The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition) (125 page)

He did so as Huard carefully returned the disused wine from Prosper's cup into an overly large wine casket nearby. Prosper's voice slowed as he read from the letter. By the time he reached the listing of his demons, he was finding it unexpectedly hard to speak. When he lifted his gaze finally from Martin's words, he saw that Huard was sitting in the corner of the chamber upon some cushions, in the traditional manner of the tribe. At Huard's gesture, Prosper joined him there.
The priest asked, "Is what Martin writes true?"
Prosper discovered that his throat was clogged; he had to clear it before he could speak. "If you had asked me a week ago, I would have been hard pressed to understand how Martin could say such things of me."
"And now?"
"I would say that he has been more merciful to me than I deserve." Prosper stared down blankly at the letter, which he still held in his hand. The words had blurred, and he could see only the neat, beautiful hand of the City Priest. "He does not tell you that, at the time of the prisoner's trial, Martin made seven attempts to seek private audience with me, in order to warn me, under the lock of confession, that I was breaking my discipline. Nor does he tell you that, toward the end of my trial, I accused him of giving false witness."
"A remarkable statement, if Martin's reputation is true." Huard's voice was quiet.
"It is true." Prosper could feel a weight beginning to press upon his chest again. He took a deep breath. "Martin and I have disagreed on many matters since he became a priest. I have felt that he was far too indulgent with those under his care, sentencing them to discipline where cursing would have been appropriate. But one fact was shiningly clear from the moment he first walked through the doors of my training school: he is a person of absolute honesty. When I spoke the words that I did against him . . . When I saw the shock on the faces of the people attending the trial and saw the look of pity on Martin's face . . . It was then that I knew that his charge against me was true, and that I had allowed myself to be captured by demons. But truly, Huard, I do not remember the moment when I permitted the demons entrance; nor do I know best how I should go about ridding myself of them."
"Can you name your demons?"
Prosper stared harder at the letter. "Martin tries to."
"'Tries'? You do not believe that he succeeds?"
Prosper struggled with the answer, as a man struggles against the current of a stream. "Some of these demons I recognize – they have briefly tempted me over the years, and in the few cases where I have given in to the temptation, I have confessed my crime before the God, in the witness of my confessor. But other demons . . ." He pointed to one word in the letter. "Here Martin says that my native demon is judgment, and that I do not understand what I have done. Certainly it was proved at my trial that I had engaged in harsh and hasty judgment in two cases over the years, and I regret my crimes bitterly. But Martin's phrasing seems to suggest that I ought not to have made any judgment at all, and that is absurd. I am— I was the City Priest, and it was my duty to stand in judgment over those under my care."
Huard said nothing for a moment. He had picked up a feather from the ground as they spoke and was now using a meat-knife to sharpen the quill into a pen, to the exact same angle Prosper had once taught him. Prosper found the sight oddly comforting. His comfort vanished, though, as Huard asked, without looking up, "When our chieftain refused to welcome you initially – what was in your mind?"
Prosper tried to cast his mind back, and found that he was gripping his hands together in concentration. "Shock. I could not believe that he would turn upon me in such a manner, when I was of his tribe. Fear. I have been afflicted by the demon of fear for the past three days." He hesitated, then added honestly, "Anger. It seemed to me that he was acting in a manner ill-befitting his title, and that his behavior was likely to bring him punishment from the Mercy of all mercies."
Huard nodded, set the finished quill-pen carefully aside, and raised his gaze so that it was level with Prosper's. "And what thought did you give to our chieftain's pain?"
It was a blow as great as the chieftain had given him. For a moment Prosper could do nothing but try to catch his breath as he felt his body grow cold. "Oh, the God," he said in a strained voice. "Have I turned from the Mercy that far?"
"I fear so." Huard leaned back against the wall, his gaze remaining upon Prosper. "'If a man is struck – whether the man be spiritual or temporal – he must devote no thought to his own pain but only to the pain of the man who has struck him.' That was one of the wisest pieces of advice you ever gave to me and my fellow pupils, yet even as a boy I suspected that you were better at advising in this matter than at following your own advice. You will recall that your words say nothing about passing judgment over the man who has struck you."
