Visions of Sirlay and the Noble Laborer

It was a strangely temperate day; an oasis of spring warmth in the midst of a cold, snowy winter. I felt serene and peaceful, and these feelings led me to believe that there might be a great change at work. I rested my head upon my pillow and closed my eyes, and the world fell silent. My mind was confused enough that I did not expect instant sleep, yet I felt peaceful enough that it came anyway.

I dreamt that Sirlay had returned home, and he scolded Yhako, Ansidrion and me all for having quarreled in his absence. Yet I did not feel ashamed, but instead as though everything had been righted, and the four of us took a meal together. Then a comely, simple man with a smooth voice and sturdy accent appeared at our door, and Sirlay introduced him as the Noble Laborer, and we hailed him and treated him to a new shirt. I felt no urgency to ask him about universal truth, but instead I encouraged him to speak of his own life, and his words put me at ease. Yet, although he spoke in an open, frank manner, describing no detail that was not absolutely relevant, I found later that I could not recall for certain a single thing he had said.

The sleep was not heavy, and I frequently traveled in and out of consciousness. This transience lured me into believing that the dream was reality. Even after I fully awoke, and saw that what would have needed several hours did not even take two, I could not shake the reality of the experience. I continued to be haunted by the excitement of an upcoming arrival and the satisfaction of all of my curiosities, before the excitement shriveled, and I remembered that I expected something that might never happen. Why had I thought so much of Sirlay, anyway? He had never been authority to me, never had any influence over me. I had only just read the whole of one of his letters for the first time in a decade! He should have been worthless to me, but I could not shake his gentle admonition: "You are a man now, Federan, and you must begin to undertake manly pursuits." Why did I put any value in this?

Determined that I should escape this false vision's grasp, I dressed myself in my coat and went outside for a walk. I marched toward Maidia Street, which was the primary source of calming walks for most Ilepyans. It was dusk now, and I wanted an hour or so to allow something else to run my mind. I tried to think about the city of Beautavus and imagine what it must look like. I intended to make a pilgrimage there one day, and wanted to test the prophecy that any Beautav of true heart will know the exact landscape and layout of the city. I had always wanted to carefully diagram a map to bring with me, in order to test this theory.

Yet, try as I might, I could not keep my focus. Sirlay kept on, refusing to leave my mind. On the street in one instant I thought I recognized the Noble Laborer from my dream, but then his face changed entirely, and he became a stuffy old man with a turned-up nose. I chose a verse from the Song of Galmosto and recited it in my head. Then I repeated it, this time translating it into Beautavan. But my mind kept drifting, and then I found myself thinking about my brothers’ rejection of the Lords' Occult and how we had argued over it once, and how Sirlay might disapprove. His name kept coming to my mind. Maidia Street was full of people, come to celebrate this beautiful winter night, and yet I found that they could not distract me from my dream. Then I heard one of them say Sirlay, and then another and another, until it was all I could hear. I had gone mad! I turned for home, knowing that Maidia Street was no place for a loon like me to wander. I despaired of ever setting my mind free again.

When I arrived at our home on Trafga Street, total darkness had fallen but, as always, there was candlelight within the home. Ansidrion would have gone to bed, and Yhako was surely looking at his books and accounts, ensuring that all of the day's orders had been filled. But when I walked in the door, Sirlay’s name still echoing through my ears, I found Yhako and Ansidrion both in the front parlor, and neither with work before him.

Map of Reformation-Era Great North

Here is a map of the Great North, during the era of the Reform. Pictured in white are the countries in which either or both religious and political reform occur during this time period: Hihaythea, Colof, Yafia and Vend.

Hihaythea is the country in which the story takes place (with Ilepya in the far northeastern coast), Yafia is the location of Grontinion, where Sirlay is murdered and which Yhako visits, and Vendi (including Vendi Alisia and the Cgyller Territory) is where Qhema lives for much of the story, preaching amongst the Cgyllers and Alisites.

Place names have been given in the primary local language, where it is in the Alaric family.

