of light Vle everywhere. This situation cannot continue, but I do not have enough power to convince the King that he is wrong. Your organization, however does. You can convince the Representative that he must order the king to change course. For the good of fifty thousand Vle, and the good of the kingdom, this I implore.”
He stopped, and sat. There was silence. Finally, the abbot said, “Surely you know of our vows.”
“Of non-interference in politics? That I do. But you must see beyond that. This isn’t just politics, these are lives we’re talking about. Suffering souls, and more may suffer if our light-Vle neighbors decide to wage war in defense of their kinsmen. I would be forced to take up arms against them— those I myself consider kinsmen.”
“It remains a political matter, My Lord,” said a senior brother near the far end of the table. “It is a King’s decree, a decsion he made based on political necessity. We cannot pretend to understand all the issues, and therefore we cannot pressure him in any way.”
Varabia gestured with his fists. “What issues do you need?! There is only one that matters here, and that is personal freedom. Our King does not have the right to take that away for any reason. If you pressure him to take a different action, then he will, and it will be one with nearly the same rationale. We do not need to fear interference here— only inaction.”
Another senior brother tried another tack. “The Great Master commands us— all of us— to look at all sides of an issue, before making a decision. Thus we will make wise, advantageous decisions. He also commands those of us who seek to know him as he knew himself to sequester ourselves so that we may come to know him without distraction. Unfortunately, that leaves us largely unaware of the greater issues beyond. We cannot interfere. The issue is not one merely one of freedom, but of the future. The Great Master has plans for the world, and it is not for us to guess at those plans.” The brother jabbed his pointer finger in Varabia’s direction. “If we did, we would be saying that our Great Master is inconsistent. He gave us these Mandates to be followed without exception, so that we would have no reason to interrupt his plans.”
The abbot joined in. “And as dire as the situation may be, it is well within the capacity of the Great Master to deal with. This may be part of his plan. We cannot say, because we cannot know.”
Varabia looked at all the faces around the table, and Hyran looked as well. Every single one was in agreement, and displayed confidence in that agreement. For a moment, Hyran wondered if he truly was in the right career.
[Trust...]
Varabia sat back. “Very well. I had to try.”
“Trust in the Great Master,” the monks chorused, and stood, filing out, leaving Hyran and the abbot with the disappointed lord.
“That is not the answer you wanted,” observed the abbot.
Varabia shook his head. “No, it is not.”
The abbot stood, and so did Hyran. “Thank you, Hyran. I shall not need your services further today.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Come, I shall see you away,” said the abbot to Varabia.
The lord shook his head. “Might I meditate some more before I go?”
The abbot inclined his head a small degree. “If that is your wish.” He then walked out, but Hyran did not follow.
“You don’t seem to agree with the others,” Varabia stated.
“No. I don’t know if it’s just my youth, or a lack of belief, or my different background, but I cannot agree.”
“Hmph. I came expecting to come away with an entire organization at my side, but instead I have only an abbot’s secretary. Unless you happen to have his ear...?”
“Hardly. He told me, literally, that I am known for my unorthodox views. I served as his secretary only for today.”
“Hmm.” Varabia slumped into an undignified posture in his chair. “Essentially, we’re in the same predicament, you and I. Our hands are tied behind our backs by our superiors, without a way to change their minds; the only path for us is the path they choose.”
Hyran had a thought. “I once copied a text, which said that we are only constrained by our own selves. No one can really constrain us, we only choose to accept that constraint. You could choose differently.”
“As could you.”
“N-no, my constraints are held by The Great Master himself. He can indeed constrain us.”
“Can he? How? He didn’t constrain the King’s hand, when he sat to write the proclamation. He didn’t constrain the soldiers who came to take half my subjects away. He didn’t constrain the builders of the camp.”
“Then we can only assume it is his will, however odd it seems.”
Varabia was warming up. He sat forward and said, “Then, as your own brothers have said, he would be inconsistent! For did The Great Master not guarantee that all beings of all races be free to make their own choices, within his own guidelines?”
“He did.” Hyran couldn’t believe it. Varabia was right! Something had to faulty in the logic, however, because it seemed too good to be true. Or too bad, depending on the viewpoint. After all, either way, the Great Master appeared to be inconsistent. He sat down opposite Varabia.
"Well, I apologize for troubling you. Would you show me to the chapel?"
"Of course." The walk to the chapel was short, and quiet, allowing Hyran to sink deep in thought. He did not notice when Varabia stood and left.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
He reported directly to his father upon his return. “It sounded rather dire, Father.”
“They aren’t too happy with me, I imagine.”
“No, I got the impression that they’re not.”
“Did the ambassador have any suggestions?”
Taréz shook his head. “No, but I was hoping he did. The camp is a huge expense, and a much larger project than the South Hall.”
“I know. Did he have anything else to say?”
“Well, one, there is apparently the scent of war. By a unified force. They don’t fear Gardric.”
“I suspected as much. I’ll have to order Gardric to plan a defense... and to prepare very, very discreetly. We don’t want to appear to ready to fight this out. And that was all?”
“No, though it seems somewhat inconsequential in the face of everything else. Watchers reported a less than favorable account of how I interacted with Princess Rakeynna, and her father is less than pleased, especially in light of events here.”
“That is not inconsequential. A snub to a man’s daughter, real or imagined, can very easily set him at edge. If there is talk of unifying for a war effort, he may well be the nucleus, all due to how he feels you treated his daughter.”
“Politics!” Taréz snorted.
“For what it’s worth, I thought you handled the situation well. Rakeynna doesn’t have the most favorable reputation.”
“If it weren’t for Pimber, I’d say I prefer war to a woman any time.”
It wasn’t very often that Taréz got to see the Chief of the Army out of his element, but this was one time. He had a report that Yis would normally have done: the quarterly receipts from the nobles’ taxes.
“We have received ten thousand four hundred eighty platin crowns, thirty-four thousand nineteen gold shillings, and fifty-eight thousand one hundred ninety silver marks,” he reported, “Down roughly twenty percent in each category.”
The King’s jaw dropped in surprise. “Twenty percent?! Are you sure?”
“Y— uh, no, I’m not, Your Majesty. Math was never my strong suit.”
“Let me see.” Gardric handed the parchment accounting tables to the King, seemingly glad to get rid of them. The King looked them over, and worked at them for a while. Finally, he let out a low whistle. “I liked the figures better before. If my math is correct, the figures are down thirty percent.”
Thirty percent?! “By the Great Master!” excalimed Taréz. “This situation had better resolve itself soon! May I see?” He looked at the figures again, and saw that receipts were down throughout the kingdom, and almost completely wiped out in the areas that were now depopulated (of course). “Gardric, I hope you realize that the results would be the same if we had simply evicted all the light Vle.”
“But then, we would never have to support them, as you are doing now.”
“But even if we didn’t end up with a war, we’d never get the light Vle back. We need the light Vle, Gardric. It’s all right here on this sheet of parchment.”
“Sire, their jobs can easily be refilled by us.”
“No, they cannot! Our people are too busy already.”
Just then, Stecky came into the chamber and addressed the King. “Sire, a pigeon has brought a message for you.”
“From whom?”
“Yis, Sire.” He handed the small roll to the king, who unrolled it and squinted to read the writing aloud. “Your Majesty,
I respectfully greet you, and hope all is well in the palace. I write because all is not well here. Construction is lagging far behind the arrival rate, and we badly need more laborers to help, as well as more materials. I may be able to convince some more of my people to help, but that still leaves the problem of materials! Please, Sire, send more.
Your servant, Yis.”
“Yis wants more money, Gardric,” Taréz said.
“Are you sure you can trust him?”
“Gardric! He’s only doing what he thinks best for his people! Now, let’s see what we can give him.”
“Yes, Sire.”
The three Vle pored over the accounting tables again, and found that there would actually be a shortfall that year. Which, of course, meant a shortfall for the next year as well. There simply was no money.
The King collapsed in the chamberlain’s chair, his face a blank weariness.
“They aren’t too happy with me, I imagine.”
“No, I got the impression that they’re not.”
“Did the ambassador have any suggestions?”
Taréz shook his head. “No, but I was hoping he did. The camp is a huge expense, and a much larger project than the South Hall.”
“I know. Did he have anything else to say?”
“Well, one, there is apparently the scent of war. By a unified force. They don’t fear Gardric.”
“I suspected as much. I’ll have to order Gardric to plan a defense... and to prepare very, very discreetly. We don’t want to appear to ready to fight this out. And that was all?”
“No, though it seems somewhat inconsequential in the face of everything else. Watchers reported a less than favorable account of how I interacted with Princess Rakeynna, and her father is less than pleased, especially in light of events here.”
“That is not inconsequential. A snub to a man’s daughter, real or imagined, can very easily set him at edge. If there is talk of unifying for a war effort, he may well be the nucleus, all due to how he feels you treated his daughter.”
“Politics!” Taréz snorted.
“For what it’s worth, I thought you handled the situation well. Rakeynna doesn’t have the most favorable reputation.”
“If it weren’t for Pimber, I’d say I prefer war to a woman any time.”
It wasn’t very often that Taréz got to see the Chief of the Army out of his element, but this was one time. He had a report that Yis would normally have done: the quarterly receipts from the nobles’ taxes.
“We have received ten thousand four hundred eighty platin crowns, thirty-four thousand nineteen gold shillings, and fifty-eight thousand one hundred ninety silver marks,” he reported, “Down roughly twenty percent in each category.”
The King’s jaw dropped in surprise. “Twenty percent?! Are you sure?”
“Y— uh, no, I’m not, Your Majesty. Math was never my strong suit.”
“Let me see.” Gardric handed the parchment accounting tables to the King, seemingly glad to get rid of them. The King looked them over, and worked at them for a while. Finally, he let out a low whistle. “I liked the figures better before. If my math is correct, the figures are down thirty percent.”
Thirty percent?! “By the Great Master!” excalimed Taréz. “This situation had better resolve itself soon! May I see?” He looked at the figures again, and saw that receipts were down throughout the kingdom, and almost completely wiped out in the areas that were now depopulated (of course). “Gardric, I hope you realize that the results would be the same if we had simply evicted all the light Vle.”
