“DawnGlow is now Minister-Governor of Tincranny,” AscendantSun said. “As far as I know.”
He shifted the conversation to other matters and asked the others about their life in Pigsback. Since their arrival, they had left the monastery only to hunt game. Some, like TrueFriend, expressed boredom with their spartan existence, while others had become inured to it. A few even welcomed it as penance for past misdeeds.
A subtle remoteness tinged the Orstretcherists’ easy banter. Was it a symptom of lingering doubts about his story? No, it was most likely a product of his long absence. He had disappeared inexplicably from their company in the midst of a great crisis. While he was a captive of division in Tincranny, exile had molded them into a close-knit community. He returned as an outsider. Their generous welcome for their former leader was surprising, given the circumstances of his departure.
That was what he was—their former leader. NeverFear was their leader now. The deference once reserved for AscendantSun had transferred to his successor. That was the real price of his dereliction. NeverFear’s talk of passing the leadership back to AscendantSun was naive to the point of farce. AscendantSun should have not abandoned his friends. He should not have divided. Nothing good had come of it.
“You look ill,” StrongArm observed.
“I am tired,” AscendantSun said. “It has been a long trip.”
“Of course, of course, you should rest,” NeverFear said. “You can use my bed. I will make up a new one for myself.”
“AscendantSun can take mine,” TrueFriend said.
“Doing penance for your sins?” DayFlambeau Formosus scoffed.
“Something like that,” TrueFriend admitted.
AscendantSun made his good-nights, climbed into his bunk, and turned to the wall. The others’ whispered conversations kept him awake, but he pretended to sleep to put off the inquisitive and the concerned. As the Orstretcherists drifted to their beds and the low hum diminished to silence, sleep remained elusive. The events of the day swirled too fast in his mind.
The notion he was a sham continued to nag. Sebryn had once said sin was a prison. It was more like a tomb, every untruth another brick sealing AscendantSun inside. The only way to escape this sepulcher of lies was to confess all and unburden his conscience. Absolution would be worth the censure of his friends.
But was it worth the devastation of Pigsknuckle? NeverFear’s precious detachment to its fate was appalling. The Pigsknucklers could not defend themselves with principles, theory, and wishful thinking. They needed practical aid from the Orstretcherists if they were to survive the Harbinger’s genocidal campaign.
If AscendantSun admitted his sins to the Orstretcherists, they might forgive in time, but they would never forget. Whatever slim chance he had to influence them would disappear forever. NeverFear would keep them in splendid isolation in the monastery till an ocean of blood drowned it. Convincing the Orstretcherists of the wrongness of such fatalistic pacifism was more important than easing AscendantSun’s personal torments.
If he failed to move his comrades to action, he would return to Pigsknuckle alone and do whatever he could to help the villagers. It was likely to prove a futile gesture against such overwhelming odds, but at least he might die with some honor. His division had been an act of cowardice. He could no longer live in its shadow. Endurance of his lineage meant nothing, if spinelessness was its means. Contentment overcame him, the racing of his thoughts slowed to a saunter, and a soporific serenity wrapped around him, nursing him to sleep.
The next morning, the bustle of yawning Ors rising from their beds woke him. After AscendantSun washed in a basin of ice-cold water and dressed, he sought out NeverFear and reminded him of his promise to debate Garscap’s plea for help.
“After breakfast,” NeverFear promised. His voice hinted irritation. “It is best to deal with such matters on a full stomach.” He paused. “We should discuss the leadership question at the same time. That also needs to be settled by the group. It’s not mine to give away.”
“It’s not mine to take,” AscendantSun said. “I said as much yesterday, if you remember.”
NeverFear took a deep breath. An orange tint brightened his cheeks. His eyes shied from AscendantSun’s gaze. “I will be asking the group to endorse me as their leader. We all owe you a great deal, but we have reached a fork in the road. You beckon us in one direction. Someone must champion the other.”
AscendantSun smiled at his prescience. “That is your right. Of course, neither of us might be chosen. A third candidate may emerge.”
