by Paul Lytle
“I meant your father, who fought in the war.”
Ayrim frowned. He had no memory of his father, and yet had collected some from the descriptions and tales of others. Gerill had known him, and the Baron, and Father Josite, but each only very briefly. He had even spoken to Lord Draffor from Lanshire once, when the minor noble was in Saparen to speak with Baron Verios over a matter of taxes and land. He had a basic idea of who his father was though those people, and what had happened to him. And yet the man was still a mystery to him. It saddened young Ayrim that Barrin remained so distant, for the farmer had given so much for his son.
In all, he missed his father, and that too was strange to him.
“No,” Ayrim finally answered. “He was a Serrenite.”
Dravin laughed, but then he realized that his friend wasn’t meaning to be funny. “You’re joking, of course,” said the heir to Saparen.
“No.”
Dravin Verios screwed up his face, saying, “But I heard that he killed fifty ern himself. Father told me about it. He was the last one on the wall.”
“I don’t think he killed fifty, but it is true that he was one of the last on the wall.”
“No, father says fifty. Five of them after he lost his sword, and he had to break each one’s neck with his bare hands. He was wounded by an arrow, but he tore the arrow out of his belly and stabbed one of the ern with it.”
“I never heard that.”
“Father says so. But a Serrenite wouldn’t do that. They didn’t even want to fight.”
“My father fought, and he followed Serren.”
The Baron’s son sighed. “Just pick Ignar. It’ll be easier on all of us.”
Ayrim shrugged. “I might.”
Chapter 7
The knock on the door was faint, but there was nothing amiss with Rignslin Josite’s ears, and he said, “Come in,” without looking up from the ancient manuscript that had been carefully placed on his table. Every fourth word in the text was too faded to read, but some sections Father Josite understood, and he didn’t like what he saw. The far past, about the time of the Great War (and “about the time of the Great War” meant within five centuries of the event, so long ago it was), had been a strange time, and much of the religious material that had survived spoke of other gods, or variations of the Six. Still, Rignslin liked to read these accounted for mere historical value before they were taken to Ignar’s Temple for destruction. Those false religions didn’t exist any longer. Four thousand years after the Great War, there was only the truth and the Absence. The choice, for Josite at least, was simple.
Strange that he would still struggle in his quest for Virtue if that choice was as simple as it seemed to be. But Vid was not always so obvious as he was in the tales penned for children, appearing as demons promising wealth and power, all the while with fire coming from his eyes. Sometimes, he merely planted a thought or an image, and that would be enough. Enough for the darkness of the heart to feast upon, and there certainly was a darkness to the heart – he knew that from years of experience. Josite read the works because he believed that he could learn about those lost days by understanding their beliefs, but he knew as well as anyone that such texts could be used by Vid as well.
And so the Priest never kept the documents, but forwarded every page to Ignar’s Temple. It made him sad to do so, and yet he did it.
He didn’t hear the door open, or Ayrim Iylin enter. In fact, he kept reading for several minutes until the boy cleared his throat, and the Priest turned to him. “Ah, Ayrim, it is good to see you.”
“Do you have a moment, Father?” asked the boy.
“Of course,” Rignslin said, covering up the ancient text and turning to the Iylin child. “Your questions in the catechism classes were good, and well thought out, Ayrim. I am sorry that our time in the classroom is over, for at times you had even me researching the Holy Texts for answers. It was good for me.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Tomorrow is Sun Day. What will you choose, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“That is why I came.” Ayrim’s words were timid, but he said them anyway. “I was hoping you would help me answer that.”
“Ah, having trouble, are you? It is good that you think so seriously on this subject. You have heard the phrase, ‘By the dirt the gods are birthed’?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t know what it means?”
“No, I don’t.”
“It doesn’t make sense in our understanding of the beginning of our world, for the gods were born of Tarite and Serren, who themselves were forever. Tianon, the dirt, came from the moon, or Tarite. So the idea that the gods were born of Tianon is ridiculous.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“But do you think that the phrase refers to the literal birth of the gods? Is there not another birth?”
Ayrim thought for a moment, and said, “When we Choose, we are said to be born into a faith.”
“Ah, yes, but that is not a literal birth. That is good, for at the time of the Choosing are the gods born as well, born within us when we Choose. Do you see how Tianon might be so very important in this birth?”
“In knowledge?”
“Yes, Ayrim, very good. It is only through knowledge of the gods, the Texts, and ourselves that we can truly Choose correctly. In this way, we must go to Tianon before we can reach the other gods. That is why we have children go through the catechism before the Choosing, and that is why we have the Choosing every season in Tianon’s Temple.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, tomorrow you will be taken there.”
“Oh.”
“But though the catechism tells you about the gods and the Texts, only you can become a teacher about yourself. We can guide, and instruct, but we cannot see your heart. I think that it is this area you find difficulty, for I know you to be quite knowledgeable of the gods. In that area you have no ignorance, and so your ignorance must lie in another area. I might be able to help you a little, though.”
Ayrim grinned, saying, “Yes, thank you.”
“Then tell me, Ayrim. Do you like to leave important matters in the hands of the gods, or to act upon those matters yourself?”