"But I am spiritual— That is, I was a spiritual man, a priest. It was my duty—"
"Your duty." Huard's expression did not change, but his voice became suddenly harder than before. "Shall we discuss your duty to the God this afternoon, and how you have fulfilled it? You come here, with the blood of your exile mark still fresh, bearing a letter from the City Priest requesting that I offer you advice on discipline – and you must know how rarely it is that such a request is granted to a God-cursed man. Tell me again what you think of my decision to eat meat and wine today."
Caught off-guard, Prosper said, "It does not seem to me to be in the tradition of priestly discipline that I taught you."
"Tell me again what you think of my number of prayer-lights."
"You have a goodly number of lights, but—" He stopped.
"Go on. Tell me."
"Perhaps I should not have—"
"Tell me. I wish you to hear your own words."
The commands continued remorselessly for several minutes as Huard forced Prosper to repeat the words he had spoken that afternoon. Within the first few replies, Prosper could feel moisture trickling down his spine. By the end, his back was sticky with sweat.
When he had finished, Huard said, in the same hard voice, "When you arrived here, you told me immediately that you were cursed, and you asked me to read Martin's letter before welcoming you – that much is to your credit. Other than that, however, I have seen none of the marks of duty due from a God-cursed man to the man who may or may not consent to act as priest to him. Instead, your behavior has been wholly that of a tutor holding judgment over his pupil: you said nothing about your crimes until I prompted you, but you have passed judgment upon me for my dietary discipline, the setting of my house, my worship discipline, and my conduct as a priest. Nor have you confined your judgments to me: you have passed judgment upon our chieftain, upon Martin, and upon the priests who were once entrusted to your care – all of them men who are welcome to the God's presence. You, a man bearing the curse-mark of the God's enemy, make these judgments. You, who have been found unworthy to wear the robe of priesthood."
Huard's voice, as adamantine as iron, was so far now from the hesitant pleading he had engaged in as a boy that Prosper felt his mind whirling in an eddy of bewilderment. Clutching at the first thought that drifted his way, he said, "You are right that I should not, in my present spiritual state, pass judgment upon you, but—"
"Sacred Mystery, Prosper, have you closed your ears entirely to the God's voice? Then hear words that you may remember better: 'A pupil may ask questions, but he must neither condemn nor praise his tutor, for either act presumes that he is in the position of judge.' Or have you come to disbelieve your own teachings?"
Prosper struggled to breathe. He cast down his eyes for a moment before saying, "I have a question."
"Ask." Huard's voice had passed beyond hardness to coldness.
"You speak of what I am now, since the demons entered me, but what of the time when I was City Priest, before the demons took hold of me? Surely at that time it was my duty to pass judgment—"
"And do you truly believe, Prosper, that the God gave you the honor of having spiritual care over his people so that you could spend all your waking days worrying over whether your priest-pupils were eating too many sugar balls, or whether the men and women who took you as confessor had neglected some small crime, so that you could drag them into the God's court and have the triumph of showing how superior you were to them in your spiritual state?" Huard leaned forward. His eyes were as cold now as dark pebbles in a winter stream. "How long has it been, Prosper, since you gave thought to any other living creature, except to judge him? How long has it been since you were silent long enough to listen to the God's voice, whether it came from the sacred flame or from the men and women of whom you are so scornful?"
Prosper could not answer; he could not even raise his gaze above his hands, now white as they clenched each other. Above him, Huard continued remorselessly, "Vainglory in believing that your discipline is superior to all others. Arrogance in spurning the food offered to you by your host. Self-focus in giving no thought to other people's needs but only to what punishment you can place them under. Greed in assuming that the priesthood is your right rather than a gift from the God. Envy that causes you to examine carefully the spiritual states of others so that you can reassure yourself that others are in a more demeaned state than your own. Cowardice in refusing to acknowledge that these demons did not enter you recently or briefly, but have been within you for most of your life. Above all, an evil judgment that has prevented you from listening when Martin, as your confessor, no doubt said words to you very like the words I am giving you now. . . . Have I named your demons, Prosper?"
"No." Prosper's voice was breathless and broken. "I must have dozens more demons. The God help me, I did not know."