“Of course. TrueFriend might put himself forward, or DayFlambeau, or even NoonBlest Libamen.”
The bell for morning prayers tinkled through the corridors, cutting short their conversation.
The Orstretcherists gathered together, NeverFear at the center. AscendantSun expected them to join the saints in the chapel, but NeverFear explained that, as the chapel was too small to accommodate the entire population of the monastery, the Orstretcherists usually conducted their communal orisons in the dormitory.
“As AscendantSun is our guest, perhaps he would like to lead the prayers,” NeverFear suggested.
AscendantSun smiled to conceal his irritation over being described as an outsider. Anger made him dash through the prayers. Nobody appeared to be perturbed by his curt delivery. Only a few stifled yawns disturbed the others’ prayerful mood.
“Time for breakfast,” PureFaith chimed after AscendantSun finished.
AscendantSun hardly tasted the porridge that he shoveled into his mouth. He was focused on preparing his speech to the Orstretcherists. When NeverFear demanded the Orstretcherists' attention, it was like waking from a dream.
“Our friend AscendantSun Auctor has something he wants to discuss with us. Perhaps, AscendantSun, you wish to elaborate.”
By accident or design, NeverFear had out-maneuvered him by making him speak first. Any attempt to quibble would be viewed as churlish by the others.
As the Orstretcherists sat on beds around him, AscendantSun cleared his throat and began. “My friends, the Politician of Pigsknuckle has begged for our aid against the invaders who threaten to swat his little community out of existence. How can we refuse him? NeverFear already gave me a reason. He says we came here to live peaceably, and he is right. We did not come here to kill our own lineagemen or friends. Yet those same lineagemen and friends now threaten to massacre both Pigsknuckle and this monastery. Don’t imagine that they would spare any of us, either, if they caught us.”
“They would never kill us,” NoonBlest insisted, shaking his head. “Unless we gave them cause.”
“If they posed no threat to us, why did we flee Tincranny?” AscendantSun countered. “More than a desire for peaceful living brought us here. We feared for our lives. The Consensus wanted to arrest us for heresy.”
“Arrest is one thing. Killing is another,” NoonBlest muttered.
AscendantSun fumed at the Or’s willful ignorance. “It’s easy to say that while perched atop this lofty mountain, for the moment safely beyond the reach of the Harbinger’s murderous onslaught. The legionaries’ actions in Cliffringden were murder, pure and simple. Does anyone dispute that?”
He paused, letting the silence answer. The truth could not be denied.
He continued, his confidence growing. “I cannot accept NeverFear’s argument that cowardice is a requisite of our adopted religion; that all we can do is pray and dither while legions butcher our coreligionists. If Mixies raided a nursery, all of us would bear arms to defend it without hesitation. How can we refuse to do the same for the children of Pigsknuckle? Are their lives less valuable than ours? Are they inferior because of their fleeting nature?”
Every Or attempted to speak at once. Their words were incomprehensible, but their yelling amply communicated their contempt for AscendantSun’s insinuation. It took some time for NeverFear to diminish them to simmering indignation. AscendantSun’s own words were turning them against him.
&n
bsp; “Perhaps you should apologize for your remark,” NeverFear said. His tone made clear that it was more than a suggestion.
AscendantSun raised his open hands in a gesture of apology. “I beg your forgiveness if my words cause offense. Passion goads me to speak so hotly. I’m frightened that my talent for oratory is too poor to dissuade you from the course on which you seem intent. If I question your empathy for our fellow Stretchers, I do so because I am painfully aware of the shortcomings in my own compassion for them.”
Lowering his arms, he pressed one hand to his chest. “Intellectually, I consider Mixies to be our equals, but my unfettered instincts would cry otherwise. However hard I try, I cannot escape these wayward impulses, the product of prejudices accumulated over many life times.”
As he spoke, his gaze roamed the room, demanding all eyes it met to accept his sincerity.
“Remember, I was once MixyBane,” he said. “Back then, my hatred of Mixies rivaled the Harbinger’s. My lineage sacrificed many lives to defend Gleam from them. When some ill-tempered Light tore down its defenses, I was one of the last to accept its abandonment.”