The boy thought, then said, “Maybe work myself.”
“Then you lean toward Tarite over Serren.”
Iylin was horrified, for though he understood the gods better than many, still he feared Tarite, like most others, but Josite chuckled, “Oh, don’t worry, Ayrim. This does not mean that you must choose Tarite, or even should. But Tarite is a strong god, and it saddens me that so many people fear him because they fear death, when Serren has as much to do with death as Tarite. It is understandable, but sad. Superstition is so often born in the Temples themselves. But never mind. Let’s go on.”
The Priest asked, “How would you rather spend your time? Would you rather find understanding, or help others gain comfort?”
“Must I choose one?”
“In life, no. You should do both, for both are Virtues. But which gives you more pleasure?”
“Gaining understanding, I think.”
“Tianon over Whesler. I have chosen the same answer to that question, which is why I spend all day in this dark room reading ancient texts.” He rubbed his eyes at the thought. “The others say I will go blind reading so much, but I think it will be worth it, if only to learn something that no one remembers anymore.
“But I am distracted. Last question. How would you better the world, by encouraging others in the Virtues, or by focusing your energy into your own morality? Remember, I ask only which you prefer, for I hope you will do both.”
“I think that if we all hold each other accountable, then the world would be very good,” Ayrim said. “I think the first one – that I would encourage.”
“Then Ignar over Flarow. You lean toward the male gods over the female ones. It is a sign that you might become a
great warrior or scholar, for the male gods tend to be more active, if more neglecting of self-reflection and faith. The females are more faithful and generous, but they are sometimes passive.”
Ayrim knew that much. Tianon was the great student, Tarite the hard worker, and Ignar the hand of Justice. Meanwhile, of the women, Serren’s faith saturated all her actions and Whesler’s generosity was unparalleled. Flarow might have seemed the exception, for she, unlike the other females, concentrated on herself, and yet it was often seen in a passive manner, for in her quest for perfect morality was she often engaged in meditation and prayer.
“So we have three gods left,” Ayrim said.
“Not at all; you still have all six,” Josite laughed. “Simply because you might lean one direction slightly does not mean you should dismiss the other gods. Seek all the Virtues, Ayrim, no matter what god you Choose. This exercise is merely designed to give you an understanding of where you might be called to serve amongst the Six.”
“I see,” Ayrim frowned.
“Meditate over this tonight,” Father Josite suggested. “You will find your answer.”
“I will, thank you.” The boy started out of the room, but paused. He turned to the young Priest and asked, “If I do not pick Serren, Father, may I still come to talk sometimes?”
“At any time, Ayrim,” said the Priest. “I would be disappointed if you didn’t. There is much I can learn from you, and still a couple of things you might be able to learn from me.” The man’s smile was as bright as the candle on the table, and Ayrim nodded as he left, very glad that he had come.
Chapter 8
That night, after Gerill was asleep, Ayrim was still at his father’s desk, reading the account of the creation. It was here that the nature of each god was revealed most clearly, and it was here to which he looked for guidance. And yet his mind drifted, and he found himself only scanning most of the text without comprehending what he read. Prayer he tried next, and he prayed to each god in turn, but concentrated on Tianon.
And yet no answers would come.
He sighed in frustration. Why could he not focus that night, the most important night of his dozen years? Why did he not understand this, when he understood almost everything better than the others of his age?
By the dirt . . .
The moon was high, and a sliver short of full, and Last Day faded into the fifth day of Sepilar, a Sun Day, which was the first Sun Day of Autumn and the day of Choosing. It would only be a few more hours until the ceremony, and Ayrim would have to name someone. He would not be able to leave the Temple until he Chose.
One boy was there for three weeks, Ayrim had heard once. After three weeks without Choosing, he became so weary that he started seeing things, and thought that Serren appeared to him and told him that if it was so hard, just pick Vid, because even the gods were tired of waiting. Of course, it probably wasn’t true, and it certainly wasn’t really Serren even if it was true (perhaps Ignar, but never Serren), but the end of the story was that he picked Flarow because he hadn’t been given enough water in that week, and he knew that he would be taken to the Temple of his choice after Choosing. When he reached Flarow’s Temple, he leapt into the ponds in front of the building was immediately excommunicated, even before being inducted.
Ayrim laughed out loud, even in remembering. It was a humorous story, especially thinking about someone swimming in the pools of Flarow. Often did the children taunt each other to do exactly that, but none of them did, for it was a great crime, and the pools were watched over continually.
His laughter faded, and Ayrim stood up to walk. Beside the door his sword belt hung upon the wall, and he drew out his wooden sword and stepped out the door and into the street. He wasn’t allowed to practice indoors, but he would be safe in that section of Ignar’s Den. The soldiers on patrol knew him, and they would watch out of him.
He began the Exercises, performing the moves with no small amount of grace and skill. The sword was surprisingly cooperative that night, and, for the first time, Ayrim was using the blade by controlled instinct, not even having to think about his motions. The blade was an extension of the arm – perfectly still when the hand was still, and precise in its strikes when called upon to move. None his age had such control of a weapon, but it was only a foundation for the mastery yet to be learned.
