by Paul Lytle
So many there were, and yet the one that convinced Ayrim had been Gerill Hyte himself, the Thane of Baron Dravor Verios. Never did Master Gerill shirk his responsibility, and never did he cower in the face of battle. Yes, warfare frightened him, as it frightened even the most loyal Ignists, but Gerill fought wherever battle was needed, and never did he even consider turning away for fear. He was the most brave man Ayrim knew. And a Flaran this brave man was.
And so, the night before the Choosing, when Ayrim thought over the Virtues and decided that he wanted all more or less equally, he began to understand why such brave men might worship Flarow. A coward Flarow was on occasion, and sometimes too worried over herself to act when she was needed, and yet she was dedicated in improving herself. Ayrim understood, for the first time in his life, what that meant. He wanted all Virtues because he wanted to make himself perfect, and he would work every moment of his life to strive for that perfection. It would not be possible in this life, of course, and yet it would be his goal.
Such was a true follower of Flarow – ever concerned about his own actions and abilities, ever concerned with his own Virtue. Tarists might work hard also, but for Flarans it was different. For Flarans it was ever an internal battle to overcome Vice and imperfection, to become as near to fully virtuous as a man might in this world.
Ayrim realized that he had but one choice that Sun Day. Only one goddess could understand the demands he made upon himself.
And thus did he make his choice.
Chapter 11
The young Priest who welcomed the new Flarans in the courtyard of the Temple was Reman Nigh, a stout man with a black mustache that covered his mouth and half his chin, and a bush of hair that began behind a large forehead. He seemed already middle-aged, and yet he was only halfway through his twenties. He was third of the three Priests in the Temple, newly come to the town only a few months before. Some of the catechism had he taught, but only to substitute for teachers with other engagements, and so none of the boys there knew the man well.
“Only once is it permitted,” he was saying, “to drink of Flarow’s fountains.” The fountains he spoke of flanked the path that led through the courtyard and to the door. Each pool was rectangular, and each had a statue of Flarow rising from the water. The actual water of the fountain was leaning toward green rather than blue, and Ayrim cringed at the thought of taking a sip, but it probably wouldn’t kill him. Hopefully. Maybe. The Priest continued as he dipped a wooden bowl under the surface. The water more slithered than flowed into it. “That is when we first come to Flarow. Come to me and taste of her water.”
They came in turn, each drinking from the bowl. It didn’t taste terrible, Ayrim thought, but it certainly had a slimy quality. He was almost thankful for the water, much as that boy who had leapt into the pool must have been, for Flarow’s Temple was exactly opposite in the town from Tianon’s, and nearly a half hour they had walked to get there. Besides, it was only this once, so the young man stayed quiet. Many others didn’t, and they gagged dramatically. Nigh didn’t seem to notice. Either that or he simply ignored the demonstrations, since likely a great many did it. Boys of that age almost never gave a ceremony the proper respect or contemplation. He said, “At tomorrow’s prayer service will you be welcomed before the congregation. Today we have no ceremony, for already have you made your Choice, and already have you taken on the blue of Flarow. We will give you a copy of the Book of the Sea, our primary Text. In catechism you should have already received the Book of the Six, which all gods share. Use them well. Our library is, of course, open to all of you, if you have interest in other texts, histories, or commentaries. I can answer your questions now, if you have any. If you have questions in the future, the Priests are here during the daylight hours, and we always welcome your visits.”
There were few questions, and none of which Ayrim couldn’t already answer. He took the new book, one far thinner than the Book of the Six. This one was unadorned on the cover except for the symbol of the mirror, which was to remind Flarans to look critically upon themselves. And then the children were dismissed.
Ayrim found Gerill waiting outside the courtyard for him. The Thane was grinning broadly, and he said, “I thought I would find you here.”
“No one told you I had picked Flarow?”
“None,” Gerill shrugged.
“How did you know?”
“When I saw you practicing outside last night, I knew you would pick her. She is a demanding goddess, and so are you demanding of yourself.”
“Are you mad?”
“Whatever for?”
“You did not want me to pick her because you are a Flaran.”
“Did you pick her for that reason?”
“No.”
“I didn’t believe that you did. You picked her through Tianon, just as you are meant to. I am greatly pleased, Ayrim, that you are following in my footsteps. But I am more pleased that you picked this path yourself, and not because I traveled it first.
“And it will be easier that we both worship together,” continued the Thane. “We will come to Prayers together, and so too may we study and worship.”
Ayrim smiled. He hadn’t yet thought of reading his new Text with Hyte, and yet he was very glad he would have someone near to him to help. Gerill was right: Flarow would be very demanding. The boy, the young man, was looking forward to every second of the journey.
