The Tears of Sisme

by Peter Hutchinson

  The tiny monk nodded his acknowledgement of the warning. Then his clear eyes rested full on Idressin’s face. “There is something here I do not understand. It is clear to me which of your companions is destined to be the Guardian, and yet it appears that they themselves do not know.”

  “It’s a precaution.”

  “You have brought the others and put their lives at risk just to confuse your enemies?”

  “Their lives are at risk anywhere in the world,” the tutor replied, “ For you the coming of the Talisman fills the whole future, for us it’s a beginning. In the years to come all my companions will have to play their part.” Idressin stressed the word ‘all’, but said no more.

  Neither spoke for several minutes. Then Dzar smiled. “I will admit you have aroused my curiosity, but I will press you no further. Secrets so deep can be a great burden.” Then he added, “ You have grown much, Fadeen, almost beyond my comprehension. I will not ask you how you found the Guardian-to-be and what part you are playing in bringing him to his destiny. Perhaps a tale I recall from Temmurta’s time will…”

  “It’s a tale best forgotten,” the tutor said quietly, “when our enemies penetrate even these walls.”

  There was another vibrant silence before the monk spoke again. “The unspoken tale has always filled my heart with wonder. I count the loss of the sacred flame a slight thing against the hope you have brought. Yet it is a perilous road you travel. How can you preserve the strength and serenity of your spirit when you involve yourself so much in the affairs of the world?”

  “Do you still believe,” Idressin countered, “ that you’re fulfilling your complete role in life by meditating here in tranquillity?”

  “What else is possible? To reach true peace takes great efforts of concentration without distraction. You know as well as I that every action has unnumbered consequences, all of them interacting and returning to affect us in some way. With what you have undertaken, you must already have aroused a formidable pressure of influences, all seeking to impose themselves on your attention and on your life. How can you not become more and more enmeshed by these random forces?"

  "Throw a stone into a still pond and the ripples look important. Toss it into the sea and it’s lost in the limitless motion of the waves."

  The old monk gave a little grunt. "Do not drown in your sea, my friend."

  "Fish do not drown," the tutor replied.

  The Master's lined face broke into a merry smile as he asked, "And the others, can they use the currents as readily as you?"

  "They’re learning." Idressin answered.

  **

  Caldar knew nothing of that talk. Now, miles away and days later, he snuggled down into his blankets, staring unseeing at the lattice of interwoven branches which was keeping the snow off their heads, his mind returning to other days and other scenes in that peaceful valley.

  He had been fascinated when he and Berin had come across Master Dzar seated deep in the woods. He was surrounded by an amazing assortment of birds. A fierce-eyed hawk perched proudly on his shoulder, ignoring the bright little rimwits and silverfinches which fluttered around and often settled on the still figure. Wood pigeons strutted and pecked in front of a sombre group of ravens who seemed content to sit and watch. The boys had stopped at the edge of the clearing, the birds paying them no attention. The monk was utterly motionless. An hour later, as if at a signal, the birds had flown away, until only the hawk and the ravens remained. Then the whole group of blue-black birds had stalked across and surrounded the seated figure, staring at him with bright unwinking eyes for a long five minutes. When they departed, the boys went also, leaving man and hawk as still and silent as ever.

  Dawn each day marked the start of half an hour of chanting. The deep sound came to them from the northern side of the monastery, which contained as Vizzik explained, the great hall where they held all their ceremonies. The visitors also woke sometimes to hear the chant at all hours of the night and they began to wonder when the brethren were able to sleep.

  Daylight hours seemed to be taken up with formal instruction or with working in the fields. From the first the boys noted the inward look on the faces of the monks weeding the vegetable fields or repairing the fences. They smiled wryly at each other, remembering the mental exercises Idressin had set them during their own apprenticeship in Norleng.

