by James T Wood
“I…” Peek struggled to find words before collapsing into a heap on the ground.
“I know,” Dray stood over him, “I was scared too. A part of me wishes I could have done the same thing. If anyone deserved it, it’s Vlek.”
Peek climbed to his knees and looked at the groveling, whimpering form of his maternal grandfather and perpetual torturer. Slowly he crawled off into the dim forest. Peek lifted his pipes halfway to his lips before Dray reached out and placed her hand over the open tops. Peek looked up at her.
“We can’t, Peek,” Dray dropped to her knees next to him and buried her head in his shoulder. Muffled sobs reached through the haze in his mind. Numbly he reached out for Dray and held her. Tears tracked down his face into her hair.
After their tears were spent, Dray looked up at Peek again, her eyes red and puffy, “We can’t do that. It’s too dangerous.”
“I know,” Peek’s throat nearly closed over the words, “I should have known. I…” he didn’t want Dray to know what had happened on the island. How he’d killed so many monks.
Dray took his face between her hands, “We can do this together. We can learn. That’s why the monks have training, right? So this kind of thing doesn’t happen. I think Plafius is about to get us accepted into the monastery. Once that happens we’ll be fine.”
Peek nodded. He hoped for her words to be true.
Peek didn’t approach the village after that, lest Vlek spot him and call him out. Every day he worried that his secret would be revealed, that Vlek would tell what he’d done. Peek had blasphemed, disobeyed, and generally messed up everything. He couldn’t tell Locambius for fear of ruining the chance for Dray and Plafius to join the monks. If Locambius knew that Peek had, once again, used the forbidden magic then the source of that temptation would be sent away forever. Dray and Plafius would be cast out. So Peek warred with himself, trying to resist the power he had felt when taking down Vlek and, every day, feeling like there was less of a reason to hold back. If his rejection was inevitable, at least he should be powerful in his isolation. Right?
During one of his silent battles at the listening place Peek heard a rustle on the path behind him. His heart quickened thinking that it was Dray. He turned to see not Dray, but the old, stout woman Duhlga. Peek turned back to the sea. He had no idea why Duhlga was here, but he knew that he didn’t want to talk to her. She would call out his blasphemy as quickly as Locambius and leave Peek with nothing, not even a home among the monks.
Duhlga sat on the bench so close to Peek that, if he hadn’t moved over at the last moment, she would have sat half on his leg. She settled in and adjusted her robe for a moment until it suited her. Then she stared out at the sea for a time and breathed in the rhythm that Rudi had taught Peek.
“How did it feel?” The question came without preamble. Peek looked over at her for any clue to her meaning, but she continued to stare out at the water.
“How did what feel?” Peek looked out to sea, hoping to be as unreadable as the carved stones.
“Revenge.”
Peek gasped, “How did you—”
“I saw Vlek’s face. It took little deduction for me to conclude that it was you,” the old woman turned to look at him pointedly, “Now that you have the power of the music, one such as Vlek has no hold over you.”
Peek was falling again, but with no one to catch him before he crashed against the rocks below, “Does anyone else—”
“No, young sir, no one else knows. I am the only one who knew that he beat you before,” a sigh escaped her lips as secrets had not, “so I’m the only one who would connect his battered state back to you.”
“What does everyone else think?” Peek stared at her with hope and dread warring within him.
Duhlga shrugged, “Vlek told a story of finding a Markay scout in the forest and beating him to death.”
“Doesn’t anyone question the lack of a body?”
“Vlek said it must have been eaten by wild animals,” a snort that might have been a laugh escaped her mouth, “So, how does it feel?”
Peek sat under the weight of that question. The feeling of revenge never entered his thoughts, just the change it wrought on his life. But now, with the knowledge that Vlek used his bruises to gain more respect, Peek felt the loss of something. The power that he’d been willing to exchange for a place among the monks seemed to evaporate and blow away.
“It feels empty,” his spine broke and he slouched low on the bench, “Like I didn’t actually accomplish anything.”
“Truth,” Duhlga invoked the word as if Peek had preached a sermon.
“So now what do I do? How can I fix it?” Hot tears filled Peek’s eyes.
“What needs fixing, young sir?” Duhlga reached out a hand and placed it on Peek’s knee.
“I…” The words stuck in Peek’s throat. How could he tell Duhlga about Dray or about their study of the stones or about his use of forbidden magic? Peek teetered at the precipice of throwing away everything just for a moment of solace through confession.
“What I mean is that people aren’t things to be fixed,” she patted at his knee to emphasize her points, “You can’t patch a hole and mend a relationship. Nor are people so fragile as mere things. Love is made of sterner stuff than stone or wood.”
“But if they knew what I’d done…” Peek stared at his feet.
“We are far more than the sum of our deeds, young sir. Have you ever seen draft horses at work?”
“Uh…”
“Trust me,” she smiled a wrinkled smile at him, “I have a point to speaking of horses. If you load a cart and hitch up one horse, it will pull more than its own weight, quite a feat. If you hitch two horses to the same cart they can pull not just twice the load, but several times more. Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know,” Peek shrugged his confusion as well as his consternation with these stories about horses.