The Karliott Prophecy

To My Honored Brother Ekus:

With joy I inform you of my arrival in the City of Rakka. After taking my leave of you, my trading vessel departed for Hillea and, owing to favorable winds and wills, arrived at that place in four days. From there I boarded a ship owned by a Yiffen delegate to Hillea, which has brought me to Rakka after a further eleven days of travel. I am pleased to announce that I have arrived here sooner than expected, with little trouble, and have been warmly welcomed by a pair of aldermen who are sympathetic to our cause.

I intend to begin on the road to Grontinion henceforth, as there are already Hihaytheans laboring here in Rakka on our behalf, so there be no use in me tarrying. I have made few accomplishments as of yet, so please allow me to describe the miraculous nature of this country. Since my arrival I have not seen a single man discontent, neither man having to survive with less. The streets are free of crime and vagrants, and the public squares are full of people peacefully making merry. This afternoon, my host, Karliott Lennur, has brought me to Etta Va Square, the largest park in the city. There I found people taking meals in public with friends, discussing reformist theology over a game of ayakka adrena. “The evil kingpiece is the Iqharepur,” one man says, “for he greedily demands that all other pieces sacrifice themselves for him, although he moves lazily about and makes very little effect.”

We then moved north, into the part of the city called the Ringellic Annex. This is named for the old Ringellic Monastery, which became the site of one of the major insurrections but a year ago. The people rose up against the grasping monks, holding them hostage as they destroyed pages of oppressive doctrine and carved the sinedratha, or the zanadrada all over the walls. The monks’ quarters were destroyed, leaving only the chapel. The government took its revenge by setting fire to dozens of homes and other buildings in the surrounding area, leaving the region virtually barren. Today, Etta Va Square and the Ringellic Annex are the sites of the most activity in the entire city. As I said above, this is where men go to discuss the future and God. But it is also where I have seen a new marvel: timbers are laid upon the ground, and men fasten new timbers atop of them. They construct walls with doors and windows carved into them, and cover the walls with thatch or other timbers to protect the interior from snow and rains. They are building new things here, Ekkus. I have witnessed hope, as honest men seek to make a place of destruction into a place of rebirth. It has inspired me.

Brother, I must confess to you that I had begun to suffer a loss of clarity and belief in our purpose. We had lost our dear brothers, but what had we gained? I had seen nothing good come of it. We have lost so much for the good of others. Andavar had done just fine practicing his faith in private for so many years! Why did he need to risk this? He could have been content with the ordinary for all of his life. Instead, he joined the Ilepyan Brotherhood to allow other men the same freedoms he had, and in this he met no success and lost everything.

What was the reason? Nothing had changed because of his actions, but that we had lost him. I left Ilepya because I could no longer tolerate being in that ponvatil, that useless place of no progress, that place of sorrow. I came to Rakka in search of revenge; my brother had been killed so I wanted his killers to feel my pain. Hatred and indifference had filled my heart, and I became disconnected from my cause and careless for the result. I no longer felt interested in change. This is what Karliott has called the ilnarvattar, and it seems to have been a common phase during some of the darker times in their revolution. I suppose it is not very different from Kapbaji, but grows out of exhaustion rather than ignorance.

When I left you, Ekkus, you appeared to be in good spirits, with a full understanding of our cause. If you have since wavered, I shall tell you what I have witnessed in Rakka with Karliott, as it has renewed my belief wholly.

...

Ekkus, Karliott has become my prophet, and his prophecy is thus: do not become satisfied with good enough; fight complacency wherever you find it within you, and always seek to make tomorrow better than today. This simple message has refreshed my belief in the Reformist cause, and Ekkus if you are in any need of renewal, allow Karliott to be your prophet and his message to be your prophecy.

...

From Rakka, this 9th day Loban, 1412
Your Humble Brother, Malqholm Ehbrud

Of my youth

Father had been a robust merchant of as'shelik, or silks, and his wares--which he acquired from traders as far away as Alken--had by now come into the possession of men and women throughout the town and the surrounding area. By the time he was struck from this world, Yhako had become so knowledgeable in the trade that he was prepared to run his competitors the country over. The Fagash brothers controlled the trade from points west of Tavenar, and although they had the larger business and profits, Yhako had them down on sheer acumen. But even as he was prepared to do such a thing, he actually had no intention of doing so. Yhako was devoted to his studies, and believed that his true purpose lie in advancing his knowledge and that of the people around him. He saw his as'shelik merely as a means to support the family, and it had done a good job of this thus far, so there was no reason for expansion. The business required a single man to manage it the day long, but two men together could have administered it in half a day.