Chapter 12
The Temple of Flarow was actually part of Saparen’s wall, and the stone base to the wooden building dipped down into the Tarrit Lake. A long pier stretched out into the water, and a ramp led up from the pier into the city just beside the Temple. This second gate into the town, guarded by thick wooden doors, iron portcullis, and a full complement of soldiers, was maintained by the Baron, and yet the image of Flarow was carved into its frame, a reminder to traders and sailors that it is at Flarow’s whim that man is allowed to travel by the sea at all. It was also placed there in a plea to the goddess, for when the port entrance was built a century before, the man who ruled the city then worried that a second gate would too much weaken his city, and so he ordered the image carved to remind Flarow that the gate was built for her followers (as sailors, predictably, followed her almost exclusively), and that she should help protect the city from invaders.
Before becoming a follower of Flarow, Ayrim had never been upon the pier, for unless a man was a trader or sailor, there was rarely need. And yet, once he had discovered the spot while visiting the Temple, he would often return there in the following years, for the misty lake gave him a sense of peace. He would descend the ramp to the wooden walkway before long hours of study in the Temple’s library, and there he would engage in his swordplay exercises. The gate was not often busy (the Tarmine was too shallow for heavy trade), and so few were around to bother him. It was upon that pier that Ayrim Iylin worked himself to exhaustion nearly every day, and upon that pier that he became a master swordsman. By the age of sixteen, none of the spearmen could best him, and neither could half of the Thanes, and not yet had Ayrim fully grown.
After sixteen years of life, Ayrim was still somewhat shorter than Gerill, though Hyte himself was taller than the average man. Iylin was still thin, not yet acquiring the weight to keep up with his quick growth, and yet his chest and arms were well formed. Not yet had he grown a beard, but his skin was dark and worn from his hours of practice upon a windy dock. His square face seemed one of a man five or tens years older, even without a beard, and his light hair, sprinkled with darker hairs, hung to his shoulders, only wavering slightly toward the bottom.
“I see you from my window every morning,” said a voice behind Ayrim. Father Nigh might have thought he was sneaking up on the warrior, but he was wrong. Iylin knew of the Priest’s presence from the beginning, but he wanted to get through the seventy-second series from Branford’s book, and he wouldn’t be interrupted by anything that wasn’t an enemy.
&nbs
p; “You must not look outside in the afternoons,” Ayrim said perhaps less respectfully than he intended, twisting his blade around quickly. It flashed in the damp morning upon the light of the rising sun, but by the time the light appeared, the sword beneath it was gone, pulled back and thrust forward again, and the blade wavered at its speed. He was starting to become tired, and his short answer betrayed that, though he had meant nothing by it. He liked Nigh enough, though not overly. The Priest was not terribly personable.
“Um, no,” Nigh replied, puzzled by the young man’s response. “I am usually in the prayer room in the afternoon.”
“Yes,” Ayrim said without hesitation, either in his voice or in his sword. “I know the schedule of the Priests.”
“I am sure that you do. You are in our library more than any other parishioner.”
“True enough, but I am usually in Tianon’s library more than their parishioners as well.” Ayrim looked at the Priest warily. He was trying to get at something, but the young man didn’t appreciate the approach much. He much preferred directness.
“Ah, yes,” Reman Nigh muttered. “Your dedication is quite impressive. But your dedication, some of us feel, may be spread too thin. You practice in violence, for example.”
Even this did not cause Ayrim to stumble, though the statement surprised him. He continued the Exercise, but asked, “I seek to better myself in all ways. This discipline is important for our battles against the ern.”
“Is that it, or are you training to bring war upon Fahlin?”
Exercise Seventy-Two came to an end, and Ayrim closed his eyes, breathing the air deeply. These more advanced series were tiring, but they built up his endurance as much as his skill. He sheathed his sword and wiped his face off with his tunic. “The king’s war is nearly over. We control all three castles of the Last Stand, and Fahlin’s forces have all but withdrawn. By the time I am of age to be sent to war, the war will be done. I do not plan to run off and volunteer when I am more needed here.”
“Will King Trosalan stop at the Last Stand?”
Ayrim shrugged. “It is not for me to say.” Neither the Baron nor the King would allow him to go anyway. No one born on Osilar eighth of 8704 was allowed in the war, since the war was being waged, in part, to protect those very men.
The Priest placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder, saying, “With your knowledge and faith, you could become a Priest of a high Order. Perhaps a Bishop. You know the Texts better than almost anyone in this town. You know history better than the Baron himself. But you spend your time with that weapon.”
“I have not abandoned my studies, Father,” was Ayrim’s response. “Nor will I. As you have said, I study more than almost anyone in our Temple, and I do not believe you would say that my study of our faith has been deficient. If I have been lax there, please let me know, and I will correct it. If Flarow wants me as a Priest, so will I become. If she wants me as a Thane, there I will go as well. Until my path is laid before me, though, I will remain in the libraries and here on the pier equally.”
Nigh nodded, then asked, “You will come to the prayer service now?”
“Of course.”
“Good, I will walk with you.” They walked toward the gate, and Reman Nigh said, “I heard that you were one of the ones born on the day of the Prophets’ deaths.”
“Yes, but two tests proved me incapable.”
“I feared as much, but hoped that I had been misinformed. I suppose then that you’ve heard about last night?”
“No, I have spoken to no one but you today.”
The Priest stopped, surprised. “I thought for sure that your father would have told you.”