  Other aspects of the instruction had been more startling. One day they had been intrigued to observe a number of young brethren stepping one after another into the lake and disappearing under the surface. A few minutes later one of them surfaced and made his way gasping to the bank, where an older monk was on watch, calmly staring into the distance. Curiosity compelled them to approach, until to their amazement they could see through the clear green water the figures seated on the lake bed.

  They had come across novices holding out great stones at arm's length, and older monks apparently moving stones to and fro without touching them. And there were often large groups involved in some kind of ritual dances in the immense courtyard. These varied from slow graceful affairs performed in precise unison to incredibly swift intricate patterns, clearly demanding enormous concentration and stamina.

  "These exercises come from very old traditions, unchanged we’re told since Kramenti began,” Vizzik said in reply to their questions. “Most of them are intended to teach us about our own capabilities and also to increase them. People don't normally use a fraction of their natural powers, let alone those they can develop. Some things here are calculated to take us far beyond our normal limits, some are to do with rearranging our internal energies and refocusing them in an entirely new way."

  He smiled at the wide-eyed pair. "You should be here at our festivals. At midsummer the younger initiates walk barefoot across a bed of hot coals, and at winterturn they go up to one of the high mountain lakes and sit naked on the ice for a day and a night."

  Berin shuddered. "That's sheer cruelty. Was that Behenna's doing?"

  The jolly monk, who seemed to have expanded in all senses since Master Dzar's return, laughed aloud. "No one is harmed, Berin. One of the first things we learn here is how to transcend cold and heat. Even the Thousand Prayers was not Behenna's invention. That was a twisted version of an old ceremonial that a brother could choose to undertake voluntarily; it's said that the knife never drew blood if the monk's intent was pure. No one's dared to try it for so long that we were doubtful if the records of it were truth or legend, until Rasscu's intervention three days ago."

  "Vizzik," Caldar began slowly. "Master Dzar said that the aim of the Brotherhood is to keep true knowledge of the First Talisman alive." The monk nodded. "Is this what it's all about? Walking through fire? Staying underwater? Lifting impossible weights? I mean, they're extraordinary feats, but what's it for? You all stay here in Kramenti and gain the power to do these amazing things . . ." He broke off, searching for words. "It just seems a bit pointless."

  "So it might be, if that's all we were trying to do," the grey-robed brother replied equably. "True knowledge is not something easily gained, and one needs to be able to summon exceptional energy and concentration even to catch a glimpse of it. There are many here who will never achieve more than that, some in fact who don’t even attempt it."

  "Then why are they here? Why do they go through all this terrible discipline?"

  "Nearly all the novices come with strange ideas, fantasies about developing special powers, magic and so on.” Caldar had a sudden vision of himself in Suntoren plying the Tinker with questions about power. “It gives them the impetus,” the monk went on, “to start on this long hard road. And some never grow out of their dreams, they never understand the deeper purposes of the Brotherhood."

  "Doesn't anyone tell them they’re wasting their time?" Berin asked.

  "If their presence here is judged to be a mistake, they're sent back to the outside world. We place a block on their memories, so that they cannot remember Kramenti itself; otherwise they take with them whatever
they learned here. Of the rest who stay and genuinely strive for true knowledge, many will only be rewarded with crumbs, a few with more. But who is to be the judge of value here? Certainly to those who receive them each crumb is worth more than a lifetime of aimless existence."

  The boys were oddly impressed to hear their jovial guide speak with such obvious sincerity, and they promised themselves that they would view the brethren's activities with more understanding eyes.

  But it was still a peculiar place, however you looked at it, Caldar mused in his snow-covered shelter. His mind jumped back to the second day when he and Berin, armed with a list of questions, had tracked Idressin down, only to find that Rasscu had preceded them.

  “But it’s impossible,” the Tesserit was saying with uncharacteristic heat as the boys approached across the sunny courtyard. “The whole thing’s impossible. I tried in the desert and there were so many, on and on and on, it was pointless. So I guessed and I’ve been guessing ever since, and each time you say it’s the wrong answer. Of course it’s the wrong answer; how am I ever going to get it right? It nags at me night and day, even when I’m trying to forget it. I’m getting so I can’t sleep or have a rest or sit down to a meal without this damned question popping up. I don’t even believe there is an answer any more. How do you know what’s right?”