Like Yhako, Ansidrion was devoted to his studies, and put nothing before them. He learned the as'shelik trade from Father--dutifully, it seems--but never intended to take part in it. Shortly after Father's death, but before my own birth, Yhako and Ansidrion came to an agreement. When they came of age, both men would spend their days in the two activities they enjoyed most (Yhako in studying and supporting his family, and Ansidrion in studying and sleeping); they agreed that they would study together at night, and Yhako would work days for both men, while Ansidrion would spent that time sleeping for both men. Although I was raised on it, I believed this to be a terrible deal. Ansidrion lazed about for half of his life, sleeping from five hours before noon until five hours before midnight, while Yhako worked his entire life, catching nary a nap. But even in my youth, I recognized Yhako to be the smartest man I had ever met, and although I disagreed whole-heartily with his philosophy and lifestyle, I learned never to question his deals. If he committed to something, there must be a wise reason for it.

It was my mother, naturally, who exercised the most influence over me in my youth. With my brothers' days both accounted for, Mother looked after my upbringing—and that of Qhema, when she was still young enough—and nowhere was her transformation more pronounced than in the contrast between the two of them. Qhema was ten years older than me, and left when I was but six years old, but in her boundless, indestructible warmth, she left an indelible mark upon me. She spoke to me with patience, and cared for me when Mother lost hers. Mother could be terrible and I went in constant fear of her, even as I loved her. In her terrible swings of mood and changes of ruling Mother was not a person to trust, and knowing that she could change at any moment had the potential to shake any sense of security I might have had. This, perhaps, is why I became such a quiet, almost sullen child. I offered myself constancy by way of my own emotions. With a mother governed by arbitrariness, one brother who was the living embodiment of sloth and vain pursuits, and another who was far too brilliant and visioned to be trusted, it was Qhema who supplied me with my desired stability and affection. From her potent grace and remarkable capacity for affection, to her serene beauty and forward, aggressive sense of style, I genuinely believed she was a princess. Even into my teen years, I was convinced that she was not my sister, but a delegate of God who had come to me to minister love to me when the others around me could not provide. Once, when I was nine years of age, I obstinately argued to Ansidrion that he had never known or seen Qhema, that she had been visible and audible only to me, and that any knowledge he had of her came solely through me. There was, of course, a mountain of evidence to the contrary, but it was a manifestation of my selfishness that I still refused to believe that she had been real to anyone but me.

My youth was not, however, as unpleasant as I have made it sound. My mother cared for me and looked after my upbringing, arranging for me to have monthly meetings with our local priest. Yhako spent much of his days locked in his office or else doing business about the city, but when he did have a spare minute or two, he sought me and treated me as well as he knew how to interact with a child. He and Ansidrion, when I saw them, called me Dofit, which meant boy, but they did it with the condescended affection that was suitable for two grown men to don with a child. My brothers had had a much different upbringing than I, with a loving, happy father and a mother who, I am told, was much as I had known Qhema to be: sweet, loving and liberal. Our eldest brother, Sirlay, had lived with the family at that time, and he doted upon his younger siblings with the love of a boy who would always know more of the world than they, but was not so far removed that he had forgotten what it had been like to be their age. At the time of my birth, our father had been dead for thirteen months, Sirlay had already left the country permanently, and Yhako and Ansidrion were stocky young men of 14 and 13 years.

Nothing, however, was so different than the different mothers we had had. We had all been grown and nurtured within the same womb, but once I loosed myself from the powerful grasp of my mother's uterus, nothing was the same. Yhako and Ansidrion had had a mother who was full of youth and love, fostering in them a healthy intellectualism and encouraging them even to undertake studies that might lead them to heretical conclusions. She was among the few women in Ilepya to learn to read, as she had taught herself with scraps of letters and documents that she had, in her youth, scavenged from the alleys outside of aldermen's homes. She passed onto them a deep curiosity in and admiration for letters—both the academic letters that Sirlay studied at the University of Grontinion, and in the physical letters that people wrote to one another—as she believed that these carried all the secrets of the world and of men's souls.