“But then, we would never have to support them, as you are doing now.”
“But even if we didn’t end up with a war, we’d never get the light Vle back. We need the light Vle, Gardric. It’s all right here on this sheet of parchment.”
“Sire, their jobs can easily be refilled by us.”
“No, they cannot! Our people are too busy already.”
Just then, Stecky came into the chamber and addressed the King. “Sire, a pigeon has brought a message for you.”
“From whom?”
“Yis, Sire.” He handed the small roll to the king, who unrolled it and squinted to read the writing aloud. “Your Majesty,
I respectfully greet you, and hope all is well in the palace. I write because all is not well here. Construction is lagging far behind the arrival rate, and we badly need more laborers to help, as well as more materials. I may be able to convince some more of my people to help, but that still leaves the problem of materials! Please, Sire, send more.
Your servant, Yis.”
“Yis wants more money, Gardric,” Taréz said.
“Are you sure you can trust him?”
“Gardric! He’s only doing what he thinks best for his people! Now, let’s see what we can give him.”
“Yes, Sire.”
The three Vle pored over the accounting tables again, and found that there would actually be a shortfall that year. Which, of course, meant a shortfall for the next year as well. There simply was no money.
The King collapsed in the chamberlain’s chair, his face a blank weariness.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
The road went along a high ridge, which was apparently composed of unproductive earth, because no trees grew on it. That made it particularly well suited for the King’s private road, since it was impossible to hide on either side of the road. Such a consideration was moot now, but it still made Gardric sit up straight, as if in pride.
Taréz simply liked the view it afforded over his forest. The sea of deep green stretched seemingly forever; other ridges stuck out like light-green wave crests. Here and there, a hole in the canopy indicated a meadow roughly 100 feet below.
The coach turned off the ridge, and went steeply down along the left side into the forest. It wasn’t very far to the meadow where the camp had been established, and Gardric had appropriated one of the trees nearby as his. The coach drove directly into the hollow at the base of the tree, where it stopped and the driver dismounted. He opened the door for Taréz, and Gardric stood beyond. “This way, Sire,” he said, indicating a lift.
The prince followed his Chief and waited as the sackfuls of soil bore them up to the second canopy. There was only a narrow platform facing the camp below. It was also mounted on hinges, so that it could fold up and protect the occupants of the observation chamber. This was where the Prince stayed, looking out the windows at the scene below.
And what a scene it was: Never before had such a conglomeration of Vle formed on the earth itself. Groups formed around piles of household items, and stones and wood were scattered thoughout as some Vle worked to put them together into housing. A fence had been erected, and it already appeared as if its circumference wasn't large enough. There were still light Vle arriving as the Prince watched, prodded and directed to various parts. However, the Prince was not wholly pleased. “They had to walk?!”
“Of course, Sire. There are not enough wagons in all of Larmania for everyone.”
“Still, I think it would have been nice to have some sort of trade off. Some ride, some walk. Order it so.”
Something clouded the Chief’s expression. “Yes, Sire.”
Taréz looked below again. “The soldiers don’t seem too particularly polite.”
“Sire, they are but soldiers. Some do not know the art of holding one’s tongue, or one’s temper.”
“Then teach them, Gardric!”
“Yes, Sire.”
“There are Vle without a roof over their heads.”
“We don’t have enough wood here—”
“We’re not operating a prison, Gardric! I shouldn’t have to tell you these things! Make their stay as comfortable as possible! It’s bad enough that I’ll have to endure their gripes about being here— I don’t want to hear about them sleeping in cramped, cold conditions!”
“Yes, Sire.”
That pretty much covered the concerns he had. But it still bothered him that the concerns couldn’t be addressed instantly. “Is this the right thing to do?”
Gardric made a gesture that Taréz had never seem him do before: he shrugged. “It was your idea, Sire.”
“Yes, but is Father solving the striking problem? Will they go docilely back to their jobs when he lets them go?”
“Why let them go?”
“Because we can’t afford to simply house and feed them and go without banking and mining profits.”
“We have more than enough qualified replacements.” Sometimes Gardric was so good at missing the point. He paused, and then said, “You are a wise prince. Your father has taught you well.”
“Thank you, Gardric.” Taréz allowed a small smile, but it didn't stay long.
“Of course, Sire.”
But there was someone else he needed to see. “I’ll send for you when I want to go. Send for Yis. Dismissed.”
“Yes, Sire.”
Taréz turned his attention to the headache below as he waited. What would Yis say? Would it be possible to remain civil?
Would Yis ever forgive his King?
“You asked for me, Sire?”
Taréz turned to see Yis in the doorway. “Yes. How are things here?” Suddenly, Taréz realized that was really a stupid question.
Yis answered anyway. “Well, more and more Vle are coming faster than we can accomodate.”
“I noticed.”
“There has been enough food so far, and we have a number who have volunteered to cook for us.”
“Good. What do you think of the possibility of there being a self-contained economy in there? I’m sure they’ll appreciate having a somewhat meaningful existence.” Another faux pas there. Meaningful?
Yis, bless his heart, answered that question as calmly as ever. “I was thinking the same thing, Sire. We have talents that we’d rather not waste.”
Was there an implication there? Ouch. “Of course. Has there been any violence?”
“No. For the most part, we have obeyed without complaint. Any violence is on the soldiers’ part.”
Taréz noted Yis’ use of the pronoun ‘we.’ He was separating himself, now, grouping himself with his kinsmen. He would not have done that as chamberlain. “Good. You will notify me immediately of any emergency?”
“Of course, Sire.”
“Very well. Thank you for your report.”
Yis bowed. “Your Highness.” He then turned, and left.
A few days later, a request from the Zvaljan ambassador came by pigeon to the King, a request to meet the Prince on Larmanian-Zvaljan border in the eastern forest. This was a country that didn’t have much in relations with other countries; when they did, they chose carefully. So, Taréz knew they had something to say, something like a warning, perhaps.
The trip took four days by coach, across vast tracts of forest, carefully taking whatever unforested ridges were available. Finally, they arrived in Ubrine. They passed under towns, some with exquisite treeshaping, that only creaked in the wind— No rumble of a thousand Vle feet nor murmur of a thousand voices in any of them. It was a quiet, empty forest. In reflection, the Prince realized that perhaps this emptiness was good for nature.
The selected site was a meadow on the border, at a spot beyond the range of an arrow. Beyond rose the snow-covered mountains, the only place snow could ever be seen in Larmania. The meeting place could also be said to be among the coolest inhabeted ares of the country.
The Zvaljan ambassador rode out of the forest on his side, accompanied by only a few horsemen. Taréz selected a horse, and got on from the coach step. As was Zvaljan custom, the meeting would take place entirely on horseback. The Prince chose three soldiers, tit for tat, and headed out to the line. They both stopped and turned their horses to stand parallel with the line, which ran more straight here than anywhere else along their frontier.
“Your Highness,” said the ambassador. “I am Thove Gromas.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“My lord, the King of Zvalja, is most gratified that you agreed to meet me. It shows some... openness of thought.”
“My father taught me that when the ambassador of Zvalja asks for a meeting, it is best to go and listen well. We are surprised, however that the request was to meet with me and not the King himself.”
“It is generally known that Your Highness is, naturally, more involved in the kingdom than your father. Thus, the thought goes, perhaps Your Highness would be more open to our message.” “You have something to tell me?”
“I do. The kingdoms of the light Vle are concerned about recent events in your kingdom.”
“As am I, ambassador. There are events which made security a real concern. My father is attempting to deal with the problem.”
“I shall communicate that to my lord the king. He will undoubtedly ask, however, if there is not another, more... respectable solution to the problem.”
“If there is one, we have not yet found it. In the meantime, I place my honor on the promise that no Vle of light color will find his life in jeopardy.”
“That is indeed a promise of great significance. It would be well for you to keep it.”
“Of course. I sense, however, that you have an incentive for me to do so.”
“I do. There is talk of mounting a united offensive against your nation, in defense of light Vle. Plans are not firm, of course, but our military leaders are no longer afraid of the might of your army.”
“Indeed? That is most interesting. I highly doubt the Chief would be amused.”
“That would be understandable. He is regarded with respect in some circles, as you may know. However, as respectable as his skills are, your kingdom is not as secure as it once was. Of course, there is always a way out.”
“Yes, I know. Someday, we shall find that way out.”
“May I ask what may be a sensitive question?”
“You may, but I cannot guarantee an answer.”
“Very well. Your Highness is next in line for the throne. Do you know how you might handle this situation?”
“No, I do not. I find myself trapped in the same dilemma, though. Is there talk of killing my father?”
“None that I know of, but that is not to say it couldn’t happen. No, my point referred to his viewpoint regarding the light Vle population of the world. Some say Your Highness was... less than gracious to the Princess of A’peine at a ball.”
Taréz arched his brows. “Less than gracious? I have always endeavored to maintain perfect manners. Indeed, watchers may have noticed that I paid no attention to skin color at that dance.”
“I don’t know anything about what watchers may have seen, only what His Majesty the King of A’peine has reported.”
“In which case, he has a one sided view of the situation. If a slight was made, it was unintentional. Again, I stake my honor upon it.”
“You are very free with what you stake your honor upon, but I shall accept it. Nevertheless, know your enemy.”
“I acknowledge your warning.”
“Once again, I thank you for listening. It was most gracious of you.”
“I will not hesitate to listen again, should you ask it.”
“Fare well, Your Highness.”
“Fare well, Ambassador.”
The two men rode off in their separate ways. The ambassador had given Taréz much to think about, and think was all he did for the entire trip back to the palace.
Taréz simply liked the view it afforded over his forest. The sea of deep green stretched seemingly forever; other ridges stuck out like light-green wave crests. Here and there, a hole in the canopy indicated a meadow roughly 100 feet below.
The coach turned off the ridge, and went steeply down along the left side into the forest. It wasn’t very far to the meadow where the camp had been established, and Gardric had appropriated one of the trees nearby as his. The coach drove directly into the hollow at the base of the tree, where it stopped and the driver dismounted. He opened the door for Taréz, and Gardric stood beyond. “This way, Sire,” he said, indicating a lift.
