The rest of the journey to Cald Mere was uneventful, though Selden worried that night would fall before they reached the village. He would much prefer being indoors that night ... and among people of his own kind.
It disturbed him that he could only make sense of the strangers’ simplest emotions. The gift seemed to work that way. Relations between the two peoples was tense, based on a history of misdeeds, mistrust, and open warfare. Only commerce brought them together now. Some of the more adventurous priests reached out to the strangers, even lived among them. They brought back curious stories and argued that the strangers shared beliefs that one might call religion. Selden didn’t doubt it.
Just at twilight, Selden and his companion spotted the first signs of Cald Mere. Selden blessed the children and their mothers who stared at them over fences or from the dark shadows of doorways. The menfolk would be coming soon from the fields or, more likely, the public house. They’d shared their old gossip and tired jokes.
When they reached the church, Selden dismounted with a groan. He was terribly tired and would enjoy having his day’s portion of ale. The day was far from hot, but a man–any man–built up a thirst from travel.
The village priest wasn’t anywhere to be found, though a candle was burning in the church. In the cities, candles always burned. They represented a kind of welcome and the certainty that God was present there. In the country, priests couldn’t afford to burn up all their beeswax. They had little for themselves and most wouldn’t burden the faithful more than need be.
“I’ll pray, Geoffrey. Will that be all right?”
The priest’s companion nearly smiled. “And why this unexpected courtesy?” he wanted to ask, but Geoffrey knew well enough not question anything the master said or did. Selden’s question meant: Watch the horse and donkey, boy. I’ll be a moment. Don’t wander.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Large-Hearted Boy. Part Five.
Geoffrey turned to the master. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”
“I’m not known for my humor,” Selden answered, his impatience clear.
“And you’re somehow ... angry with me?” The young man stood in his stirrups and drew back his cloak so that he could better reach his sword.
“Don’t be foolish,” Selden told him. “And take your seat!”
The boy sat, though he couldn’t help himself from staring right and left into the trees that lined their way.
“Calm down, boy,” the master told him, “and stop staring about in so blasted obvious a way.”
“Are we in danger?" He would draw his sword.
“If they want us dead, they’ll use arrows. Your sword’s no use here.”
“And your magic?”
Selden laughed. “I’m a mathematician.”
“Surely you can–”
“I can’t cloak us, no.” He thought. “I can blur our actions, not that it would help much, or I can perhaps confuse them.”
The trail was so quiet. No bird calls, no wind.
Selden asked, “You can’t feel them?” His expression seemed to ask for some confirmation from the boy.
“No. Truthfully, I can’t.”
Selden nodded. “It’s because they’re foreign to you.”
“Bitterfolk?”
“Whoever calls them that?”
“Young people ... I suppose. It’s how we know them.”
“It’s rude, Geoffrey. I won’t have it.”
“Yes, of course.” He wouldn’t argue about language now. “They’re following us, is that it?” He was getting anxious, even a bit desperate to know if they were being stalked.
“Granted, they are an aggrieved people. They would be justified in being bitter toward us.” He felt the stares of the three men in the shadows of the trees.
Selden continued, “They are understandably wary of us. Not you and me, mind you. They could make an end of us like that.” He snapped the fingers of his right hand. “Like that,” he repeated. His left hand massaged the neck of his old mule. Selden seemed never to reach for the reins. The animal knew the direction Selden would have him go.
Geoffrey could hardly stand listening to the master ramble, but he wouldn’t interrupt. The master would tell him if there would be trouble.
Selden spoke aloud, but his mind was distracted and his words came slowly to his lips. “They’re ... resentful.” He was reading at least one of the men. “Angry ... about some new agreement their tribe was forced to swallow. That’s the bitter part. And ... they know. That I’m a priest. And that I would be missed ... that they would be blamed ... that the fighting would break out again.”
Selden called out to the boy, who looked and understood. The men are leaving. We’ll be safe at least to Cald Mere.
“I’m not known for my humor,” Selden answered, his impatience clear.
“And you’re somehow ... angry with me?” The young man stood in his stirrups and drew back his cloak so that he could better reach his sword.
“Don’t be foolish,” Selden told him. “And take your seat!”
The boy sat, though he couldn’t help himself from staring right and left into the trees that lined their way.
“Calm down, boy,” the master told him, “and stop staring about in so blasted obvious a way.”
“Are we in danger?" He would draw his sword.
“If they want us dead, they’ll use arrows. Your sword’s no use here.”
“And your magic?”
Selden laughed. “I’m a mathematician.”
“Surely you can–”
“I can’t cloak us, no.” He thought. “I can blur our actions, not that it would help much, or I can perhaps confuse them.”
The trail was so quiet. No bird calls, no wind.
Selden asked, “You can’t feel them?” His expression seemed to ask for some confirmation from the boy.
“No. Truthfully, I can’t.”
Selden nodded. “It’s because they’re foreign to you.”