Yhako and Ansidrion called this woman Fulviya, and they told me that she had died a half year before my own birth. Instead, the woman I knew was old and grey and bitter, shouting at anything that she found even the least bit offensive, and taking advantage of her position as senior member of the household by taking absolute control over what passed within the walls. She did not permit even the slightest mistake, and I once even saw her take a harsh and bitter beating to Ansidrion for speaking ill of the Iqharepur. Ansidrion was a large and powerful young man, so she had to use all of her strength against him before he yielded to her, and almost as soon as she had finished, she took to her bed and kept there for days to recover her strength.

Thankfully, I never received more than a mild paddling, as I was usually unwilling to cross her. I was raised to question nothing and accept everything on the authority of those above me in life, so even when I disagreed with her, I felt it was futile to argue. Before that occasion, Ansidrion had never suffered a beating before, but he was not particularly injured by it, and did not think much of it. “It is good that this has happened,” he told me later. “This has reminded me that this woman is no longer my mother; Fulviya was but she is dead now, and there is longer any remnant of her here.”

The existence of my life, in fact, was exactly what brought about this new woman. I cannot exactly explain the circumstances of my birth; was my mother pregnant for thirteen months? Did she somehow conceive me four months after Father’s death? Yhako and Ansidrion would later accuse that I was born of another man’s cloth, but this accusation was motivated by other consequences at this time, and in my adulthood, Yhako confirmed to me several times that he saw a great resemblance in me to our father.

I am not sure what exactly Fulviya believed was the cause of my existence. If anyone knew what caused me, it would be her, but it is possible that even she did not understand where I had come from. When she first discovered she was pregnant, she believed that her symptoms had been delayed, and perhaps she had conceived me during my father’s lifetime, and that I had grown slower than usual. But the action of either carrying a living being inside of her for over a year, or else conceiving a child with a man who had been dead for four months, disturbed her deeply. She had already been affected by the death of her husband, whom she loved dearly, and she was in the midst of a search for answers. When she discovered this mysterious pregnancy, she saw it as a sign from God; a rebuttal of everything that she had ever done, for all of the sciences and letters that she had ever believed in denied the existence of her present experience. What else could it be, if not a sign from God that those letters and those sciences were untrue?

Of youthen foolishness

At eleven years, I had reached an age where it was shameful to accept everything I was told on faith. Young children, in their deep urge to understand everything around them, will believe what they learn, and will find a way to reconcile the new information with the old. There comes a time--perhaps when they learn they first learn that they have been told a lie, or even when they no longer desire any more information--that this gullibility disintegrates, and with this sudden stroke they learned to question everything, and to take no man at his word. But upon my arrival in Ilepya, I had yet to reach this stage. Mother had told me everything she felt I needed to know, and she forbade me to have any contact with anyone who might contradict her. Ansidrion's visits were usually supervised, and when they were not, Mother made it very clear to him that she would demand from me to know everything that he had said, and that he would meet harsh consequences if anything were out of line.

Of course, there had been a few breaches. Yhako had hinted to me a few times in my early childhood that Mother was not to be trusted, nor was she the wonderful woman she used to be. But such times were few and far between. Mother had not permitted me to spend much time with children my age, as she viewed the people in Kapabaj as beneath us. We were of such a status that Mother allowed only a few boys to keep my company, and even then, she would conduct vigorous screening interviews beforehand, and would not permit me to pay them a visit at their homes. Mother had created a sheltered existence for me, and in my youthen foolishness, I had never thought to question any of it. I had such a strong desire to understand everything and such a remarkable talent for absorbing information that rejecting any of what came to me seemed out of the question. I loved facts so much that I made them out of whatever Mother told me.

P'att's Wonders

Within days of P'att taking up residence in the home, strange things began happening. When he came to me, I could see that his shirt and pants were in tatters, having been soiled with the sweat and dirt that came from consecutive use on the streets. So I made him put on some of my clothes as I washed his things. I was several inches taller than him, and probably had twenty pounds on him besides, so the clothes fit a bit loose when he first put them on. But several days later, after he had returned them to me, I was surprised to find that they no longer fit me.