The prince followed his Chief and waited as the sackfuls of soil bore them up to the second canopy. There was only a narrow platform facing the camp below. It was also mounted on hinges, so that it could fold up and protect the occupants of the observation chamber. This was where the Prince stayed, looking out the windows at the scene below.
And what a scene it was: Never before had such a conglomeration of Vle formed on the earth itself. Groups formed around piles of household items, and stones and wood were scattered thoughout as some Vle worked to put them together into housing. A fence had been erected, and it already appeared as if its circumference wasn't large enough. There were still light Vle arriving as the Prince watched, prodded and directed to various parts. However, the Prince was not wholly pleased. “They had to walk?!”
“Of course, Sire. There are not enough wagons in all of Larmania for everyone.”
“Still, I think it would have been nice to have some sort of trade off. Some ride, some walk. Order it so.”
Something clouded the Chief’s expression. “Yes, Sire.”
Taréz looked below again. “The soldiers don’t seem too particularly polite.”
“Sire, they are but soldiers. Some do not know the art of holding one’s tongue, or one’s temper.”
“Then teach them, Gardric!”
“Yes, Sire.”
“There are Vle without a roof over their heads.”
“We don’t have enough wood here—”
“We’re not operating a prison, Gardric! I shouldn’t have to tell you these things! Make their stay as comfortable as possible! It’s bad enough that I’ll have to endure their gripes about being here— I don’t want to hear about them sleeping in cramped, cold conditions!”
“Yes, Sire.”
That pretty much covered the concerns he had. But it still bothered him that the concerns couldn’t be addressed instantly. “Is this the right thing to do?”
Gardric made a gesture that Taréz had never seem him do before: he shrugged. “It was your idea, Sire.”
“Yes, but is Father solving the striking problem? Will they go docilely back to their jobs when he lets them go?”
“Why let them go?”
“Because we can’t afford to simply house and feed them and go without banking and mining profits.”
“We have more than enough qualified replacements.” Sometimes Gardric was so good at missing the point. He paused, and then said, “You are a wise prince. Your father has taught you well.”
“Thank you, Gardric.” Taréz allowed a small smile, but it didn't stay long.
“Of course, Sire.”
But there was someone else he needed to see. “I’ll send for you when I want to go. Send for Yis. Dismissed.”
“Yes, Sire.”
Taréz turned his attention to the headache below as he waited. What would Yis say? Would it be possible to remain civil?
Would Yis ever forgive his King?
“You asked for me, Sire?”
Taréz turned to see Yis in the doorway. “Yes. How are things here?” Suddenly, Taréz realized that was really a stupid question.
Yis answered anyway. “Well, more and more Vle are coming faster than we can accomodate.”
“I noticed.”
“There has been enough food so far, and we have a number who have volunteered to cook for us.”
“Good. What do you think of the possibility of there being a self-contained economy in there? I’m sure they’ll appreciate having a somewhat meaningful existence.” Another faux pas there. Meaningful?
Yis, bless his heart, answered that question as calmly as ever. “I was thinking the same thing, Sire. We have talents that we’d rather not waste.”
Was there an implication there? Ouch. “Of course. Has there been any violence?”
“No. For the most part, we have obeyed without complaint. Any violence is on the soldiers’ part.”
Taréz noted Yis’ use of the pronoun ‘we.’ He was separating himself, now, grouping himself with his kinsmen. He would not have done that as chamberlain. “Good. You will notify me immediately of any emergency?”
“Of course, Sire.”
“Very well. Thank you for your report.”
Yis bowed. “Your Highness.” He then turned, and left.
A few days later, a request from the Zvaljan ambassador came by pigeon to the King, a request to meet the Prince on Larmanian-Zvaljan border in the eastern forest. This was a country that didn’t have much in relations with other countries; when they did, they chose carefully. So, Taréz knew they had something to say, something like a warning, perhaps.
The trip took four days by coach, across vast tracts of forest, carefully taking whatever unforested ridges were available. Finally, they arrived in Ubrine. They passed under towns, some with exquisite treeshaping, that only creaked in the wind— No rumble of a thousand Vle feet nor murmur of a thousand voices in any of them. It was a quiet, empty forest. In reflection, the Prince realized that perhaps this emptiness was good for nature.
The selected site was a meadow on the border, at a spot beyond the range of an arrow. Beyond rose the snow-covered mountains, the only place snow could ever be seen in Larmania. The meeting place could also be said to be among the coolest inhabeted ares of the country.
The Zvaljan ambassador rode out of the forest on his side, accompanied by only a few horsemen. Taréz selected a horse, and got on from the coach step. As was Zvaljan custom, the meeting would take place entirely on horseback. The Prince chose three soldiers, tit for tat, and headed out to the line. They both stopped and turned their horses to stand parallel with the line, which ran more straight here than anywhere else along their frontier.
“Your Highness,” said the ambassador. “I am Thove Gromas.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“My lord, the King of Zvalja, is most gratified that you agreed to meet me. It shows some... openness of thought.”
“My father taught me that when the ambassador of Zvalja asks for a meeting, it is best to go and listen well. We are surprised, however that the request was to meet with me and not the King himself.”
“It is generally known that Your Highness is, naturally, more involved in the kingdom than your father. Thus, the thought goes, perhaps Your Highness would be more open to our message.” “You have something to tell me?”
“I do. The kingdoms of the light Vle are concerned about recent events in your kingdom.”
“As am I, ambassador. There are events which made security a real concern. My father is attempting to deal with the problem.”
“I shall communicate that to my lord the king. He will undoubtedly ask, however, if there is not another, more... respectable solution to the problem.”
“If there is one, we have not yet found it. In the meantime, I place my honor on the promise that no Vle of light color will find his life in jeopardy.”
“That is indeed a promise of great significance. It would be well for you to keep it.”
“Of course. I sense, however, that you have an incentive for me to do so.”
“I do. There is talk of mounting a united offensive against your nation, in defense of light Vle. Plans are not firm, of course, but our military leaders are no longer afraid of the might of your army.”
“Indeed? That is most interesting. I highly doubt the Chief would be amused.”
“That would be understandable. He is regarded with respect in some circles, as you may know. However, as respectable as his skills are, your kingdom is not as secure as it once was. Of course, there is always a way out.”
“Yes, I know. Someday, we shall find that way out.”
“May I ask what may be a sensitive question?”
“You may, but I cannot guarantee an answer.”
“Very well. Your Highness is next in line for the throne. Do you know how you might handle this situation?”
“No, I do not. I find myself trapped in the same dilemma, though. Is there talk of killing my father?”
“None that I know of, but that is not to say it couldn’t happen. No, my point referred to his viewpoint regarding the light Vle population of the world. Some say Your Highness was... less than gracious to the Princess of A’peine at a ball.”
Taréz arched his brows. “Less than gracious? I have always endeavored to maintain perfect manners. Indeed, watchers may have noticed that I paid no attention to skin color at that dance.”
“I don’t know anything about what watchers may have seen, only what His Majesty the King of A’peine has reported.”
“In which case, he has a one sided view of the situation. If a slight was made, it was unintentional. Again, I stake my honor upon it.”
“You are very free with what you stake your honor upon, but I shall accept it. Nevertheless, know your enemy.”
“I acknowledge your warning.”
“Once again, I thank you for listening. It was most gracious of you.”
“I will not hesitate to listen again, should you ask it.”
“Fare well, Your Highness.”
“Fare well, Ambassador.”
The two men rode off in their separate ways. The ambassador had given Taréz much to think about, and think was all he did for the entire trip back to the palace.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Prince
Prince Taréz could not remember his father ever being nervous like he appeared to be now. Some nobles were on their way to the palace, to join him on the hunt the next morning. Not just any nobles: they were mostly southern and eastern nobles, those whose lands were most affected by the temporary eviction of the light Vle. He stood in a sitting room, looking out the window over the entrance drive, wondering who would show up first. There was politics in everything, even the order in which one shows up at the palace of one more noble than yourself. To arrive too early was to presume too much; and yet to arrive after someone more prominent than yourself was to do the same. It was a silly game, since there was absolutely no way to find out how much further the others had to go. Invariably, there would be a number of silly excuses for why the arrival time was later or earlier than it ought to have been.
The first coach pulled up next to the door, and Taréz merely watched. Greeting the guests was his mother’s duty; his father would appear only when everyone else had arrived. By then, maybe, he would have figured out just what he was going to say.
Once the first noble arrived, the game began, and the coaches bunched up in the drive, jockeyeing for just the right position. Some brought wives and/or sons, some didn’t. Below, the Queen was greeting them all with the same beautiful smile, regardless of their position or order of arrival. There were murmurs that she was simply faking it all, hiding her true thoughts with that smile, but Taréz knew better. She was one of the most genuine people he knew.
The last noble disappeared from view, meaning he was now inside. It was the King’s cue, and Taréz had to be down there first. Oh his way down, he met Stecky, the dark Vle who had been Yis’ assistant, coming up the stairs. The King had never promoted the Vle, who now served as Gardric’s palace attaché, because he simply didn’t have the seniority or the panache required for all the responsibilties of the job. Which was why Gardric now held some of those. Besides, Yis would be wanting the job back. Hopefully.
Taréz took his place near the front of the dark-skinned crowd beside the Queen, and turned to wait for his father. Stecky appeared first, coming to the stairway and down about halfway. The King paused at the top, and waited for Stecky to make the announcement.
“May I present His Majesty King Lajot the Twenty-fourth.”
That was the cue to bow while the King came down the stairs. The Queen took his arm, and smiled as gracefully as ever. “Good evening.” All straightened, and he continued, “Shall we dine?” He turned and led the way into the dining hall.
“It is good to see that the palace is in good repair,” said Lord Varabia. “They say that the state of the King’s palace reflects the state of the Kingdom.”
“Not necessarily,” countered Lajot, taking his position at the head of the table. The lord was placed at Taréz’s left, for he was the lord of the greatest fiefdom of those present. The Queen, of course, was at Lajot’s right. He continued, “There are many cases in which the Kingdom suffers because too much is spent on the palace itself.”