Ayrim looked back queerly. “I usually rise before my father these days. He has been patrolling with the evening guard, and doesn’t get in ’til late. Why? What news is there?”
“It was one of the others – the ones born the same day that you were. One of them was murdered last night.”
Chapter 13
After Prayers, Ayrim went to the Tianon’s Den and to the library there. Though the building was separate from the Temple, it was constructed by the Tianist clergy, and their students kept watch over the building. Like all six of the town’s libraries, it was open to anyone, yet few made use of it save Tianists. Of course, that few included Ayrim Iylin.
Most of its books had burned fifteen years before, but the enormous room had since been filled well with texts and manuscripts, though many were new, since so many of those burned books were irreplaceable. The ones they had would do, for Ayrim had read every book on the Prophets that the other libraries boasted, and only Tianon’s had more accounts and more histories. The murder had renewed the boy’s interest in the group, and it renewed his concern as well.
He could not remember the battle that had killed his father; he had been too young. Since then, the ern had been few and scattered. There were rumors of bandits in the taverns, sure, but few ern were getting by the Last Stand since the war against Fahlin started. The danger of the Invokers of Vid had always been a threat of another age or another place, only real in stories told or sung by bards in the taverns. Still, he had always been intrigued by the history of the Wizards and the theories of the strengthening Absence. Most historians dismissed the idea of ern using Magic as exaggeration, and yet many others had interesting ideas, the most prevalent being that the Ending Battle between the gods and the Absence was beginning. But Ayrim found something different in his own studies. Vid’s surge in power was part of a greater trend, not a sudden shift. The Absence, he realized, had been growing in strength since the Great War, and the gods had been getting weaker since that time as well.
It was only during the Kamuna Dynasty, less than twenty-five hundred years before, that the Absence first birthed a Prophet, or at least that was the first time one was recognized as such. Before then there were only six Wizards. At first, the Prophet of the Absence could only unravel small things, like the flame upon a candle or produce a small crack in the ground. The Tower invited him into their home almost as a joke, but also to prove their dominance over the Absence.
But that had been long ago, and each successive Prophet of the Absence had gained in strength. By the time Ayrim was born, the Absence Prophet, Draughton Xyn, was the strongest by far of the seven, able to undo even Life and Death given enough time and concentration. This expansion in power paralleled the growth of the ern population, creatures thought to be created by Vid.
Meanwhile, the alliance between the Tower and the Kings was growing ever weaker, and no longer were the six Prophets of the gods protectors of humanity, they were more researchers. Actually, in the recent past, they had been reduced to travelers as new Prophets were more and more difficult to find. Draughton Xyn was a famous example, for he was a decade aged before they found him, but the Absence Prophet before him was lost even longer. For more than forty years did they search, and when they found him, they realized that at least one Prophet had to have died in those two score years, for the new Prophet of the Absence was twelve in age instead of forty. That one lived to be sixty, and then a dozen years after his death was Draughton Xyn found. Draughton himself was more than forty when Ayrim was sixteen.
And then there was the example of the Prophets of the Flame and of the Wind. Two Wizards, dead on the same day sixteen years before, and neither successor had been found. For sixteen years had the five remaining Mages searched, but for naught. Ayrim frowned. Was this the future of the Tower, to merely scour the land for Prophets they would never find? The murder the night before suggested to Ayrim that not even the followers of the Absence had found the Prophets, or at least one remained missing, for why still search otherwise?
Or was the time of the Prophets coming to an end? There had been a definite decline in their power since the time that they themselves ruled the kingdoms, and, if that trend continued, there would come a time when the Magic was too weak to even be noticed
within someone.
If that was the case, that the Prophets were becoming too feeble to matter any longer, Ayrim could think of two causes. Either the Ending Battle was coming, and the gods were conserving their power to use against Vid, or the Absence was winning.
Chapter 14
Gerill Hyte had been told of the murder, for the Thanes were expected to enforce the laws within the city, and he had even gone to the body to examine it. The event made his stomach crawl, and he knew he would have to tell Ayrim about it sometime, though Father Nigh had informed the boy first. The Thane had assigned three spearmen to discretely follow his son, just in case. That much he had not told Ayrim, but he didn’t need to. Iylin knew when he was being followed, and he knew the reason. Those spearmen were known to the young swordsman, and so there was no confusion in him that they might be working for the Absence.
“Was it man or ern that did it?” asked the youth when his mentor came to him later that day. His guards had been with him several hours.
Gerill shook his head. “We don’t know yet. The man was strangled with rope, which both ern and men have been known to use. We have found no tracks of either sort, so we do not know. Three of those who share your birthday remain in the walls, including you. I have sent two spearmen and one archer with each. Tonight our home will be guarded, and it will remain that way until the mystery is solved.”
“I understand.” The words made an attempt at emotionlessness, but failed miserably.
Ayrim’s prayers that night were hard in coming, for constantly was the devout swordsman distracted. The only complete thought he was able to utter was, “Flarow watch over us,” and then his sentences would wither upon his tongue.