Duhlga seemed to not notice Peek’s growing annoyance, “Hazard a guess, young sir.”
“Maybe because they are encouraged by each other?”
“Perhaps,” she turned and smiled again offering him a warm pat on the knee, “The horses can do more together than they can separately. Your deeds together are more than they are separately. There are horse masters who know precisely which teams to put together to do the most work. One horse might be lazy by itself, but with the proper partner it can perform admirably.”
Peek looked at her during the pause, hoping for something more concrete.
“Don’t think of your deeds as something to be undone,” Duhlga continued, “but rather as horses that need partners. Which deeds will pair well with those you’ve done? Which will pair poorly. Become the horse master of your deeds.”
“But I did something wrong,” Peek nearly confessed all.
“Right or wrong is in the past,” she gestured vaguely behind them, “not the future,” her hand pointed out toward the horizon, “You can do nothing to change the past, but everything to affect the future.”
“So I should just forget about it?” Peek gripped the edge of the bench.
“No, young sir,” she shook her head softly, “you should not forget about it. Your past makes you who you are. If you forget about it you will cease to be unique.”
“But what if—”
“Asking such questions doesn’t usually help anything,” Duhlga interrupted him. “Rather, ask why.”
“What?”
“No, young sir, why,” she gave him a gentle elbow to the ribs and a playful wink, “Why did you take revenge on Vlek? Why did you play a forbidden song? Why are you hiding? Why is a much more important question than what.”
Peek panicked. How could she know all of his secrets?
“Fear not, young sir, I have no need or desire to share your plight with anyone else,” her arm slid around his shoulders, “Ask yourself, why I would do that.”
“But I disobeyed Locambius and played a forbidden song. Isn’t it your duty
as a monk to report me?”
“My duty is to The Melody, young sir, not to Locambius,” her gestures translated into various squeezes on his shoulder that matched the movement of her other hand, “I follow him, but I don’t always agree with him.”
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?” Peek stared hard at the closest carved stone as if it contained the answers he needed, “Isn’t that why he’s your leader, to tell you what to do?”
“A good leader shows the path by going before instead of driving people down it from behind.”
“Which is Locambius?” Peek looked into the aged face of the woman next to him; it’s lines and tracks had no more answers than the stone.
“That sounds more like a what question than a why question,” she stood before him and stretched her shrunken form, “Let me put it to you this way instead: If we all had the same thoughts, then we add nothing to the world. It is only through our differences that we become necessary.” Duhlga started back down the path.
“I’m not sure I understand,” Peek called after her.
“You will, in time. Think on it,” she passed around a bend in the path and out of sight before shouting back, “And breathe.”
Seventeen
Talib sat with his eyes closed for several long moments before standing. He moved as if his bones were made of dried reeds. Once on his feet Talib addressed the other disciples in an urgent, quiet voice.
“Disciples of Eytskaim, this girl,” she cleared her throat at his feet, “Darrah, requests that you share what you have learned about the source of wisdom and power from your time at the Pool of Eytskaim. For my sake, please humor her and come forth with your knowledge.”
He sat and faced Darrah again.
“Let us see if you even comprehend what is said, girl.”
Darrah got up and moved beside Talib. She sat next to him and, as she settled into place, dug a sharp elbow into his ribs.
The first disciple stepped forward and said, “I have learned that wisdom does not come from the fruit of the tree, nor from its fermented juice.”
Another said, “I have learned that swimming in the pool is not the source of wisdom.”
Still another said, “I have learned that wisdom is not found inside the hut.”
“Rhythm drives the world: tides, days, seasons, breaths, and heartbeats.” Nemesus of Selsde
T
he path from the listening place back to the village grew shorter as Peek walked it. He hoped that it would extend forever so he could avoid the conversation that awaited him, or rather, conversations. Somehow Peek needed to explain to Locambius what — no why he had played forbidden music. The wretchedly beautiful Duhlga left him no choice. Her tender words seared Peek’s mind and wouldn’t stop. Vlek’s best manipulations were never so effective as Duhlga’s compassion.
After she left, Peek stayed at the listening place for a long time. He heard the forbidden songs and the elemental songs. Neither lacked beauty or power. So what was the difference? Peek couldn’t understand why one was permissible and the other forbidden. But then he looked back from the water to the path behind and saw the bare earth where Vlek had collapsed coughing and bleeding. His thrashing on the ground left long marks in the fallen leaves and needles exposing the dark soil beneath, they gaped at Peek like cuts that refused to heal. They reminded Peek of the dead and dying monks on the island just moments after he tried to help. Their whimpering demise merged with the sounds of pain and defeat from Vlek in Peek’s mind.
Peek remembered the moment of release, just a few weeks before, when he had decided to die. Coughing blood into the dirt at Vlek’s feet, Peek knew it was over. He was ready to die; waiting for it. In a way he felt robbed by Vlek for leaving him to live, and without a mark on his face to bear witness to the violence.