  “There’s an answer, Rass, a correct one. It’s a well-known old exercise.”

  “What is?” Caldar slipped in quickly as the youths sat down beside their friends.

  “Idressin’s had me counting the stars, I mean really counting them to tell how many there are.”

  “You said you wanted to learn,” the tutor countered mildly.

  “Learn how you hit that target in the dark, yes. Not waste time on impossible riddles.“ Rasscu’s voice conveyed his disgust.

  “In your case, Rass, you’ve little need to learn anything at this stage. You know most of what’s necessary already; it’s just a matter of rediscovering it.”

  “But this….”

  The tutor cut him off. “I’m coming to that. Tell me, how did you know about the knife?”

  “I just did. It was obvious, as soon as I saw it.”

  “Not to me, it wasn’t,” Berin interjected.

  “Nor to anyone else, only to you, Rass,” the tutor continued, “the one person who was open to it. This is what I was preparing you for, an unknown challenge which you had to be ready to meet without warning. ‘Counting the stars’ serves many purposes, though what you needed was very simple. Just think for a moment. It stopped you scrambling your brains in some girl’s arms every night, it overrode the painful memories which still scour your spirit every day, and it put you in front of a truly impossible problem. Once your attention was concentrated, directed away from your appetites and cares, the rest followed.”

  “Impossible?” Rasscu growled. “A truly impossible problem?”

  “An impossible problem which has an answer, Rass. Gnaw on solving it, not on failing.”

  When the Tesserit did not reply, Caldar could contain himself no longer. “Idressin, when you were talking to Master Dzar last night, you asked about those people called Terrechar, ‘our inheritors’ Master Dzar called them. He never mentioned them again, so how about you telling us instead? It sounds like something we ought to know about.”

  “F’Tetchi used the name in Tarkus, remember?” Berin put in. “Assassins?”

  “Count Dremsa’s killing was the talk of the campground there,” Rasscu added. “But it was all tall tales, no one really knew anything.”

  “Alright. It may have nothing to do with us, but a little more history won’t be wasted.” The tutor paused. “You remember Master Dzar talking about a time when the First Talisman was supreme, and then later everything went wrong when the Second and Third were given to men? That’s the Kramenti version of those early years, not the full story, but near enough. Well, just before everything fell to pieces, that was Temmurta’s reign, so far back I’m not going to try to say exactly how long ago. He was Guardian to the First Talisman at that time and with its guidance much of the world was united under his leadership. He had ordinary wars to fight at the start and an ordinary army to do it with. He also formed a band of special soldiers, a society of extraordinary men who risked their own lives for the ideals of peace, justice and compassion. Terrechi Sefaroden he called them, the Soldiers of Life and Death. It was a different kind of army which he hoped would make wars unnecessary. What you see around you here in Kramenti are their direct descendants.”

  “You mean the monks?” Berin’s astonishment was plain. “They aren’t taught to fight. Or are they?”

  “Every day,” came the unexpected reply. “You won’t meet opponents fiercer or more cunning than those inside yourself.”

  “I’m getting confused,” Caldar said. “Were these people soldiers or monks?”

  “Both. They learned many of the same things as the monks here: you have to understand the true meaning of peace within yourself before you can urge it on others. But the Terrechi were supremely trained fighting men as well. They had to be. They didn’t stay in a monastery like this; they were sent out into the world wherever there was trouble and they were expected to handle it, alone if necessary. So they often encountered violence and they had to know how to deal with that too, deal with it without breaking their own Rule. The Rule was to use only peaceful means: force was permitted only in self-defence.”

  “Sounds like a nice idea that was never going to work,” Rasscu commented.

