‘I have tried to be a good priest,’ said the tall man, with a sigh. ‘I have immersed myself in this world of prayer and kindness. I thought that, as time passed, I would come to understand it. Yet I do not. Last summer we risked our lives in the plague to help these townspeople. Two of the men whose lives we saved took part in the beating of Brother Labberan. One of the women whose child we brought back from the brink of death was baying for her husband to break Labberan’s face. They are scum.’
The abbot smiled. ‘How simple love would be, Younger Brother, if we only had to bestow it on those who deserved it. Yet what would it be worth? If you gave a poor man a silver coin then that would be a gift. If you expected him to pay you back, then that would make it a loan. We do not loan our love, Lantern. We give it freely.’
‘And what will be achieved if you let them kill you? Will that add one spark of love to the world?’
The abbot shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps not.’
They sat in silence for a few moments. ‘How did you know of the White Wolf?’ asked Lantern. ‘It is only in my dreams.’
‘How do you know it is a wolf,’ countered the abbot, ‘when you have never seen it?’
‘That does not answer my question.’
‘I have a gift, Lantern. A small gift. For example, as we sit here now I can see you, but I also see glimpses of your thoughts and memories. They flicker around you. Two young women — very beautiful — one with golden hair, the other dark. They are opposites; one is gentle and loving, the other fierce and passionate. I see a slender man, tall with dyed yellow hair and a womanly face.’ Cethelin closed his eyes. ‘I see a weary man, kneeling in a garden, tending plants. A good man. Not young.’ He sighed and looked at Lantern. ‘You knew these people?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you carry them in your heart.’
‘Always.’
‘Along with the White Wolf.’
‘It seems so.’
At that moment came the sound of the bell, heralding morning prayer.
The abbot rose.
‘We will talk again, Brother Lantern. May the Source bless you.’
‘And you, Elder Brother,’ answered Lantern, rising from his chair and bowing.
There was so much about the world that Braygan failed to comprehend.
People mystified him. How could men ga/e upon the wonders of the mountains, or the glories of the night sky, and not understand the pettiness of human ambition? Fearing death, as all men did, how could they so easily visit death upon others? Braygan could not stop thinking about the hanging bodies he had seen before the burning buildings. They had not merely been strung up by their necks. They had been beaten and tortured first. The young priest could not imagine how anyone could find pleasure in such deeds. And yet they surely had, for it was said there was much laughter in the crowd as the hapless victims were dragged to their places of execution.
The young priest sat at the bedside of Brother Labberan, spoonfeeding him vegetable broth. Occasionally he would stop and dab a napkin to Labberan’s mouth. The left side of the older priest’s face was swollen and numb, and the broth dribbled from his mouth to his chin.
‘Are you feeling a little stronger, Brother?’ asked Braygan.
‘A little,’ answered Labberan, his words slurred. Splints had been applied to both of his forearms, and his hands were also swollen and blue with bruises. There was an unhealthy sheen on the man’s thin face. Close to sixty years old Labberan was not strong, and the beating had been severe. Braygan saw a tear form, and slowly trickle down the old priest’s face.
‘Are you in pain still, Brother?’
Labberan shook his head. Braygan put aside the bowl of broth.
Labberan closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. The young priest rose silently from the bedside and left the small room. He took the broth bowl to the lower kitchens and cleaned it. Several other priests were there, preparing the midday meal. Brother Anager approached him.
‘How is he?’ asked the little man. ‘Did my broth sit well with him? It was always his favourite.’
‘He ate well, Anager. I am sure he liked it.’
Anager nodded and seemed relieved. Small and round-shouldered, he had a nervous tic that caused his head to twitch as he spoke. It was most disconcerting to Braygan. ‘It was the boys, you know,’ said Anager. ‘They hurt him the worst.’
‘The boys?’
‘His boys. From the church school.’
Braygan was nonplussed. Two days a week Labberan would travel in to the community hall, offering lessons in writing and arithmetic. He would also tell stories of the Source and His wonders. Teaching children was Labberan’s joy. ‘Our future lies with the young,’ he would say. ‘They are the foundations. Only through the young can we hope to eradicate hatred.’
‘What about his boys?’ asked Braygan.
‘After Labberan was beaten by the mob some of the children came to where he lay and kicked him. You think it is over now, Brother Braygan?’
‘Yes. Yes, I think so. Everything seems calmer.’
‘It is these Arbiters, you know,’ said Anager. ‘They stir up trouble. Is it true that Brother Lantern thrashed one of them?’
‘He did not thrash anyone. The man was clumsy and fell badly.’
‘It is said that there have been many killings in the capital,’ said Anager, blinking rapidly. He lowered his voice. ‘It is even said they might loose the beasts. What if they come here?’
‘Why would they allow the beasts to come here? The war is in the south and east.’
‘Yes. Yes, you are right. Of course you are. They won’t send beasts here.
I saw one, you know. I went to the Games earlier this year. Ghastly. Huge.
Four men went in against it. It killed them all. Horrible. Part bear, they said. Dreadful. A monstrosity. It is so wrong, Braygan. So wrong.’
Braygan agreed, and thought it best not to point out that priests were forbidden to watch blood sports.
He left the kitchens and made his way up to the lower hall and out into the vegetable gardens. Several of the brothers were working there. As Braygan arrived they asked after Brother Labberan. He told them he thought him a little better today, though a part of his mind considered that to be wishful thinking. Brother Labberan was a broken man in more ways than one. For an hour Braygan worked alongside them, planting tubers taken carefully from large brown sacks. Then he was summoned to the abbot’s study.
Braygan was nervous as he stood outside the door. He wondered which of his many errors had been pointed out to the abbot. He was supposed to have organized the mending of the chapel roof, but the new lead for the flashing had not arrived. Then there was the error with the dyes. It had not been his fault. The sack had split as he was adding the yellow. It should only have been two measures. More like ten had spilled into the vat. The result was a horrible, unusable orange colour, which had to be flushed away. It wouldn’t have happened had Brother Naslyn not borrowed the measuring jug.
Braygan tapped at the door, then entered. The abbot was sitting by a small fire. He bade Braygan take a seat. ‘Are you well, Younger Brother?’
he asked.
‘I am well, Elder Brother.’
‘Are you content?’
Braygan did not understand the question. ‘Content? Er… in what way?’
‘With your life here.’
‘Oh yes, Elder Brother. I love the life.’
‘What is it that you love about it, Braygan?’
‘To serve the Source and to… and to help people.’
‘Yes, that is why we are here,’ said the old man, looking at him keenly.
‘That is what we are expected to say. But what do you love about it?’
‘I feel safe here, Elder Brother. I feel this is where I belong.’