"How have you done this?" I asked him, smiling. "What trick or craft is this?"

But he seemed puzzled at my questions, and claimed to have done nothing.

"Look, P'att! This shirt now hugs so closely upon my chest! The pant legs now hover two inches above the ground. What have you done to shrink them so?"

He frowned at me. "Those clothes were too large for me. How can they be so small on you?"

I stared at him in bewilderment. "Here, let you have them, for they are no longer of any use to me."

And then P'att left my presence at once to don these mysterious articles. He returned several minutes with a smile upon his face. "Good Fe'n, they fit just perfectly. How can this be?"

Just as he said, the clothes fit his body as though they had been sewn for him. "Have you altered them?" I asked. "Have we both grown?"

But P'att was at just as much of a loss as I. "It is but one of many, many wonders we encounter in a day," he shrugged. I thought he must have arranged for this in some manner, but I could not figure out what, and he refused to betray any proof of it.

The following day, the new mechanical clock that Yhako had imported from Acrola stopped working. I went to wind it just as he had taught me, but this did nothing but produce a strange ticking sound. I did not know of a single clocksmith in the country, let alone one that complied with the Parebhur, so I took to opening the thing up and poking around. I had seen inside of it a few times before under Yhako's supervision, so I knew at once that what I saw before me was false. The iron cogs that exercised their influence over the timepiece had all fallen out of place, and a few even rolled out of the clock and towards me as I opened the pane. There was nothing I could do, so I merely scooped up all of the loose gears and placed them back within the clock.

I would not have thought much of the clock, but that it happened the very day after the shrinking clothes. I immediately suspected P'att, only because I knew that such things required human agency, and he was the only person who had access to the clock. Did he sabotage me? Did his gentle, gracious demeanor conceal something dark? Perhaps he had not forgiven me for what Ma't had done after all, and he had merely infiltrated my home in order to harm me. Of course, one could do many worse things than alter a pair of clothes or break a clock, but I could think of no other explanation for it, so I found P'att to have him speak about the clock.

Once again, he expressed his gentle innocence perfectly. "I have never touched that machine before, for I do not even know what purpose it serves."

"You did not meddle with the cogs within?" I demanded.

"No, good Fe'n," he shook his head. "I do not even know what a cog is."

There was absolutely no explanation for this beyond his sabotage, and yet, I found that I believed him. His nature was so calm, his innocence so gentle, that I had trouble believing he could even have conceived of such tricks. "Very well, then," I said. "I suppose it is another of your wonders." I shook my head and he shrugged his shoulders--a little dance that would become a defining move of our relationship.

In fact, we would repeat it not four days later. In the weeks since Yhako's departure, I had attempted to arrange the Defilor Papers--a series of documents written by the clerks of the first Anotus, Helatat. the documents had been lost for many years, but over the years had come back into public knowledge. They had since come by Grontinion, where Sirlay and many others of the theologians had had them translated and attempted to put them in order. To my knowledge, dozens of Deshilva satellites of Grontinion toiled on these documents all across Yafia and Hihaythea. To the Kapabaj they were useless documents, but to the Deshilva they represented important insight about the rationale for the creation of the office of Anotus, and whether Helatat and his confidants truly believed it was divinely ordained.

The hundreds of pages sat upon a table in the library, and every morning following my meal, I went with the intent of placing them in order. The order was lost and unknown, but would allow us to track beliefs as they changed over the years. I had made very little progress, and in fact, one night, despairing that anything I had done thus far had been worthless, I shuffled the papers in search of new perspective.

The following morning, P'att and I took our meal as we usually did, and then he accompanied me to the study. To our surprise, we found the Defilor Papers scattered about the floor, having all somehow fallen off the table in the night. P'att knew that I had labored long on the papers, and rushed to collect them.

"It is no great loss," I told him. "I have recently shuffled them, and there is no order to recover."

But he collected every last document on the floor and placed them in a large pile upon the table. Then, he took a seat at a stool and began to practice his copying as I had encouraged him.