“But you have always been a modest King,” replied Lord Rollaine. “Is it not true that the funds for your new wing have been saved up over many years?”
“It is true.” Taréz knew that the conversation would not stay with such pleasant banter for long. The funds that were once earmarked for that wing now were being used to build the camp— and he could only hope it would be enough. “That method is a far smaller burden on the economy.” That, he knew, would send the conversation right over the brink— might as well get it over with.
“Many kings would not concern themselves so with the economy,” said Varabia. “Many kings would simply move their subjects off their property willy-nilly, and expect them to start over and be productive again.”
Willy-nilly? That was how it looked to them? Had they not received Gardric’s report? And how long would they continue this vagueness?
“And then there are the times when such an action is necessary,” his father replied.
A young noble named Lord Lacigia, who was without much influence, asked, “And you would consider depriving me of all my subjects a necessary action?”
Taréz could see his father’s face ease a little. All eyes were now on him, waiting for an answer. “Yes, I made my decision based on facts brought to my attention by both my former chamberlain and Gardric. I must apologize if I have left you alone in your lands, but I assure you that I intend to return all the light Vle to their property in due time.”
“And, if I may ask, Sire, when is ‘in due time’?” asked Varabia.
“Frankly, I don’t know. Gardric and I must discuss that in more detail.”
Lord Dabendaben leaned forward. “If I remember correctly, Gardric comes from a long line of bigots.”
“That would not be far from the truth,” replied Lajot. “I have long had to take his recommendations carefully. However, he is also an honorable Vle. He would not lie to me, nor follow my orders to anything less than the full letter. As long as I make myself specifically clear, I can count on him to obey me.”
“That may be so, Your Majesty,” said Varabia. “But is it not possible that he has slowly clouded your judgement? No offense, but you have worked with him for a very long time.”
“I have indeed. However, I have worked with him for the same amount of time as you have had light Vle as subjects. If we say that my judgement is clouded, then it is reasonable to assume that your collective judgement is clouded as well. I know that all of you are aware of the recent troubles that we have had without miners.” There were various noises of assent. “And you are also aware of the bankers’ strike.” More nodding heads. “Consider also: The troubles with our South Hall construction project have been suspicious, including one incident which could have killed me, and a rogue leather-worker who was suspiciously in the wrong part of the palace.”
“But, these are—” began Lord Dabendaben, but Lajot cut him off.
“There is one last thing. Are you aware of the border incursion by a Varmacian scout troop?”
That did surprise them somewhat. “These are indeed trying times, Your Majesty,” said the lord of Creaz. “We must tread carefully.”
“Indeed. I would very much like to keep my line on the throne— no other country can claim a dynasty as unbroken as mine. And, unfortunately, the events of the past year seem to indicate that I am in danger. I cannot afford to remain passive, and simply hope everything works out.”
“This still seems a rather drastic solution,” said Varabia. “Our neighbors are quite unhappy about your actions.”
Lajot nodded. “I know. King Baran canceled our summit as soon as he heard about my proclamation.” That was something that bothered Taréz to quite a degree: Didn’t it make sense that such a summit was all the more necessary, to keep communication going and thereby divert war? Undoubtedly the Varmacian king was now fuming.
The table was silent for a few minutes. Finally, the Queen asked, “Can we now have a conversation about something else?”
The King squeezed his wife’s arm. “Yes, my dear. Do you have a suggestion?”
“Oh, perhaps the next ball. It’s only a month away.”
“Great! Now I just hope I have the money to attend,” said Lord Lacigia dryly.
That caused a little bit more silence before the rest of the guests decided that a new topic was indeed needed.
The day after the hunt, Taréz sat in his chamber, deep in thought.
Is my father doing the right thing?
Is there a proper course of action?
Is my father doing the right thing?
Is there a proper course of action?
|
|
|
"Gardric!"
Only a moment passed before the chief appeared in the doorway. “Sire?”
“We’re going to visit the camp.”
“Well, Sire, I don’t know if that’s necessary just yet—”
“Why not?”
“It isn’t finished.”
“Fine. I want to see how it’s coming.”
“Things are still quite rough. I don’t know if I can provide enough security...”
“You’ll do your best. Is there a place where I can observed without being observed?”
“Of course. My office there has some observation windows.”
“Very well. Call the coachmaster, and have him prepare one of our plainest coaches.”
“As you say, Sire.” He walked off, while the prince went into his bedroom and changed into his plainest hunting clothes.
The first coach pulled up next to the door, and Taréz merely watched. Greeting the guests was his mother’s duty; his father would appear only when everyone else had arrived. By then, maybe, he would have figured out just what he was going to say.
Once the first noble arrived, the game began, and the coaches bunched up in the drive, jockeyeing for just the right position. Some brought wives and/or sons, some didn’t. Below, the Queen was greeting them all with the same beautiful smile, regardless of their position or order of arrival. There were murmurs that she was simply faking it all, hiding her true thoughts with that smile, but Taréz knew better. She was one of the most genuine people he knew.
The last noble disappeared from view, meaning he was now inside. It was the King’s cue, and Taréz had to be down there first. Oh his way down, he met Stecky, the dark Vle who had been Yis’ assistant, coming up the stairs. The King had never promoted the Vle, who now served as Gardric’s palace attaché, because he simply didn’t have the seniority or the panache required for all the responsibilties of the job. Which was why Gardric now held some of those. Besides, Yis would be wanting the job back. Hopefully.
Taréz took his place near the front of the dark-skinned crowd beside the Queen, and turned to wait for his father. Stecky appeared first, coming to the stairway and down about halfway. The King paused at the top, and waited for Stecky to make the announcement.
“May I present His Majesty King Lajot the Twenty-fourth.”
That was the cue to bow while the King came down the stairs. The Queen took his arm, and smiled as gracefully as ever. “Good evening.” All straightened, and he continued, “Shall we dine?” He turned and led the way into the dining hall.
“It is good to see that the palace is in good repair,” said Lord Varabia. “They say that the state of the King’s palace reflects the state of the Kingdom.”
“Not necessarily,” countered Lajot, taking his position at the head of the table. The lord was placed at Taréz’s left, for he was the lord of the greatest fiefdom of those present. The Queen, of course, was at Lajot’s right. He continued, “There are many cases in which the Kingdom suffers because too much is spent on the palace itself.”
“But you have always been a modest King,” replied Lord Rollaine. “Is it not true that the funds for your new wing have been saved up over many years?”
“It is true.” Taréz knew that the conversation would not stay with such pleasant banter for long. The funds that were once earmarked for that wing now were being used to build the camp— and he could only hope it would be enough. “That method is a far smaller burden on the economy.” That, he knew, would send the conversation right over the brink— might as well get it over with.
“Many kings would not concern themselves so with the economy,” said Varabia. “Many kings would simply move their subjects off their property willy-nilly, and expect them to start over and be productive again.”
Willy-nilly? That was how it looked to them? Had they not received Gardric’s report? And how long would they continue this vagueness?
“And then there are the times when such an action is necessary,” his father replied.
A young noble named Lord Lacigia, who was without much influence, asked, “And you would consider depriving me of all my subjects a necessary action?”
Taréz could see his father’s face ease a little. All eyes were now on him, waiting for an answer. “Yes, I made my decision based on facts brought to my attention by both my former chamberlain and Gardric. I must apologize if I have left you alone in your lands, but I assure you that I intend to return all the light Vle to their property in due time.”
“And, if I may ask, Sire, when is ‘in due time’?” asked Varabia.
“Frankly, I don’t know. Gardric and I must discuss that in more detail.”
Lord Dabendaben leaned forward. “If I remember correctly, Gardric comes from a long line of bigots.”
“That would not be far from the truth,” replied Lajot. “I have long had to take his recommendations carefully. However, he is also an honorable Vle. He would not lie to me, nor follow my orders to anything less than the full letter. As long as I make myself specifically clear, I can count on him to obey me.”
“That may be so, Your Majesty,” said Varabia. “But is it not possible that he has slowly clouded your judgement? No offense, but you have worked with him for a very long time.”
“I have indeed. However, I have worked with him for the same amount of time as you have had light Vle as subjects. If we say that my judgement is clouded, then it is reasonable to assume that your collective judgement is clouded as well. I know that all of you are aware of the recent troubles that we have had without miners.” There were various noises of assent. “And you are also aware of the bankers’ strike.” More nodding heads. “Consider also: The troubles with our South Hall construction project have been suspicious, including one incident which could have killed me, and a rogue leather-worker who was suspiciously in the wrong part of the palace.”
“But, these are—” began Lord Dabendaben, but Lajot cut him off.
“There is one last thing. Are you aware of the border incursion by a Varmacian scout troop?”
That did surprise them somewhat. “These are indeed trying times, Your Majesty,” said the lord of Creaz. “We must tread carefully.”
“Indeed. I would very much like to keep my line on the throne— no other country can claim a dynasty as unbroken as mine. And, unfortunately, the events of the past year seem to indicate that I am in danger. I cannot afford to remain passive, and simply hope everything works out.”
“This still seems a rather drastic solution,” said Varabia. “Our neighbors are quite unhappy about your actions.”
Lajot nodded. “I know. King Baran canceled our summit as soon as he heard about my proclamation.” That was something that bothered Taréz to quite a degree: Didn’t it make sense that such a summit was all the more necessary, to keep communication going and thereby divert war? Undoubtedly the Varmacian king was now fuming.
The table was silent for a few minutes. Finally, the Queen asked, “Can we now have a conversation about something else?”
The King squeezed his wife’s arm. “Yes, my dear. Do you have a suggestion?”
“Oh, perhaps the next ball. It’s only a month away.”
“Great! Now I just hope I have the money to attend,” said Lord Lacigia dryly.
That caused a little bit more silence before the rest of the guests decided that a new topic was indeed needed.
The day after the hunt, Taréz sat in his chamber, deep in thought.
Is my father doing the right thing?
Is there a proper course of action?
Is my father doing the right thing?