“I remember,” TrueFriend said. “I was one of those who dragged you from its ruins.”
AscendantSun nodded. “Much more than any love for Gleam, I was motivated by my hatred of Mixies. Their victory appalled me. I ordered that the city be torched so only embers remained for them to scavenge. It took a long time for that hatred to cool.”
Some of his audience nodded. Others looked pensive, sad. The floorboards creaked as, behind AscendantSun, NeverFear shifted his position slightly. NoonBlest crossed his arms and deepened his scowl.
“After the massacre at Tincranny, I tentatively reached out to my enemies in hope of negotiating a peaceful co-existence,” AscendantSun said. “I sought it on my terms. I made little effort to understand Stretchers till I realized my efforts were doomed unless I did. Had I known I might repudiate the Golden Light and embrace the Forelight as my deity, I would have been horrified. Initially, I pretended to honor the Forelight to ingratiate myself with his followers. Later, as I became drawn to Stretcherism, I feigned my pretense. It took me a long while to admit my conversion was genuine, even to myself. I became the first Orstretcherist.”
“We’ve all heard this before,” NoonBlest said. “We’ve all lived some version of it. I fail to see the point you are trying to make.”
AscendantSun ignored the interruption. “You perhaps imagine my dedication to the Forelight is implacable, that my relationship with our Mixy friends is entirely comfortable; that my only challenges are the theological conundrums Saint Sebryn and I have struggled to solve. My devotion to the Forelight is a somewhat brief period in a much longer existence. I retain residual biases. I struggle with them every day, tearing them from my heart like rude weeds.”
TrueFriend admitted to similar misgivings. Reticent at first, then with increasing frankness, the others took the opportunity to share their doubts and fears.
“Saint Sebryn is aware of our method of propagation, and he heartily approves of it,” PureFaith said. “He says it makes us immune to the sins of the flesh. But supposing he is wrong. When we fatten up for division, are we not indulging in a form of gluttony? If that is so, how can we divide without sin?”
“I have lived a long time,” StrongArm said, bowing his head. “I have committed many sins in the name of Aurelian and later Gleam and Tincranny. Can the Forelight forgive so much? Saint Sebryn says so. But I can’t even forgive myself.”
Even NoonBlest chose to voice his doubts. “I find some of the Stretchers’ beliefs difficult to accept. For example, they claim this mountain was a giant pig petrified by Saint Odran. I was on the first expedition through this region, before the Stretchers settled here. The mountain was already here.”
“The saints suspect the story is apocryphal,” NeverFear said.
“But they permit the villagers to believe it. By their silence, they give it credence. What else are the saints allowing us to believe that they themselves have no faith in? What do they believe that they choose not to share with us?”
Blushing orange, DayFlambeau said, “I sometimes wonder...not often, just sometimes...I wonder what we would do if Aurelian returned.”
TrueFriend broke the stunned silence: “Beg for forgiveness.”
Nervous laughter filled the room as if everyone had been tickled at once. DayFlambeau had touched on everyone’s greatest fear.
AscendantSun waited for the others to sober before continuing. “The wrong done by our inaction to Pigsknuckle is plain. The harm to our own people is perhaps less obvious but just as grave. Very soon, they will forsake their unrequited attachment to a dead god. We must all believe that this will come to pass. Otherwise, why would we be here? When it does, when their delusions shatter and fall away, they will find blood on their hands that no number of divisions can wash clean. Past crimes torment us all. Imagine if our whole race suffered that crushing guilt. It would be the end of our race.”
“Why should it?” DayFlambeau asked. “The pangs of conscience of which you speak have killed none of us.”
“But the Forelight blesses us with the strength to bear our shame,” AscendantSun said. “He gives us hope.”
DayFlambeau bowed his head.