“Bitterfolk?”
“Whoever calls them that?”
“Young people ... I suppose. It’s how we know them.”
“It’s rude, Geoffrey. I won’t have it.”
“Yes, of course.” He wouldn’t argue about language now. “They’re following us, is that it?” He was getting anxious, even a bit desperate to know if they were being stalked.
“Granted, they are an aggrieved people. They would be justified in being bitter toward us.” He felt the stares of the three men in the shadows of the trees.
Selden continued, “They are understandably wary of us. Not you and me, mind you. They could make an end of us like that.” He snapped the fingers of his right hand. “Like that,” he repeated. His left hand massaged the neck of his old mule. Selden seemed never to reach for the reins. The animal knew the direction Selden would have him go.
Geoffrey could hardly stand listening to the master ramble, but he wouldn’t interrupt. The master would tell him if there would be trouble.
Selden spoke aloud, but his mind was distracted and his words came slowly to his lips. “They’re ... resentful.” He was reading at least one of the men. “Angry ... about some new agreement their tribe was forced to swallow. That’s the bitter part. And ... they know. That I’m a priest. And that I would be missed ... that they would be blamed ... that the fighting would break out again.”
Selden called out to the boy, who looked and understood. The men are leaving. We’ll be safe at least to Cald Mere.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Large-Hearted Boy, Part Four
Selden turned to his companion, a student in his last year at the school who had only to pass his exams. After this, the Nine would likely encourage the young man toward the priesthood. He was modest and unselfish, bright and hardworking. And he was devout, much like Selden had been when he was young. The religious life filled one’s heart, just as it filled the hours. One’s prayers throughout the day seemed to be like song.
Selden’s prayers were more habit now. They were comfortable, reliable. They were the fruit of his years of discipline and self-sacrifice, though he found the fruit insipid at times. Well, nothing is as enrapturing as it is when one is young, Selden reminded himself.
“Can you feel the nip in the air, Geoffrey?” Selden asked.
“I can.” And he made as to shiver. "I’ve never been so far north before, you know.”
Selden smiled. He knew.
The young man continued, “It has its own kind of beauty, doesn’t it? So much pine and open sky.”
“It’s a hard living in the north,” Selden said.
“I think the loneliness would be the hard part. What is Cald Mere? A village of six huts? Or is there more?”
“More, I’m told. I’ve never been. It’s on a lake, of course, and there is trapping. The boy we’re visiting... His father is a smith. And a cooper, too. People do all that they have to.”
“I would die of boredom.”
“You, Geoffrey, would die of cold and starvation,” Selden teased. “You know nothing about woodcraft, do you? Could you lit a fire without a spell?”
“Without magic?” The boy seemed to ponder the question, but his silence was more for effect than hard thinking. He knew what he was. “It’s true. I’m helpless when it comes to the hard things. Without my spells I would be luggage, instead of your companion.”
“You were picked to be my companion because of your swordplay. Didn’t you know?”
“Well, that I can do.” The young man was even allowed to fence while at school, with one of the brothers who had been a man-at-arms before he took his vows.
“But whatever for?” Geoffrey asked. “Polar bears?”
“We’re not that far north.”
Selden was agitated. This stripling wasn’t really paying attention at all. “Boy, can’t you tell we’re being watched?”
Selden’s prayers were more habit now. They were comfortable, reliable. They were the fruit of his years of discipline and self-sacrifice, though he found the fruit insipid at times. Well, nothing is as enrapturing as it is when one is young, Selden reminded himself.
“Can you feel the nip in the air, Geoffrey?” Selden asked.
“I can.” And he made as to shiver. "I’ve never been so far north before, you know.”
Selden smiled. He knew.
The young man continued, “It has its own kind of beauty, doesn’t it? So much pine and open sky.”
“It’s a hard living in the north,” Selden said.
“I think the loneliness would be the hard part. What is Cald Mere? A village of six huts? Or is there more?”
“More, I’m told. I’ve never been. It’s on a lake, of course, and there is trapping. The boy we’re visiting... His father is a smith. And a cooper, too. People do all that they have to.”
“I would die of boredom.”
“You, Geoffrey, would die of cold and starvation,” Selden teased. “You know nothing about woodcraft, do you? Could you lit a fire without a spell?”
“Without magic?” The boy seemed to ponder the question, but his silence was more for effect than hard thinking. He knew what he was. “It’s true. I’m helpless when it comes to the hard things. Without my spells I would be luggage, instead of your companion.”
“You were picked to be my companion because of your swordplay. Didn’t you know?”
“Well, that I can do.” The young man was even allowed to fence while at school, with one of the brothers who had been a man-at-arms before he took his vows.
“But whatever for?” Geoffrey asked. “Polar bears?”
“We’re not that far north.”
Selden was agitated. This stripling wasn’t really paying attention at all. “Boy, can’t you tell we’re being watched?”
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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