Is there a proper course of action?
|
|
|
"Gardric!"
Only a moment passed before the chief appeared in the doorway. “Sire?”
“We’re going to visit the camp.”
“Well, Sire, I don’t know if that’s necessary just yet—”
“Why not?”
“It isn’t finished.”
“Fine. I want to see how it’s coming.”
“Things are still quite rough. I don’t know if I can provide enough security...”
“You’ll do your best. Is there a place where I can observed without being observed?”
“Of course. My office there has some observation windows.”
“Very well. Call the coachmaster, and have him prepare one of our plainest coaches.”
“As you say, Sire.” He walked off, while the prince went into his bedroom and changed into his plainest hunting clothes.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
That night, Hyran went to bed, but the debate went on in his mind. All the ways that he looked at the situation led to but one conclusion: The Church of the Great Master had a unique position to influence the direction of the King’s policy. True, it set a dangerous precedent. It was also true that there was no guarantee that the King didn’t have good reasons (whatever could they be?!). Furthermore, there was no reason to think that lives were in danger. It was a simple infringement of the freedom of the light Vle.
Hyran gave up on sleep and got up. With a wave, he lit his glowworm lamp, and put on his shoes. It was dead quiet, and opening his door shattered that silence. Nevertheless, it did not seem to wake anyone, so he slipped out. Carefully, he closed his door again, and walked on down the hall. Soon, he was outside, in the clear, cool air. He breathed deeply, and with his glowworms providing light, he walked on down to town.
It was still a half hour until sunrise when he arrived, but Vle were already moving around. Bakers slaved away making the day’s fresh bread, and other shopkeepers arrived to set up shop for the day. There was not a single light face there. He wandered the town, counting houses that had the locks thrown— a sure sign that the owner was gone. Apparently, the light Vle had gone; on their own, or by force, Hyran didn’t yet know.
The sky above brightened to a dark blue, and his glowworms were no longer necessary. He chose a baker’s shop, and ordered a small pastry to break his fast.
“Brother! What are you doing here, out of season?” asked the baker.
“I heard the news about the proclamation. I came to see for myself,” replied Hyran.
“Well, it’s been good for business, for me, at least. Most of the bakers in this town were light, so now I have more customers. But there were fewer light Vle in the chemist business, so they’re suffering from loss of customers.”
Hyran nodded. “What about daily life? I mean, outside of business?”
“Well, parties aren’t nearly as much fun. There aren’t as many people, of course, and we’re still kinda too depressed to celebrate.”
“I can understand that. What about the kids?”
“Well, it depends. A lot of them had light friends, and some miss having the more talented athletes on their teams. There were those who just happened to have only dark friends, and they don’t seem too affected. But the toughest are the ones in mixed families.”
Hyran nodded again.
“So, would you like anything to eat this morning?”
“Well, I would, but I have no money—”
“No matter. I can spare one or two. It’s nice to have one of you guys care about what’s going on. I mean, I know it’s against your vows, but I knida think that oughta be changing now. You’re losing touch.”
Hyran didn’t reply to that, but asked, “Could I possibly have that jelly-filled one?”
“Certainly.” The baker took it from its box and handed it to the monk. Then, the shop began to fill up with customers, and the baker had to get back to work.
Amid a few looks of surprise, Hyran finished his pastry, waved to the baker, and headed out. The town was moving again, but it seemed very dead compared to Deschule week. Though that was somewhat to be expected, it seemed as though a disaster had ocurred.
Hyran realized that that was exactly right— a disaster had ocurred, right under the collective nose of the monastery. Had it been a gale-force wind, or a fire, the monks would not have hesitated to give whatever aid they could. But this was the result of politics, and therefore not technically a disaster.
Perhaps their place in society ought to change, indeed.
Hyran glanced at the Vle coming and going, wondering if he’d catch a glimpse of Mecora or Caile. He wasn’t surprised that he didn’t, but he did notice the rather glum look on the faces he saw. Even the older children showed it.
Faintly above the mumble of the townsfolk, Hyran heard the bell at the monastery ringing, calling the monks to their daily dedication. It was time to return, so he took off running. As he ran, he heard the sound of a number of hoofbeats below. He did not spare the time to look, lest he be later than he already was.
Breathlessly, he slipped into line. “Good morning, brothers,” he said between gasps. He had gotten out of shape, sitting so long behind that desk! Perhaps he needed to take up exercise. Wouldn’t that get his brothers’ attention!
Mentally, he calmed his breathing, and the procession moved in, chanting their songs as always. However, he could hear the sound of heavy footsteps, and those behind him stopped singing. Apparently, though, everything was okay, because the service went on as normal.
It was only when they filed out again, that they found out what was going on. A troop of soldiers was at the monastery, in a place thought inviolable by the outside. Certainly everyone knew that it was forbidden to be on the platform without express consent of the abbot or a higher authority. Who had authorized this?
One soldier stood on a bench, and assumed a commanding pose. “By the order of King Lajot the twenty-fourth, I hereby command all light Vle, that is, all those who trace ancestry to the island of Kamilea, to take up their belongings and come to the Light Vle’ Camp. You will have one hour to comply.” Then, he stepped back off the bench.
There was confusion and then compliance. As odd as the situation was, who would dare harm a monk? Hyran watched the dark population move to the copying room, while the light population moved to their cells. Valans passed, not seeing Hyran.
“Brother Valans!” he called.
Valans stopped, and came over. “I should have known it would happen this way. Who knows, maybe it was meant to be.”
“Perhaps. Good luck.”
“Thanks. I hope I can walk that far.”
“You’ll make it.”
“Well, I’d better go. I only have an hour.”
“Yeah. Nice getting to know you.”
“It was, it was.” And then, because it was just getting too awkward to say anything more, Valans joined the cell-ward stream.
Hyran just stood watching the activity. The hour went quickly, as some monks were ready early and were herded down. Valans waved sadly as he walked down the stairs. Among the last to go was a very shocked-looking Allega.
Allega! It hadn’t seemed possible that such a distiguished old man could ever leave. Allega, gone! Who was he to talk to, now? Who else could possibly understand, let him ruminate his way around to an acceptable answer?
Finally, everyone was gone, leaving just him and a few older monks out on the platform. Hyran turned, and saw the abbot out on his balcony, impassive as ever. He noticed Hyran’s gaze, and left the balcony.
That evening, he stood at the railing, meditating some more on the events of the day. Valans, gone after only one day. Allega, gone after many decades. And all of it possible only with the express consent of someone powerful within the church.
“Worried for our new brother?”
Hyran hadn’t been aware that anyone was there, but the abbot himself now stood at his side. “Yes, Father, and everyone else.”
“I can tell. It’s in your aura.”
“Is there a problem with that?”
The abbot looked up at him. “You tell me, Son.”
“You probably want me to say, there is, because The Great Master protects those who serve him.”
“You don’t seem sure of it.”
“No, I don’t. I’m not sure why, but all of this... It seems like... Like some sort of mistake.”
“Well, it is, on the King’s part. He’ll learn soon enough.”
“How?”
“Well, I don’t know. He just will.”
“We could tell him.”
“Now, Hyran, you know the rules.”
“Yes, but I’m just not convinced they apply in this case.”
“Rules exist for a reason, especially ones given by the Great Master Himself.”
“Of course.”
“Keep meditating. The answer will come.” The abbot walked away as silently as he had come.
So, Hyran did continue, so deeply that he did not notice his second visitor at first, even when she tugged on his sleeve.
He came to and looked down. It was dark, and he could barely see the young face looking up at him. “Hyran?”
“Mecora? What are you doing here?” In the face of all that had happened, he found it difficult to be mad at her for being on the platform without permission. (The abbot never granted such permission, except to neophytes, and especially not to girls.)
“I had to come. Life is so horrible now.”
“You haven’t gotten over your grief yet.”
“How am I supposed to, without any friends?!”
“There aren’t any new friends you can make?”
“No.” Hyran suspected that it was the memory of her friends in the way. “Well, you’ll make some soon. Just wait.”
“But, I don’t want to wait. I want them back now! I almost wish I could just go and bring them back.”
“They’ll be back someday.”
“They’d better be.”
They stood in silence a moment, until Hyran could hear a soft sobbing. Hyran put his hand on her far shoulder, prompting her to put her arms around him. It surprised him, but he didn’t flinch. If he could add some needed comfort, he would provide it. The problem was, it could only be this once.
Finally, he was getting sleepy, and he didn’t want her to fall asleep standing there. “Mecora, are you still awake?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Can you make it home?”
“Yeah.” She let go, and rubbed her eyes.
“You’d better take some glowworms.” Hyran stood on a bench and took the jar from the top of the lamp post. This he gave to her. “Consider it a gift.”
“Won’t someone wonder?”
“It’s rather windy tonight, isn’t it?”
“No,” she began, but then she understood. “Thanks!”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
Hyran gave up on sleep and got up. With a wave, he lit his glowworm lamp, and put on his shoes. It was dead quiet, and opening his door shattered that silence. Nevertheless, it did not seem to wake anyone, so he slipped out. Carefully, he closed his door again, and walked on down the hall. Soon, he was outside, in the clear, cool air. He breathed deeply, and with his glowworms providing light, he walked on down to town.
It was still a half hour until sunrise when he arrived, but Vle were already moving around. Bakers slaved away making the day’s fresh bread, and other shopkeepers arrived to set up shop for the day. There was not a single light face there. He wandered the town, counting houses that had the locks thrown— a sure sign that the owner was gone. Apparently, the light Vle had gone; on their own, or by force, Hyran didn’t yet know.
The sky above brightened to a dark blue, and his glowworms were no longer necessary. He chose a baker’s shop, and ordered a small pastry to break his fast.
“Brother! What are you doing here, out of season?” asked the baker.
“I heard the news about the proclamation. I came to see for myself,” replied Hyran.
“Well, it’s been good for business, for me, at least. Most of the bakers in this town were light, so now I have more customers. But there were fewer light Vle in the chemist business, so they’re suffering from loss of customers.”
Hyran nodded. “What about daily life? I mean, outside of business?”