“When Aurelian died, we were plunged into darkness,” AscendantSun said. “But the Harbinger’s rise to power has inflicted on our people a more terrible blindness. Dazzled by his promises of Aurelian’s second coming, they cannot see the terrible abyss that he has opened before them. By the time he is exposed as a charlatan, our people will have plummeted down it. What will sustain them when they have no faith in either their god’s return or their own innate goodness?”
As he spoke, his gaze drifted across his audience, challenging and seeking understanding in equal measure. “We can save our people from this calamity. Our example can be a beacon to guide them from that despairful darkness. We can inspire a new hope in our race when all other has been snuffed out. All that is needed is for our actions to match our words. By joining the war on the Stretchers’ side, our bravery can save two peoples. Let the world bear witness that we did not abandon our coreligionists at their time of greatest need, that we resisted the murderous excess of the Harbinger with more than platitudes.”
He lowered his head and his voice. “Whatever we decide here and now, the unfolding catastrophe will eventually force us to act, though, by that stage, our intervention will be too late. Only if we act now, can we make a real difference.”
He looked up and pressed one hand to his chest. He had saved his most powerful argument, the most emotional one, for last. “My life is precious to me. I am all that remains of four divisions.” It could be true. His twin might be already dead. “I am the single thread by which the continuation of my personal lineage now hangs. All that it was and all it could become lives or dies with me. I stand here before you and advocate a course that puts my life and my lineage in jeopardy, because I know that, whatever the personal risk, it is the right course. Ultimately, it is the only one we have.”
His final sentence lingered in the mesmerized silence.
He turned to NeverFear. “I assume you intend to make a rebuttal argument.”
NeverFear admitted defeat with a silent shake of his head.
NoonBlest leapt to his feet. “Well, I’m not convinced. AscendantSun’s persuasiveness is what forced us into exile in the first place. Are we yet again to yield to it unchallenged?”
“The Harbinger was responsible for our exile. Not me,” AscendantSun retorted.
NoonBlest sneered. “Ah yes, the Harbinger and AscendantSun—two sides of the same coin.”
“You reject Stretcherism?” AscendantSun asked.
NoonBlest shook his head. “It is typical of you to consider yourself and Stretcherism the same. If our religion has any merit, it must be bigger than any one of us. Even you. You are no more a prophet than the Harbinger.”
A few of the O
rstretcherists gasped.
What was NoonBlest doing here anyway? Since the first Auctor met the first Lumen in the deserts of Gules, the two lineages had never got along. Did NoonBlest regard Orstretcherism as merely another opportunity to pursue their ancient rivalry?
AscendantSun’s eyes narrowed. It was best to stay calm. “I never said I was a prophet. Have you a better argument than insults?”
“The saints oppose us entering this war, but of course, AscendantSun Auctor knows better.”
“Their concern is with the next world. My concern is this one.” AscendantSun retorted.
“The saints don’t trust Garscap Torp,” NoonBlest said. “Why should we?”
A few supportive murmurs rippled through the gathering.
“So we should let a village be massacred on account of one man?” AscendantSun challenged.
NoonBlest growled as he sat down.
“Let’s vote,” NeverFear suggested. “First, those in favor of AscendantSun’s proposal.”
AscendantSun exulted as NoonBlest and a small number of other objectors became lost in a forest of raised hands supporting his motion.
The same hands stretched into the air to endorse NeverFear’s nomination of AscendantSun as the group’s leader. AscendantSun took careful note of the dissenters—NoonBlest, DayFlambeau, and their smattering of sympathizers. It was a warning to not try his comrades’ loyalty and patience so much in the future. During NeverFear’s tenure, his democratic inclinations had infected the group. Once, AscendantSun’s word had been enough for his followers. Now, it needed the legitimacy of a vote. If NeverFear had not been swayed by his arguments, the vote would have been much closer. AscendantSun might even have lost. Any future threat to his leadership would likely coalesce around NeverFear.
“I want to thank you for your support,” AscendantSun said. “I also must commend NeverFear Cor for his hard work and dedication over the past year. Leadership is never easy, particularly in trying times such as these. As my first act as leader, I am appointing NeverFear as my deputy.”
A Bright Power Rising Page 22