He covered his face and wept.
After a time, he felt Huard's hand upon his shoulder; after a time more, Prosper lifted his wet face to look up at the priest, who was standing beside him. Though the late afternoon light made the priest's face glow, Prosper's vision was darkened by tears. Prosper whispered, "Can I be saved?"
"Certainly." Huard's voice was reassuringly matter-of-fact. "You know your catechism, Prosper. 'Any man who requests aid of the Mercy of all mercies shall receive it.' Your battle against the demons will not be an easy one, though. I would hate to tell you what sort of disciplines you would have placed me under if, during my four years as a priest-pupil, I had committed half as many crimes against the God as you have managed to commit in the space of two hours."
"I require hard discipline." Prosper had dropped his gaze to the ground and was struggling to keep his breath even. "I see that now – my spirit is in dire peril. . . . Huard, I have no right to ask this of you, but will you help me?"
As he spoke, he shifted himself into the position he now realized he should have fallen into from the moment he passed Huard's threshold: that of a God-cursed man kneeling in petition before a priest who, by the God's Law, was under no obligation to help him – could indeed hand him over to a murderous crowd if he considered it appropriate. Prosper felt again the edge of fear pricking at his skin, and he was staring now with dark wonder upon the words he had spoken in this chamber. Sacred Mystery, he could have died of starvation had not the priest shown mercy upon him, yet he had openly scorned the food of his host. He felt a sickness enter into him.
"Certainly," Huard replied, in as straightforward a manner as before. He eased Prosper back into a sitting position and squatted down beside him. "I am restricted in the help I can give by the God's Law, though. You know the rules on exile, Prosper: I cannot offer you the comfort of the God's presence during your year of exile, neither to hear your confession in the God's name, nor to purify you, nor to allow you to give participation in the worship services. I can offer you advice on discipline should you ask, but I cannot punish you if you break your discipline, nor can I even draw your attention to the fact that you have broken your discipline, unless you ask for further advice from me. Are you willing to listen to my advice under such conditions?"
"Huard, I am a hand's breath from the eternal fire that cannot be quenched." Prosper's voice was hoarse. "If you told me to eat a bag of sugar balls, I would follow your advice."
"You anticipate me." The smile in Huard's tone caused Prosper to lift his eyes, but the priest's expression was serious as he said, "Two disciplines, then, I advise upon you. The first is that you must put aside all thoughts of your priesthood during this exile. Whatever you may be in a year's time, for now you are a temporal man and must engage in behavior appropriate to a temporal man."
"I see," said Prosper slowly. "Eating sugar balls."
"They are a symbol only." The smile had made its way onto Huard's face. "You must eat as a temporal man does, dress as he does, and above all act as he does. You know the catechism, Prosper: one of the greatest crimes a temporal man can commit is to pass judgment upon the spiritual state of his fellow living spirits. If you suspect that someone's spirit is in danger of being demon-infected, then it is your duty to report the matter to me, but otherwise you must in no way try to judge whether anyone you meet is a dutiful servant of the God. Your duty instead is to seek out ways in which you can be of assistance to others, ways that do not require you to judge other people's spiritual states."
"That is good ad—" Prosper caught himself in time and said, in a low voice, "I thank you for giving me this advice, Huard. I will follow the discipline as you have suggested. And the other advice?"
"Concerns your worship discipline. Had you given any thought to that?"
Prosper nodded. "Most of my ponderings on the way here were devoted to that. I thought it best if I adhere more strictly than before to the times of prayer, devoting most of my waking hours to prayer and self-examination—"
He broke off; the priest was shaking his head. Rising to his feet, Huard began using his moistened thumb and forefinger to silence the prayer-lights about the chamber. "Think again, Prosper," he said, as though the man before him were a dull-minded pupil. "How did your demons enter, and what discipline is appropriate to close that path of entrance?"
Prosper shut his eyes, as though preparing himself to pronounce a particularly difficult word in the ancient tongue. He said finally, "My thoughts have been centered too much upon myself. If I engage in long periods of self-examination, my demon of self-focus will take advantage of this fact to pull my thoughts further from other people onto myself."