There
was little I wanted more than sleep at that moment, but it eluded me. I should be exhausted, after the day I had
had, and the night before it, but there was no escaping my thoughts. I at once felt that I loathed everyone: Sirlay, the bishop who had him killed, Yhako
and Ansidrion, and Ma’t. They had all
shattered my peace, forcing me to come to terms with a new and unwelcomed
realm, in which nothing was as I had planned it.
But
more than any of them, I thought of P’att.
Sirlay’s murder had set into motion events that would lead to such a
brutal attack on this innocent, unrelated man.
How could faiths, which should serve only to give truth and succor to
men, harm so many? I knew that something
was wrong with this. I knew that,
unwelcome as it was, this challenge to my beliefs was necessary.
And
then, suddenly, I knew that I would have to speak with Yhako about this. I could remain in my bed, hoping for these
great changes to undo themselves, but at heart I knew that they never
could. I realized that I faced two
possibilities: either the peace among
brothers that Sirlay had offered in my dream, or the violence and destruction
that the Priest and Bishop had offered in reality. The dream appealed to me, of course, and in
spite of all that had happened, it seemed more in reach than before. I would have to face them sooner or later,
and it was better that if I were to speak to Yhako, I do so now, while
Ansidrion slept. He was sure to meet me
with passion, and I was not prepared for it.
Yhako
spent most nights in his office, but news of Sirlay’s death so consumed him
that the business interested him very little, and instead I found him in the study. “Yhako,” I said quietly as I stood at the
doorway.
“Federan? I do not expect to see you at this hour. What is it?”
I
entered the study, but kept my distance still.
“I have met the Noble Laborer.” I
stopped, waiting for a reaction. Yhako
merely raised his eyebrows, to signal for me to continue. Accepting this, I recounted to him the events
of the previous day, explaining my firm belief that the man I met was the man
from the miracle I had heard less than two days before. “He was an innocent man—a good man, and Ma’t
has intended to kill him.” My eyes
became wide and my breath heavy as I finished recounting the events that
obviously still tortured me. Even so,
Yhako was silent, his face betraying nothing.
So I admitted what I had to. “I
do not trust Ma’t. I do not intend to
see him again.”
Finally,
Yhako spoke, even if briefly. “I am
sorry for what has befallen your friend.
But I am glad that it has caused you to see the truth.”
“I
cannot say that I am prepared to believe as you and Ansidrion do, only that I
can no longer follow a belief that permits violence and unkind acts against
anyone.”
“That
is sufficient, Federan. You may believe
whatever you wish.”
“Very
well. Then where would you advise I
begin? Now that my mind is open anew,
what should be my first method of study?”
Yhako
thought for a moment. I expected to take
my seat there next to him and begin studying as he had. But, to my surprise, this is not what he
suggested. “Go and find Sirlay’s
letters. Let you read them, and let you
reflect and decide what you believe.”
So,
without a response, I returned to my chamber and gathered up a few of the
letters my eldest brother had written to me.
I did not have them all—I had thrown many of them out, usually to show
my brothers that they had no sway over me.
But I had a dozen of them, and decided now to read them in the order
that they had been written.
The
first was from spring of 1405, and Sirlay included a few kind words for my
thirteenth birthday, and condolences over Mother’s death. Then he moved on to more substantive topics,
but he did not speak directly of religion, as I had expected. Instead this letter—like most of the others,
I was to learn—was political and philosophical in its content.