I began to look through the papers, preparing to begin anew. However, I noticed that the page on top began with "first". It was the known and established first page. Perhaps P'att had seen it and intentionally placed it on top. But as I continued reading pages beneath it, I noticed that all of the first pages--whose order was clear and established--were also correct. How had he known?

That afternoon, as I looked through the papers one by one, I was dumbstruck as I began to believe that every single one was exactly in its chronological place. Indeed, I could not find anything to suggest the contrary. "P'att, how have you done this?"

"Done what, good Fe'n? I do nothing but practice my letters."

"These papers. You have placed them in order. The work I have spent weeks at is now complete by your hands, and all in but a minute."

"If I have done such a thing, it is merely by chance, for I do not recognize but a dozen of the words in that entire collection, and have only scooped them up as I came to them."

He shrugged at me and smiled, and I could little nothing more than shake my head. "It is a miracle," I whispered.

From that day on, I regarded Fe'n as a gifted being with divinely-granted powers, for if the clock and clothes could be due to worldy chance, the Defilor Papers could only be from his gentle touch. I regarded him as the true noble laborer, with the ability to make perfect judgment on any matter. I considered his advice to be absolute truth, and trusted him in all things. I was to discover later that he was, in fact, the man who broke the mechanical clock, although not by design. At dinner one evening, I watched as a fork wriggled slowly toward him. At first, I watched with wide eyes as I thought the fork to be possessed.

"P'att, behold the fork! It is drawn unto you!"

As usual, the man merely shrugged. "As it should, for as many forks have," he remarked.

I stood and picked up the utensil and found it devoid of life as always. But as I slowly moved it toward P'att, I felt it pulling itself along. I placed it against his chest, and it rested there for a moment, before he shook and it fell loose. Then I grabbed my fork and we repeated these same wonders. "P'att, you have the lure! You hold sway over iron as though a magnet."

"So it has been," he said, smiling. I have never been able to shake it although, mercifully, it has not incurred a dramatic impact upon me."

Indeed, it could not have been particularly strong, as I had never seen a cluster of irons trailing him about the house. But I determined that it had been strong enough to damage the clock. His presence as he had walked past it many times, perhaps standing before it for several minutes to divine its function, has surely been enough to draw the cogs out of their place. This power, of course, had little practical use that I could discover, but it was yet another sign his marked blessedness.

Yet, when I spoke of this to him, he deferred it, and refused to believe that there was anything special about him. "I am but a simple man who has learned very little in life. I possess a rare quality in the lure, but this is merely a purposeless chance of birth, just as you have lighter skin and greater stature. I have never been in awe of you for those things, and so you should not be in awe of me for this."
"But my coloring and size are not coincidences, but due to my family. I am of pale complexion and larger build because so was my father, and so were my brothers Sirlay and Ansidrion. Did your father or brothers possess the lure?"

"I have never met another who has it, but what does it matter? Have your brothers healed other men the way that you have healed me?"

"I have done nothing more than take you into my home, which is exactly as they would have done. I am sure that they have taken many men into their care, and that Yhako will do so many more times."

"No, not merely that," P'att smiled at me. "You are a particular man of miracles, and have wrought miracles far greater than I. In the years since I first received my injuries, I have scarcely recovered at all, and could not have walked without use of a cane. But in these days, not two weeks in your home, my recovery has begun and accelerated greatly." And at this, just as I had begun to frown in confusion, he put himself to his feet. With seeming effortlessness, he walked from his seat to the door, and then back. He did not use the cane or any other aid.

“P’att, this is a miracle! How can you have achieved such a thing?”

“I have done nothing,” he insisted with a smile. “But your gracious care and wondrous presence has allowed me to heal fully, and regain my strength. I can walk again, Fe’n. And look here upon my leg,” he adjusted his pants such that I could see his thigh where he had been struck. “The wound and its scar are gone. It is exactly as though I never met that priest.”

I stood beside him in awe, unable to believe the many miracles that had come to happen all around me.

Foruqhaya Havil--Of the Noble Laborer

"Federan, Sirlay has issued you a challenge. What say you to this?"

"I have no interest in Sirlay's challenges. Just like you, he is full of traps and tricks, and I know better than to subject myself to those."

"Will you not just read it? I believe it might help us find peace between one another."