“Well, parties aren’t nearly as much fun. There aren’t as many people, of course, and we’re still kinda too depressed to celebrate.”
“I can understand that. What about the kids?”
“Well, it depends. A lot of them had light friends, and some miss having the more talented athletes on their teams. There were those who just happened to have only dark friends, and they don’t seem too affected. But the toughest are the ones in mixed families.”
Hyran nodded again.
“So, would you like anything to eat this morning?”
“Well, I would, but I have no money—”
“No matter. I can spare one or two. It’s nice to have one of you guys care about what’s going on. I mean, I know it’s against your vows, but I knida think that oughta be changing now. You’re losing touch.”
Hyran didn’t reply to that, but asked, “Could I possibly have that jelly-filled one?”
“Certainly.” The baker took it from its box and handed it to the monk. Then, the shop began to fill up with customers, and the baker had to get back to work.
Amid a few looks of surprise, Hyran finished his pastry, waved to the baker, and headed out. The town was moving again, but it seemed very dead compared to Deschule week. Though that was somewhat to be expected, it seemed as though a disaster had ocurred.
Hyran realized that that was exactly right— a disaster had ocurred, right under the collective nose of the monastery. Had it been a gale-force wind, or a fire, the monks would not have hesitated to give whatever aid they could. But this was the result of politics, and therefore not technically a disaster.
Perhaps their place in society ought to change, indeed.
Hyran glanced at the Vle coming and going, wondering if he’d catch a glimpse of Mecora or Caile. He wasn’t surprised that he didn’t, but he did notice the rather glum look on the faces he saw. Even the older children showed it.
Faintly above the mumble of the townsfolk, Hyran heard the bell at the monastery ringing, calling the monks to their daily dedication. It was time to return, so he took off running. As he ran, he heard the sound of a number of hoofbeats below. He did not spare the time to look, lest he be later than he already was.
Breathlessly, he slipped into line. “Good morning, brothers,” he said between gasps. He had gotten out of shape, sitting so long behind that desk! Perhaps he needed to take up exercise. Wouldn’t that get his brothers’ attention!
Mentally, he calmed his breathing, and the procession moved in, chanting their songs as always. However, he could hear the sound of heavy footsteps, and those behind him stopped singing. Apparently, though, everything was okay, because the service went on as normal.
It was only when they filed out again, that they found out what was going on. A troop of soldiers was at the monastery, in a place thought inviolable by the outside. Certainly everyone knew that it was forbidden to be on the platform without express consent of the abbot or a higher authority. Who had authorized this?
One soldier stood on a bench, and assumed a commanding pose. “By the order of King Lajot the twenty-fourth, I hereby command all light Vle, that is, all those who trace ancestry to the island of Kamilea, to take up their belongings and come to the Light Vle’ Camp. You will have one hour to comply.” Then, he stepped back off the bench.
There was confusion and then compliance. As odd as the situation was, who would dare harm a monk? Hyran watched the dark population move to the copying room, while the light population moved to their cells. Valans passed, not seeing Hyran.
“Brother Valans!” he called.
Valans stopped, and came over. “I should have known it would happen this way. Who knows, maybe it was meant to be.”
“Perhaps. Good luck.”
“Thanks. I hope I can walk that far.”
“You’ll make it.”
“Well, I’d better go. I only have an hour.”
“Yeah. Nice getting to know you.”
“It was, it was.” And then, because it was just getting too awkward to say anything more, Valans joined the cell-ward stream.
Hyran just stood watching the activity. The hour went quickly, as some monks were ready early and were herded down. Valans waved sadly as he walked down the stairs. Among the last to go was a very shocked-looking Allega.
Allega! It hadn’t seemed possible that such a distiguished old man could ever leave. Allega, gone! Who was he to talk to, now? Who else could possibly understand, let him ruminate his way around to an acceptable answer?
Finally, everyone was gone, leaving just him and a few older monks out on the platform. Hyran turned, and saw the abbot out on his balcony, impassive as ever. He noticed Hyran’s gaze, and left the balcony.
That evening, he stood at the railing, meditating some more on the events of the day. Valans, gone after only one day. Allega, gone after many decades. And all of it possible only with the express consent of someone powerful within the church.
“Worried for our new brother?”
Hyran hadn’t been aware that anyone was there, but the abbot himself now stood at his side. “Yes, Father, and everyone else.”
“I can tell. It’s in your aura.”
“Is there a problem with that?”
The abbot looked up at him. “You tell me, Son.”
“You probably want me to say, there is, because The Great Master protects those who serve him.”
“You don’t seem sure of it.”
“No, I don’t. I’m not sure why, but all of this... It seems like... Like some sort of mistake.”
“Well, it is, on the King’s part. He’ll learn soon enough.”
“How?”
“Well, I don’t know. He just will.”
“We could tell him.”
“Now, Hyran, you know the rules.”
“Yes, but I’m just not convinced they apply in this case.”
“Rules exist for a reason, especially ones given by the Great Master Himself.”
“Of course.”
“Keep meditating. The answer will come.” The abbot walked away as silently as he had come.
So, Hyran did continue, so deeply that he did not notice his second visitor at first, even when she tugged on his sleeve.
He came to and looked down. It was dark, and he could barely see the young face looking up at him. “Hyran?”
“Mecora? What are you doing here?” In the face of all that had happened, he found it difficult to be mad at her for being on the platform without permission. (The abbot never granted such permission, except to neophytes, and especially not to girls.)
“I had to come. Life is so horrible now.”
“You haven’t gotten over your grief yet.”
“How am I supposed to, without any friends?!”
“There aren’t any new friends you can make?”
“No.” Hyran suspected that it was the memory of her friends in the way. “Well, you’ll make some soon. Just wait.”
“But, I don’t want to wait. I want them back now! I almost wish I could just go and bring them back.”
“They’ll be back someday.”
“They’d better be.”
They stood in silence a moment, until Hyran could hear a soft sobbing. Hyran put his hand on her far shoulder, prompting her to put her arms around him. It surprised him, but he didn’t flinch. If he could add some needed comfort, he would provide it. The problem was, it could only be this once.
Finally, he was getting sleepy, and he didn’t want her to fall asleep standing there. “Mecora, are you still awake?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Can you make it home?”
“Yeah.” She let go, and rubbed her eyes.
“You’d better take some glowworms.” Hyran stood on a bench and took the jar from the top of the lamp post. This he gave to her. “Consider it a gift.”
“Won’t someone wonder?”
“It’s rather windy tonight, isn’t it?”
“No,” she began, but then she understood. “Thanks!”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Sending a letter was usually an undependable thing, but between Kelwome and the monastery, it was guaranteed that the letter would arrive safe and sound. For that very reason, some monks chose to have pen-pals in town, a permitted contact with the outside world that gave another view on the theology and knowledge gained from the texts they copied.
Hyran, of course, was one of those, and he generally corresponded with those who he’d stayed with during Deschule week. Valans, it turned out, already had some correspondents. Hyran discovered this when a boy from town brought up a small taschel of mail the day after Valans’ vow-taking and called out the names of those who would receive something.
Hyran got something, too, from everyone he wrote to. He sat next to Valans on a bench by the railing, and broke the wax seal on one of the letters.
It was from the Baydacks. The penmanship was crabbed, more hurried than usual; the letter itself was very short. It read:
“Brother Hyran! Have you heard? The King has ordered all light Vle to leave their homes and move to a camp! Can this be right? Is there any way that you can help? Surely, the Representative will be able to reverse this decision!
“I don’t know if we will still be here in a few days, so don’t bother to write. I know you will do what is best. Regards,
The Baydacks.”
Hyran sat back, shocked. Why would the King order such a thing? It made no logical sense. He opened another letter, and another; whether written by light or dark hands, they all mentioned a proclamation the King had made. And here he sat next to a light-skinned Vle. “I just got the most curious letter from town,” he said.
“Some very odd things are afoot in the world beyond, Brother. I assume you’re referring to the proclamation?”
“Yes. It doesn’t seem possible.”
“To me, neither. But it’s why I came here. I can’t very well break my vows and quit being a priest just in order to avoid being put in a camp, so I came to take more vows.”
“You chose one camp over another, then.”
“Hmm! I’d never thought of it that way. Anyway, even though there’s no indication that I’d be killed or seriously wounded in the camp, I just feel this is a better place. Maybe they won’t come here.”
“I hope not. We’d lose a lot of very good brothers.” Hyran paused. “I almost wish it were possible to leave, just to see what’s going on down there.”
“And now I can’t, either.”
Hyran shrugged. “We can only trust in the Great Master, as we’re supposed to.”
“Yes. Indeed.”
There was one more letter, and he opened it, wondering if it would be just another explanation of events. But it wasn’t, exactly: in a very careful script, but with many spelling errors, Mecora had written:
“Hyran, sumthing verry terrable is hapuning. Their gowing to maik the lite vle liv in a camp. Their taking my frends away frum me! And last nite, Handa dide, too, so now I’ll hav no frends at all. And almost haf the town has tu go, so their are fuwer plases to shop and hav fun. Pleez help, or at least be my frend?
Mecora”
This letter was very different from the others. While the letters written by light Vle calmly asked for prayers and influence with the Rep (and through him, the King), the letters by dark Vle even more calmly told of the situation and other town news. This letter, however, was an emotional plea to help her friends. The girl had suffered a big loss, and needed a friend. She also had given some idea of what changes the town faced. With a third of the people gone, it would be much, much more quiet.
“What is it?” asked Valans. “Did someone die?”
Hyran finally realized he was crying. “Yes, but it’s more than that. Right now my vows are really in my way.”
“I never expected to meet a monk who would say that.”
“Most won’t. But then, it’s not always easy. Temptation is always around the corner. You must watch out for it.”
“I will,” said Valans.
Never had anything weighed on Hyran’s heart as much as this proclamation did. In fact, the non-involvement vow had really been quite easy to keep until now.
That afternoon, Valans was off in the chapel praying for guidance in his new venture. That left Hyran on his own, as well, simply waiting outside should Valans have any questions. The rest of the brothers at his level were at their copying desks, occupying their time. Hyran wished he had something to do that would keep his mind off the proclamation, but he supposed that whatever he did, he’d be rather unproductive at it. And how was he to answer a new brother’s questions if he couldn’t answer his own?