  “It worked for a remarkably long time, thousands of years after the end of Temmurta’s reign. Then one of them, the most brilliant Terrech of his day, a man called Omsettin who’d risked his life countless times to save others, whose name was honoured and beloved by thousands throughout the world, faced a powerful adversary and made the wrong decision.

  He killed a man to prevent him from doing harm, a vicious young warlord whose cruelty was the chief reason for his quickly spreading influence. It was clear to Omsettin that a bloody future lay ahead of this monster and a lot of people would suffer. So after a great deal of heart-searching he penetrated the warlord’s heavily guarded castle alone and killed him, the first time he’d ever violated the Terrechi Rule.

  Did he feel any remorse? Because of his training, he would certainly have asked himself the question and it’s clear that the answer was no. He’d never need to do it again, so where was the harm? Of course the next occasion came along soon enough and this time it would have been easier to make the decision. Another clear-cut case where evil could be prevented. Then another. And another.

  Omsettin’s fame grew. He always worked unknown, like all Terrechi, but his name was quickly linked to the spectacular deaths of some very unpleasant people. The public were clamorously grateful. They didn’t know their benefactor’s face, but that just made his name resound all the louder.

  He began to be imitated by some of the younger Terrechi, who saw a new beginning for their society, more effective and less hampered by old traditions, while the senior among them showed their disapproval by declaring that Omsettin and his followers were no longer worthy of the Terrechi name. The response of the rebels was immediate. They formed their own society, which rose quickly to overshadow the original. No longer Terrechi Sefaroden, they called themselves the Terrechi Armen, the Soldiers of the Sword. In time they became known as the Terrecharmen, and now the Terrechar.

  After the separation it’s a bleak story. A few hundred years after Omsettin the Terrechar bore little trace of Temmurta’s high ideals, preserving only their abilities and their absolute secrecy. Killings were still ‘for the common good’, but they were done for reward. Eventually when the inevitable feud came with the original society, the Terrechar went out in packs to hunt down the Terrechi Sefaroden one by one until they had wiped them all out. Or so they thought.”

  “But there were five left alive,” Berin volunteered quietly. “The five Master Dzar talked about who started Kr
amenti.”

  Idressin nodded. “Well, at least someone’s been listening.”

  “And now these Terrechar are after us?” Rasscu queried, his open face grave for once. “What chance do we have against anonymous killers who wiped out a whole society of ‘supremely trained fighting men’?”

  “That was a very long time ago, Rass.”

  “Maybe they got better at it in the meantime.”

  “Maybe. Believe me, I don’t underrate them. They’re masters of deceit and they never give up. Once they’ve made an agreement to kill someone, they call it a bond, they’ll keep trying as long as they themselves are still alive. Officially they were wiped out some two hundred years ago when the Imperial army discovered their secret headquarters and overran it in an all-out assault. Since then assassins of all sorts have borrowed the Terrechar name for their own ends. But in the last few years proof’s been accumulating that the real Terrechar are back, as skilled and powerful as ever.”

  Caldar shivered, suddenly chilled at the implications of what Idressin had been saying. Even Kulkin had not tried to kill him. This was different. Direct, sudden and final, a threat which could hang over them unknown until it was too late. Even worse, a threat which might hang over them all their lives. He couldn’t fully grasp that; he just felt numb at the thought.

  “But what makes you think these people know about us?” Berin asked.

  “Nothing definite yet, Berin, but rumours are that they’re taking an unhealthy interest in the Talisman and its Guardians, even the harmless loony kind that pop up from time to time all over the Empire. If by some accident they pick up our traces, it could mean real trouble.”

  They would have pursued the disturbing subject further, but at that moment they had been accosted by a smiling monk who asked them to go to Master Dzar's room. How different it was, Caldar thought, from their summoning a few days ago. The atmosphere of brooding fear, which had pervaded the whole place before, had vanished like mist in the morning sun. The Master's room was completely bare except for a carpet, which they suspected had been brought in for the sake of his visitors.