"Peace by luring me to your side? No, I do not believe I want this," I scoffed. But I was curious and, deep within me, I had some desire to have some peace. "But if you insist upon it, you shall recount it to me."

"Very well, then. I shall." Yakko cleared his throat. "In his piece The Miracles, Maddith describes the Miracle of the Noble Laborer. Have you heard of the Noble Laborer?"

I shook my head.

"But you do acknowledge Maddith, do you not? And you recognize that his miracles are true and accurate?"

"Yes, Ma't has praised Maddith and I take his miracles as truth."

"Then of course you know that every Beautav must experience a personal miracle before being accepted into the faith. And you know that the most common miracle is that of a Beautav birth, by which all those who are born Beautavs are instantly welcomed permitted as such."

"Yes, of course. And 'The Miracles' describes many of the other miracles a convert might experience."

"Good. Now I shall tell you of Maddith's belief in the Noble Laborer. Maddith describes that belief in Beautavism is the natural way of things. He gives the example of the Lylyans, who lived deep in the Great Hap Mountains and were not exposed to any religion for hundreds of years. The Lylyans were a hearty people who, though intelligent enough, never learned to practice any faith. Then, suddenly, both faiths converged upon them, and they had to choose whether they would adopt Beautavism or Istism. And, because the Lylyans had remained in their natural state, and had never been exposed to any bias, every last one of them chose Beautavism."

"It sounds true, and I believe every word of it. But what is the challenge?"

"Patience, Federan. Maddith called these uncorrupted men the Noble Laborers. He believed that, if ever this scenario could be replicated, the results would be identical. Of course, finding the next Noble Laborer has proven impossible; the remaining tribesmen have either already been corrupted by one faith or the other, or else are so hostile to all outsiders that they refuse to hear any religion at all."

"Then, while an important story that strengthens my faith, the Miracle of the Noble Laborer is moot, for it cannot happen again."

"Exactly as Maddith has described it it cannot happen again," Yakko agreed. "But that is because Maddith died in 1068. He passed before the Church had reached the extent of its current total corruption, before the Lords Occult had matured into a truly heretical body. Maddith did not foresee the current crisis, and therefore thought that the Miracle of the Noble Laborer was mere history as soon as he recorded it.

"But, in fact, the Miracle of the Noble Laborer has returned to prominence at Grontinion. Yes, there remains no man who has not been exposed to any religion. But how many are there who are ignorant of the Reform? Think, Federan: there are thousands of men who know nothing of this. Think of all of the Noble Laborers who go about their daily business, believing in God and following the Beautav laws, but giving nary a thought to the Anotus or the Lords Occult? Perhaps you and I might find a Noble Laborer right here in Ilepya. Do you think?"

I shrugged. "I suppose it is so. But how will we know if a man has been corrupted or not? And who's to say you won't find a man and corrupt him before you introduce him to me?"

"You and I can agree upon a test. Sirlay has recommended this challenge, and he says that you will recognize the Noble Laborer by his belief in God, his self-identification as a Beautav and his knowledge of a Moon Ritual. Yet he will not be able to name the Seven Lords, does not attend sermons but once a year and does not know a single piece of religious literature by name. He should demonstrate that he is intelligent by being able to sign his own name and reading a few basic words, but by virtue of his being a laborer, he will not be very concerned with letters, for these have little to do with his life."

"Very well. I accept your challenge." I knew I did not have a choice, because the challenge seemed so simple and honorable. If either side had an advantage, it was mine, because the Noble Laborer will have been surrounded his entire life with Orthodoxy. But the truth was that I did not want to take part in this. I hated the risk that something I so believed to be true might be lose. And then what would I do? Besides, Yakko was sure to find a way to outsmart me and the Noble Laborer both, which meant I might already be guaranteed to lose.

Feeling introspective, I grabbed Sirlay's letter and retreated quietly to my chamber. For once, discussing a letter from Sirlay did not result in argument and insult. Instead, I was left with questions, and curiosity, and desire to know more. I wanted to know more about the Noble Laborer and the natural state. I sat down upon my bed. I wanted to read Sirlay's letter.

For the first time in many years, I read what Sirlay had written me, from start to finish.