Only Duhlga knew what Vlek had done to Peek that day. After Peek healed, when she spoke of forgiveness, Peek dismissed her words as those of a religion-addled old woman. What could she know of forgiveness? One who had lived her whole life in the shelter of a monastery had little need of forgiveness. But then Peek remembered the raiders and their slaughter of the monks, Duhlga’s friends. She never spoke of it; she never rebuked Peek for his callous dismissal of her loss. Her silent tears were rebuke enough.
Now Peek heard her counseling forgiveness again, through her silence. Somehow Peek was supposed to let go of the years Vlek had abused him. Somehow he was supposed to forget the times Vlek nearly killed him. Peek couldn’t see how that was possible. At least Duhlga didn’t need to look daily at the people who hurt her. The raiders were somewhere else, not here reminding her that fresh pain was always possible.
How could it have been wrong for Peek to defend himself? That question kept at him, like a mosquito in his ear. Vlek needed to be stopped. He needed to be changed. Something needed to happen and it appeared that no one else was willing to do it. So Peek did something about it. But why didn’t it help?
Vlek didn’t stop threatening, manipulating, or even hurting people after Peek’s outburst. He just found ways to do it without directly confronting Peek. During the night the half-stacked stone of some hut in the village would be torn down and the monks would have to start over again with Vlek yelling at them to make it sturdy and strong. None of the monks, not even Locambius, stood up to Vlek in any way. That part confused Peek most of all. How could they not see what he was doing and stop him?
Peek realized that he had to tell Locambius what had happened. For the sake of the village and the monks, Locambius had to know why Vlek was being so vindictive. But that meant telling Locambius about his use of forbidden magic too. Each step Peek took back toward the monastery felt like another step away from acceptance and belonging. He walked toward what he was about to lose because of his dalliance with vengeance.
Forced to confront his loss of it, Peek admitted how much he’d gained by becoming a part of the monastic order. For the first time in his life he was considered to be equal. Sure Cor loved him like a brother, but they both knew that Peek was the bastard foster child and Cor the beloved son. Peek also was given autonomy for the first time in his life. Not anarchic freedom with no rules or care, like some sort of wild animal, but the ability to choose for himself how he would approach each day as a part of a community. And that might be the most important thing that Peek had gained, community. The ephemeral notion that he was a part of something bigger than himself, doing something that mattered, with people who valued him.
Now it was all gone.
Now Peek had to walk up to Locambius and throw away everything. He wanted to stop. He tried to stop. Peek ordered his feet to turn around and run off into the forest. He willed himself to hide away until things were better. But Peek kept walking. The shackles of Duhlga held him fast. Peek couldn’t explain it to himself, but neither could he resist.
So when Peek arrived at the monastery and found Locambius talking with a group of monks, he didn’t interrupt. Peek stood there watching the animated gesticulations wondering what could so agitate the even-keeled old man. He looked worried, terrified even. Once again Peek tried to convince himself that he should hold his tongue. Locambius was obviously dealing with something far more important. But the bonds would not loose; the compulsion drove Peek forward even as he cursed it.
As Peek drew nearer he heard some of the conversation.
“…sighted around the island.” Peek didn’t know the name of the monk giving the report. She was in her middle years, tall with long gray-black hair pulled into a tight bun. Her thin body looked stretched, right up to her elongated face and high brows. Peek had seen her around the table, but her commanding presence intimidated him. She didn’t have the gregarious nature of Rudi, nor the grandmotherly love of Duhlga. If Peek knew what a mother should be like, he may have seen her as such a figure.
“An attacking force?” Locambius asked.
“No,” Bracius replied running his hand over his bald head, “It appears to be a scout ship. Small and fas
t.”
“What do you advise, Darella?” Locambius asked the tall woman.
“We must bring the villagers inside the monastery walls and keep watch on the ship,” she ticked off the list on her fingers, “If they come near, we will push them away with wind. If that fails, the village warriors will have to fight them. We are not in position to withstand a full attack yet. We cannot allow the scouts to send back news of our current fortifications. However,” she stood up just a little bit straighter and squared her shoulders, “we are well prepared. The villagers and the monks are ready. The surprises are in place. We will not fail.”
Locambius nodded and the group dispersed to their tasks.
“Young sir,” Locambius held his arms open to greet Peek, “it has been too long since we’ve spoken. How goes your training?”
Peek lost all nerve. Words would not come out of his gaping mouth.
The old monk saw Peek’s expression and dropped his arms. “Perhaps we should retire to my hut,” Locambius led Peek away. Inside the leader’s hut, he turned to Peek and asked, “What’s troubling you, young sir?”
The stones on the wall looked so much like those of Locambius’ hut on the island that Peek was immediately transported back there. If it weren’t for Peek, Locambius and his people would still be safe on the island, protected by the magic that Peek destroyed. Now Peek had to confess that he’d transgressed their laws yet again, this time knowingly. His brief moment of belonging was over.
“I…” all the moisture was gone from Peek’s mouth the moment he opened it to speak. Locambius handed him a skin filled with water and settled himself on the pallet next to Peek. He simply waited for Peek to regain his voice. The silence crushed Peek under its weight.