Allega came around the tree, deep in thought as usual, and enjoying the freedom of his level. Always observant, though, he noticed Hyran, and came over. “There seems to be something occupying your mind.”
Hyran nodded. “I got a large stack of letters from Kelwom.”
“You are normally quite happy when you receive but one. Bad news comes in wagonfuls?”
“You might say that. The King has issued a proclamation, sending all light Vle to a camp near the palace. It’s the real reason Valans has joined us.”
The unflappable Allega didn’t seem purturbed in the least. “To save himself.” It was a statement that neatly summed up the situation.
“Yes. He seems to accept it, even better than I can.”
“You knew the danger when you elected to receive letters.”
“Yes, I did. And I do not regret it.”
“Even though you’re hurting now?”
“Sure. Ignorance, though bliss, can only impede spiritual growth.”
“That’s true.”
“The question is, what to do now? I can’t very well initiate Valans with a burning quandary in my head.”
Allega shrugged. “I disagree. You are showing him a part of the brotherhood that most initiates never see.”
“That’s all well and good, but does it help him learn our theology?”
“He is a priest already. I think he knows our theology fairly well.”
“But he doesn’t know mine,” Hyran complained, “he only knows what he is supposed to know for the benefit of the town. And now mine’s completely up in the air.”
“My, my, you really are broken up about this. But let me ask: What can you possibly do?”
“Nothing! That’s just it. I can do nothing, but something needs to be done. More than one villager suggested I alert the Rep in Kezantopil— I’m sure he could use his influence with the King to reverse the proclamation.”
“That would be political interference.”
Hyran nodded. “I know.”
“And you have only one part of the story. What can you know of the real issues, being secluded up here? The whole reason we have this non-interference is because we cannot always have the whole story. We may think we’re acting in the best interests of those we help, but how do we know, really? We cannot. We must guess. And for one as revered and virtuous as the Rep to direct a change when he does not know all the consequences... That simply cannot be allowed.”
“I know.”
“So you must simply accept that The Great Master has everything in his sight, and that he will do what is necessary.”
“That is what I am having trouble with right now.”
“Hmm. Our most basic tenet.”
Hyran nodded.
Allega remained silent a moment, meditating. Then, Valans came out, looking somewhat driven, and also somewhat unsure. “I was wrong.”
Hyran looked at him again, more attentive now. “Explain, brother.”
“I had thought that my purpose in coming here was to remain safe, but I was wrong. My purpose here is something different. We must tell the King he is wrong.”
Allega dipped his head to one side. “Hyran, have you been dumping your insecurities on a new brother? That is not good.”
“No, Brother, I have not. He has been aware of my insecurity, but I have not explained it to him.”
Meanwhile, Valans looked at the two, surprised at their reaction. He tried again. “Don’t you see where our responsibility lies? We are united across lines, here! We have the power to pressure the King!”
“Valans, remember your oaths,” Allega reminded gently.
“But they are not relevant now! We cannot let this continue.”
Hyran muttered, “We have no choice.”
Valans now remained silent, and hung his head. “I don’t know if I can indeed be a monk, then. But The Great Master is calling.”
Allega just blinked. “We have a test for the truth of a calling. You may be aware that some can be false, the product of a mere human wish. So, would you like—”
“But I can tell... You don’t believe me.”
“We find it difficult to believe the Great Master would call on you to convince us to break His own mandates, and the vows we’ve made.”
Hyran thought, Who’s ‘we’? And then he decided to say it.
Allega looked surprised. “Hyran? I’ve known you to be a bit of a rebel in your own way, but... This is simply going too far.”
“You misunderstood me, Brother. I meant to say that I don’t find it difficult to believe. Who are we to second guess the Great Master?”
“Well, no one, but—”
“Especially in a situation like this. Is it inconceiveable that He should want to protect his people, and that we are the ones to help, to do his work here in this world?”
Allega blinked some, thinking hard. “We shall convene the test tomorrow. I would suggest some meditation time.” Then, he walked off.
Hyran shrugged. “See you tomorrow.”
Hyran, of course, was one of those, and he generally corresponded with those who he’d stayed with during Deschule week. Valans, it turned out, already had some correspondents. Hyran discovered this when a boy from town brought up a small taschel of mail the day after Valans’ vow-taking and called out the names of those who would receive something.
Hyran got something, too, from everyone he wrote to. He sat next to Valans on a bench by the railing, and broke the wax seal on one of the letters.
It was from the Baydacks. The penmanship was crabbed, more hurried than usual; the letter itself was very short. It read:
“Brother Hyran! Have you heard? The King has ordered all light Vle to leave their homes and move to a camp! Can this be right? Is there any way that you can help? Surely, the Representative will be able to reverse this decision!
“I don’t know if we will still be here in a few days, so don’t bother to write. I know you will do what is best. Regards,
The Baydacks.”
Hyran sat back, shocked. Why would the King order such a thing? It made no logical sense. He opened another letter, and another; whether written by light or dark hands, they all mentioned a proclamation the King had made. And here he sat next to a light-skinned Vle. “I just got the most curious letter from town,” he said.
“Some very odd things are afoot in the world beyond, Brother. I assume you’re referring to the proclamation?”
“Yes. It doesn’t seem possible.”
“To me, neither. But it’s why I came here. I can’t very well break my vows and quit being a priest just in order to avoid being put in a camp, so I came to take more vows.”
“You chose one camp over another, then.”
“Hmm! I’d never thought of it that way. Anyway, even though there’s no indication that I’d be killed or seriously wounded in the camp, I just feel this is a better place. Maybe they won’t come here.”
“I hope not. We’d lose a lot of very good brothers.” Hyran paused. “I almost wish it were possible to leave, just to see what’s going on down there.”
“And now I can’t, either.”
Hyran shrugged. “We can only trust in the Great Master, as we’re supposed to.”
“Yes. Indeed.”
There was one more letter, and he opened it, wondering if it would be just another explanation of events. But it wasn’t, exactly: in a very careful script, but with many spelling errors, Mecora had written:
“Hyran, sumthing verry terrable is hapuning. Their gowing to maik the lite vle liv in a camp. Their taking my frends away frum me! And last nite, Handa dide, too, so now I’ll hav no frends at all. And almost haf the town has tu go, so their are fuwer plases to shop and hav fun. Pleez help, or at least be my frend?
Mecora”
This letter was very different from the others. While the letters written by light Vle calmly asked for prayers and influence with the Rep (and through him, the King), the letters by dark Vle even more calmly told of the situation and other town news. This letter, however, was an emotional plea to help her friends. The girl had suffered a big loss, and needed a friend. She also had given some idea of what changes the town faced. With a third of the people gone, it would be much, much more quiet.
“What is it?” asked Valans. “Did someone die?”
Hyran finally realized he was crying. “Yes, but it’s more than that. Right now my vows are really in my way.”
“I never expected to meet a monk who would say that.”
“Most won’t. But then, it’s not always easy. Temptation is always around the corner. You must watch out for it.”
“I will,” said Valans.
Never had anything weighed on Hyran’s heart as much as this proclamation did. In fact, the non-involvement vow had really been quite easy to keep until now.
That afternoon, Valans was off in the chapel praying for guidance in his new venture. That left Hyran on his own, as well, simply waiting outside should Valans have any questions. The rest of the brothers at his level were at their copying desks, occupying their time. Hyran wished he had something to do that would keep his mind off the proclamation, but he supposed that whatever he did, he’d be rather unproductive at it. And how was he to answer a new brother’s questions if he couldn’t answer his own?
Allega came around the tree, deep in thought as usual, and enjoying the freedom of his level. Always observant, though, he noticed Hyran, and came over. “There seems to be something occupying your mind.”
Hyran nodded. “I got a large stack of letters from Kelwom.”
“You are normally quite happy when you receive but one. Bad news comes in wagonfuls?”
“You might say that. The King has issued a proclamation, sending all light Vle to a camp near the palace. It’s the real reason Valans has joined us.”
The unflappable Allega didn’t seem purturbed in the least. “To save himself.” It was a statement that neatly summed up the situation.
“Yes. He seems to accept it, even better than I can.”
“You knew the danger when you elected to receive letters.”
“Yes, I did. And I do not regret it.”
“Even though you’re hurting now?”
“Sure. Ignorance, though bliss, can only impede spiritual growth.”
“That’s true.”
“The question is, what to do now? I can’t very well initiate Valans with a burning quandary in my head.”
Allega shrugged. “I disagree. You are showing him a part of the brotherhood that most initiates never see.”
“That’s all well and good, but does it help him learn our theology?”
“He is a priest already. I think he knows our theology fairly well.”
“But he doesn’t know mine,” Hyran complained, “he only knows what he is supposed to know for the benefit of the town. And now mine’s completely up in the air.”
“My, my, you really are broken up about this. But let me ask: What can you possibly do?”
“Nothing! That’s just it. I can do nothing, but something needs to be done. More than one villager suggested I alert the Rep in Kezantopil— I’m sure he could use his influence with the King to reverse the proclamation.”
“That would be political interference.”
Hyran nodded. “I know.”
“And you have only one part of the story. What can you know of the real issues, being secluded up here? The whole reason we have this non-interference is because we cannot always have the whole story. We may think we’re acting in the best interests of those we help, but how do we know, really? We cannot. We must guess. And for one as revered and virtuous as the Rep to direct a change when he does not know all the consequences... That simply cannot be allowed.”
“I know.”
“So you must simply accept that The Great Master has everything in his sight, and that he will do what is necessary.”
“That is what I am having trouble with right now.”
“Hmm. Our most basic tenet.”
Hyran nodded.
Allega remained silent a moment, meditating. Then, Valans came out, looking somewhat driven, and also somewhat unsure. “I was wrong.”
Hyran looked at him again, more attentive now. “Explain, brother.”
“I had thought that my purpose in coming here was to remain safe, but I was wrong. My purpose here is something different. We must tell the King he is wrong.”
