Thursday, May 7, 2009
About this story
This story is indebted to Ursula K. Le Guin, for reasons that I'm sure are obvious to her readers, especially those who have enjoyed her Earthsea stories.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Large-Hearted Boy, Part Three
Selden, of course, did as the Archmage asked. He made the journey to Cald Mere in just four days, not having to stop at each village along the way to inquire if he was needed. As a master, he was rarely called on to hear confessions or, for that matter, perform any of the sacraments.
It was just as well. There seemed always an element of jealousy toward masters among the village clerics, though three days out, as Selden and his companion made their way north into the desolate countryside, they were greeted by everyone with good cheer and were encouraged to stay overnight.
"What can your hurry be, Pater? Come grace our table, bless the first bread," they all cajoled. "Tell us what you know of the lively world to our south." Were they humoring him? Did they really care what went on in the cities?
"I wish I could, good people," Selden told them. "But we have some distance ahead of us and too little time. Let me bless you here." And he held one hand out over them; the other placed flat against his chest, over the heart, and he appealed to the incarnation of God they might best understand. God the Father, God the Mother, God the Hunter, God the Farmer... There were so many, all personalities of the One God, who had no name, except perhaps to the dead. But the master tried not to fathom what the dead might know.
Selden knew death, but none of its secrets. He was with his father when the old man died. And side-by-side with the doubts he had about his religious beliefs–him, a master!–Selden prayed that his father was headed for somewhere meaningful. The old man had been forgiven his sins months earlier and took to his deathbed as though it were a cradle of peace and the Mother’s comfort. He was past all his regrets, Selden saw, and past all ambition and worldly longing.
What his father really thought, Selden couldn’t say. He was unable to use the Gift, of course. It was impossible to read and hear the minds of immediate family, but his father’s manner was untroubled and patient. He murmured quite a lot in his sleep, but Selden heard no alarm in the whispering. It was a good death, Selden thought. Something we all pray for, isn’t it? A happy death.
It was just as well. There seemed always an element of jealousy toward masters among the village clerics, though three days out, as Selden and his companion made their way north into the desolate countryside, they were greeted by everyone with good cheer and were encouraged to stay overnight.
"What can your hurry be, Pater? Come grace our table, bless the first bread," they all cajoled. "Tell us what you know of the lively world to our south." Were they humoring him? Did they really care what went on in the cities?
"I wish I could, good people," Selden told them. "But we have some distance ahead of us and too little time. Let me bless you here." And he held one hand out over them; the other placed flat against his chest, over the heart, and he appealed to the incarnation of God they might best understand. God the Father, God the Mother, God the Hunter, God the Farmer... There were so many, all personalities of the One God, who had no name, except perhaps to the dead. But the master tried not to fathom what the dead might know.
Selden knew death, but none of its secrets. He was with his father when the old man died. And side-by-side with the doubts he had about his religious beliefs–him, a master!–Selden prayed that his father was headed for somewhere meaningful. The old man had been forgiven his sins months earlier and took to his deathbed as though it were a cradle of peace and the Mother’s comfort. He was past all his regrets, Selden saw, and past all ambition and worldly longing.
What his father really thought, Selden couldn’t say. He was unable to use the Gift, of course. It was impossible to read and hear the minds of immediate family, but his father’s manner was untroubled and patient. He murmured quite a lot in his sleep, but Selden heard no alarm in the whispering. It was a good death, Selden thought. Something we all pray for, isn’t it? A happy death.
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