As he worked, he explored his options. Ignar would be a fine choice, and well accepted by the Thanes and Dravin. He did wish to be a Thane like his father, so Ignar would be a natural choice. And yet, Gerill was not an Ignist, and he was one of the best Thanes in the Order.
Tianon was attractive too, for Ayrim so loved to read and study. He also enjoyed his work on the farm, and Tianon had no little effect over farming, and nor did Flarow’s rain. Of course, even Ignar, when throwing the sun across the sky so that Serren might watch over the entire planet, had much to do with farming.
By the dirt . . .
He paused in his practice briefly, then renewed his efforts with a new intensity. It wasn’t about which god ruled over which areas of life. It should be, Ayrim knew, about the Virtues. It did not matter that you worked with the Earth if you weren’t interested in Knowledge. Nor would you pick Whesler for the wind, but because you were Charitable.
So what was Ayrim like, he wondered of himself? Hard-working, yes, even if the idea of being a Tarist caused the boy to shiver, no matter how often Father Josite defended the deity. It was natural; it was the way of the people to fear the Death God. Ayrim was a student, a warrior. He breathed deeply and swung his weapon around in a series of blocks and thrusts. He desired Justice, but also his own Morality. He wished to rely on gods and himself together. Not in separate areas, but as one. He wished to gain knowledge, but also be generous.
He wanted all the Virtues, and he thought them all about equal in importance.
And he realized that he had his answer.
Chapter 9
The Temple of Tianon was lit only in candles, and the children wore clean white robes. Only the Head Priest of each Temple was present with the children in the room, for not even the parents were allowed to view these secret rites, save for the time that they themselves had taken part in them.
The Priests were already inside when those Choosing filed in, creating a long line in front of the altar, upon which sat a gilded hammer. The Priests wore white too, but each had a sash tied around his waist colored of his god’s color. Only Father Josite totally matched the children, for he was in all white, robe and sash alike, as Serren was always pictured. Also did the Priests each have a book, branded with the symbols of the gods. These recorded the membership of each faith, and the children would be recorded as they Chose.
“You wear the color of Serren,” said the Priest of Tianon, his belt brown, “because from the Goddess of the Living are you truly born. Tarite gives you your body, but from Serren are you given breath. As you come, you will take on a second color, the color your new faith adopted from its god. In death, your body will take on black, for Tarite’s domain is all that remains here, but one day we will return to this world, and all colors will become one as light, and our Virtue will be perfected, for there will be no Absence. Before you stand the Priests of the gods. When your name is called, you will come to the Priest of your Chosen temple, and you will be accepted into that faith. But do not be consumed by one god, for all six Virtues are found in a virtuous person. Only those who accept all members of the Six will be welcomed into the Otherworld.”
They began calling names in order according to age, even though all there had been born in the Autumn of 8704 (three of which, Ayrim included, were born on the eighth of Osilar), and the children came unto the Priests in turn. Approached in this manner, the Priest would tie a colored belt upon the child, and write his name into the book. Then the Chooser stepped behind the Priest. When the Choosing was over, the Priest would lead his new members to his Temple for a short welcome and prayer, and then t
hey would be released.
Many that day took the white belt of Serren, for Father Josite was quite popular, even amongst those he had embarrassed with his questions. The others gained members about equally, except for Tarite, of course, yet still a handful of children acquired a black belt, probably because their parents belonged to that temple or because they thought themselves rebels of some sort. The parents were more often than not the cause of most of the Choices made that day, and not a true exploration of the gods themselves. Only a few children each year would go to a different faith than the one embraced by their parents.
“Ayrim Iylin,” said the Priest of Tianon, and Ayrim stepped forward. His breath was caught in him, and he wondered if he should change his Choice. But no, he had gained an understanding of himself in the night, and he knew that he had found his place.
To the Priest he went, and upon him was tied a blue belt. In that moment, like Gerill Hyte had done many years before, Ayrim Iylin became a Flaran.
Chapter 10
Ignar was the obvious choice for a warrior, as Ayrim desired to be, and yet so many of the great warriors had been followers of Flarow. Ayrim hadn’t understood before, since Flarow was often criticized for being complacent, and, on occasion, cowardly, and yet it was true.
In the Great War, some historical texts tell of a man called Jurhist, or sometimes Jirhest (for records from that era were few and sometimes contradictory), who led a group of Flaran warriors in the west. So great was this band that its members were able to maintain order in the Forgotten Kingdom for some time, even while the rest of the world erupted in chaos. It was only after the Great Wars that the swordsman was at last defeated by the ern while he was defending a city from their attacks.
And then during the time of the elected Kings came a swordsman of such skill that he was considered the greatest that ever lived, and still no one has bested his legend. He was named Cynus Branford, and his book, The Branford Method of Swordsmanship, was still employed by the best teachers of the art, including Gerill Hyte. It was he who created the methodic Exercises that dominated each of Ayrim’s classes, one hundred individual series of moves. So meticulous was the man that he was sometimes believed to have been a Tianist, and yet his other writings proved that the man was a devout follower of Flarow, who was supposed to be a coward.