Allega dipped his head to one side. “Hyran, have you been dumping your insecurities on a new brother? That is not good.”
“No, Brother, I have not. He has been aware of my insecurity, but I have not explained it to him.”
Meanwhile, Valans looked at the two, surprised at their reaction. He tried again. “Don’t you see where our responsibility lies? We are united across lines, here! We have the power to pressure the King!”
“Valans, remember your oaths,” Allega reminded gently.
“But they are not relevant now! We cannot let this continue.”
Hyran muttered, “We have no choice.”
Valans now remained silent, and hung his head. “I don’t know if I can indeed be a monk, then. But The Great Master is calling.”
Allega just blinked. “We have a test for the truth of a calling. You may be aware that some can be false, the product of a mere human wish. So, would you like—”
“But I can tell... You don’t believe me.”
“We find it difficult to believe the Great Master would call on you to convince us to break His own mandates, and the vows we’ve made.”
Hyran thought, Who’s ‘we’? And then he decided to say it.
Allega looked surprised. “Hyran? I’ve known you to be a bit of a rebel in your own way, but... This is simply going too far.”
“You misunderstood me, Brother. I meant to say that I don’t find it difficult to believe. Who are we to second guess the Great Master?”
“Well, no one, but—”
“Especially in a situation like this. Is it inconceiveable that He should want to protect his people, and that we are the ones to help, to do his work here in this world?”
Allega blinked some, thinking hard. “We shall convene the test tomorrow. I would suggest some meditation time.” Then, he walked off.
Hyran shrugged. “See you tomorrow.”
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Monk
As was the case every year, within a few months after Deschule another Vle entered the monastic life. There was something about the season that brought priests to such dedication to the Great Master’s Word that they felt called to become a monk. It wasn’t always an easy transition, however: priests, by nature, were Vle for Vle, very involved in other’s lives.
A monk, however, had to be the opposite.
Hyran listened from his pew toward the back of the chapel as a light-skinned priest from Kelwome became a brother, remembering the vows he’d taken. This was a good opportunity to check one’s progress in upholding those vows, and Hyran decided he was doing really well— with the vows he still agreed with.
“Do you vow to remain on the monastery grounds at all times, except those proscribed by the abbot?”
“I do.” Hyran decided he didn’t really hear the tone of certain conviction, but rather the tone of a rote ‘How much longer will this take? What other parts of my life can I possibly vow away?’ It was typical, and if others heard, they understood as well.
“Do you now renounce all connection with your past and future, to live only in the present as a servant of the Great Master?”
“I do.”
“Do you now renounce all involvement with the outside world, to concentrate on the Word of the Great Master as your sole concern?”
“I do.”
“Do you now dedicate your service to The Great Master, to do all things according to his Will, to respond to adversity according to his Will, to live your life according to his Will?”
“I do.”
“Valans, I now consecrate your life to the Great Master, in His name and the name of his father, to be his humble slave in this world and the world beyond. Amen.”
Everyone chorused, “Amen,” and then stood in applause. Valans now turned, looking surprised and flattered at the welcome he was receiving. Then, the abbot bid him go meet everyone, and the expression changed again: “Everyone?!” Hyran saw him say. Indeed, that was the custom, though it was impossible for him to remember everyone’s name,
When it was his turn to shake the new brother’s hand, Hyran, simply said, “Welcome,” and then made to move on. But the abbot stopped him. “Not so fast, Hyran.”
“Yes, Father?” he replied, using the honorific as he was supposed to.
“I would like you to initiate our new brother.”
....! That was just one step from being a mentor (and a step away from being a gardener)! Somewhere in the crowd, Allega chuckled loudly. “Y-yes, Father,” Hyran stammered, “B—”
“You have a complaint, Son?”
“N- no, I simply was going to say that there must surely be better, more... orthodox choices than I.”
“Well, then,” replied the abbot, “you had better work hard and become more orthodox.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Now, relax. You’ll do fine.”
“Thank you, Father.”
The abbot moved on, introducing Valans to the rest of the monks gathered there. Hyran just stood there, thinking about what he was going to do about this. How much more orthodox should he be? Or, should he just be true to himself, never mind the abbot? The advantage is that he’d probably not end up a mentor. Or a gardener, for that matter.
The, he realized he should probably stick with the small greeting retinue. He snapped out of it and moved over to Valans’ side, and just watched, smiled, and endured the winks and chuckles of the other monks. Finally, Valans had met everyone, and it was just the three of them. “Well, Hyran, what do you think you will do first?” asked the abbot.
Hyran had absolutely no idea. “Uh, well.... I thought I’d take him to a pub down in town and get him nice and drunk, before we go stand on the steps of the cathedral and preach damnation theology.”
The abbot’s face remained as impassive as stone. “Ha. Do you even have a plan, yet?”
“Well, I suppose, I’d better show him where he’ll be living, unless he already knows,” Hyran guessed. “After that, I thought it would be good for us to talk theology in the library.”
“I would think you could talk about that absolutely anywhere.”
“So would I,” agreed Hyran, though that was as close as he could get to implying that he didn’t agree with the ‘no leaving’ vow.
“So, a tour of the place would be nice.”
The abbot had second guessed him. Hyran had intended to give the tour along the way to Valans’ quarters. “Of course, Father.”
“Well, have fun. If you have any questions, Son, just ask anyone, and they will be able to find me.”
“Thank you, Father.”
And with a blessing movement of his hand, the abbot moved off pontifically. Hyran just stood there quietly, watching him absent-mindedly while he thought about where to go first.
Finally, he said, “He’s very supportive when you’re new. Enjoy it while you can, and try to make it last.”
“Okay, I’ll remember that,” said Valans. “You make it sound as if this place has some politics.”
“Is there a place that doesn’t? Well, this monastery really isn’t bad that way— I’ve heard of worse. And it’s very easy to not get involved. Some may try, but if you’re non-descript, they’ll ignore you.”
“Are you non-descript?”
Hyran laughed. “Come, talk with me, and judge for yourself...”
A monk, however, had to be the opposite.
Hyran listened from his pew toward the back of the chapel as a light-skinned priest from Kelwome became a brother, remembering the vows he’d taken. This was a good opportunity to check one’s progress in upholding those vows, and Hyran decided he was doing really well— with the vows he still agreed with.
“Do you vow to remain on the monastery grounds at all times, except those proscribed by the abbot?”
“I do.” Hyran decided he didn’t really hear the tone of certain conviction, but rather the tone of a rote ‘How much longer will this take? What other parts of my life can I possibly vow away?’ It was typical, and if others heard, they understood as well.
“Do you now renounce all connection with your past and future, to live only in the present as a servant of the Great Master?”
“I do.”
“Do you now renounce all involvement with the outside world, to concentrate on the Word of the Great Master as your sole concern?”
“I do.”
“Do you now dedicate your service to The Great Master, to do all things according to his Will, to respond to adversity according to his Will, to live your life according to his Will?”
“I do.”
“Valans, I now consecrate your life to the Great Master, in His name and the name of his father, to be his humble slave in this world and the world beyond. Amen.”
Everyone chorused, “Amen,” and then stood in applause. Valans now turned, looking surprised and flattered at the welcome he was receiving. Then, the abbot bid him go meet everyone, and the expression changed again: “Everyone?!” Hyran saw him say. Indeed, that was the custom, though it was impossible for him to remember everyone’s name,
When it was his turn to shake the new brother’s hand, Hyran, simply said, “Welcome,” and then made to move on. But the abbot stopped him. “Not so fast, Hyran.”
“Yes, Father?” he replied, using the honorific as he was supposed to.
“I would like you to initiate our new brother.”
....! That was just one step from being a mentor (and a step away from being a gardener)! Somewhere in the crowd, Allega chuckled loudly. “Y-yes, Father,” Hyran stammered, “B—”
“You have a complaint, Son?”
“N- no, I simply was going to say that there must surely be better, more... orthodox choices than I.”
“Well, then,” replied the abbot, “you had better work hard and become more orthodox.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Now, relax. You’ll do fine.”
“Thank you, Father.”
The abbot moved on, introducing Valans to the rest of the monks gathered there. Hyran just stood there, thinking about what he was going to do about this. How much more orthodox should he be? Or, should he just be true to himself, never mind the abbot? The advantage is that he’d probably not end up a mentor. Or a gardener, for that matter.
The, he realized he should probably stick with the small greeting retinue. He snapped out of it and moved over to Valans’ side, and just watched, smiled, and endured the winks and chuckles of the other monks. Finally, Valans had met everyone, and it was just the three of them. “Well, Hyran, what do you think you will do first?” asked the abbot.
Hyran had absolutely no idea. “Uh, well.... I thought I’d take him to a pub down in town and get him nice and drunk, before we go stand on the steps of the cathedral and preach damnation theology.”
The abbot’s face remained as impassive as stone. “Ha. Do you even have a plan, yet?”
“Well, I suppose, I’d better show him where he’ll be living, unless he already knows,” Hyran guessed. “After that, I thought it would be good for us to talk theology in the library.”
“I would think you could talk about that absolutely anywhere.”
“So would I,” agreed Hyran, though that was as close as he could get to implying that he didn’t agree with the ‘no leaving’ vow.
“So, a tour of the place would be nice.”
The abbot had second guessed him. Hyran had intended to give the tour along the way to Valans’ quarters. “Of course, Father.”
“Well, have fun. If you have any questions, Son, just ask anyone, and they will be able to find me.”
“Thank you, Father.”
And with a blessing movement of his hand, the abbot moved off pontifically. Hyran just stood there quietly, watching him absent-mindedly while he thought about where to go first.
Finally, he said, “He’s very supportive when you’re new. Enjoy it while you can, and try to make it last.”
“Okay, I’ll remember that,” said Valans. “You make it sound as if this place has some politics.”
“Is there a place that doesn’t? Well, this monastery really isn’t bad that way— I’ve heard of worse. And it’s very easy to not get involved. Some may try, but if you’re non-descript, they’ll ignore you.”
“Are you non-descript?”
Hyran laughed. “Come, talk with me, and judge for yourself...”
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