To my surprise, I was able to scavenge a few bits of sleep from the night, but they cannot have been particularly restful. I dreamt of Sirlay and of Bishop Irat, of Yhako and Ansidrion, and woke up several times with sweat escaping all parts of my body. I could not recall any of these dreams, only that they were haunted by the characters that had dominated my evening. Finally, when the sun began to rise some five hours before noon, I hastily dressed myself and stole out of the house. The night had provided no answers, no calm; my brain remained full of questions, and I knew that only Ma’t could answer them.
The little church on Eparam Street was quiet, as usual, but there was a candle lit within, as the winter dawn did not provide sufficient light. I found Ma’t in his chamber speaking quietly with another old man, but when he saw me, he shooed the man away. “Young Fe’n, be seated,” he smiled as usual. “What brings you here unannounced?”
“I am sorry if I have caught you off of your guard, Ma’t,” I began, my voice slow but firm. “But have you heard the word from Grontinion?”
Ma’t frowned. “Grontinion? What filth comes from that loathsome place now?”
“I have received word that some of Bishop Irat’s men have murdered my eldest brother, Sirlay.” I attempted to remain constant and casual, in order to evoke neutrality from the priest.
But neutrality was not something Ma’t seemed ever to have valued. “So they have finally stopped the heretic, have they?” He grinned, as though it was natural and obvious to be cheerful about such an event.
But I was, of course, not so convinced that my brother’s death was cause for cheer, although I maintained the evenness in my tone. “But this is murder, is it not?”
“Yes, I suppose you might call it that, but certainly this murder is warranted for all that he has done.”
"But is it not wrong?" I asked. "Has God not created all men? And, if that is the case, does God not condemn all acts of hatred against his creations? What God has created let nothing destroy!"
"Oh no, Fe'n, it is not wrong at all!" Ma't answered quickly. His voice was tight and excited with more enthusiasm than I had ever heard from him. "Think of this, will you not: Sirlay and the heretics seek to lead men away from God, into falsehood, do they not?”
I had to agree that they did, although more than ever, I had begun to believe that they did it out of confusion, rather than evil design.
"Regardless of their motives, it is sure that Sirlay has helped lead dozens, perhaps hundreds of men astray from God. Do you believe this?"
"Yes, I suppose it is true."
And think of how man more men Sirlay might have led from God if he had lived another ten or twenty years." Ma't's excitement had continued to grow now, and he rose to his feet. "Think of how many hundreds or thousands might have abandoned God if Sirlay were allowed to live! Bishop Irat has prevented it!" He came inches away from my face. "In stopping one man, he has saved a thousand! I can think of few deeds more honorable in the eyes of God."
"But heretic though he was, Sirlay still had feelings. He was a human being, capable of feeling pain and sorrow. How can it be right to put an end to him that God has not wrought directly?"
"Well then what would you suggest?" The old priest shrugged. His mouth opened into a smile, and his tongue peaked out from between the old, yellowed teeth.
"Can he not merely use his words? If his faith was superior--and I believe it was--could he not convince Sirlay through reason? For if Sirlay were capable of leading a thousand men into falsehood, could the Bishop not just as easily lead a thousand to truth?"
Ma't clapped his hands so abruptly, with such force, that I jumped. "Fe'n, my boy! So young, so naïve! You have tried those same tactics with your brothers for years, and what has it yielded? Nothing, for they still actively preach heresy against you. Think how much more difficult it would be with Sirlay, who hated his opponent and who was of much harder head than Yhako and Ansidrion?"
I sighed and my head fell. I did not want it to be true. But how could I argue? And then I remembered what Sirlay had told me. The Noble Laborer! Would the world not be happier if we left it up to that peaceful being? Would we not put aside our acts of violence and hatred according to his unblemished discretion? After we found him we could live in unity, but until then, could we not be content in the knowledge that there was no certainty? Could there be peace if everyone carried a small doubt?
But before I could voice this idea, Ma't began to speak again in that high, quick voice. "Come, Fe'n! I will show you!" He made for the door, cane in hand.
"But Ma't," I tried to stop him. "What know you of the Miracle of the Noble Laborer?"
"There will be time for that later," he called, already nearly outside.” Come with me, boy!"
I did not want to follow him, but I was curious to see what he would do. So I stood up and walked quickly after him. He was halfway done the street when I caught up with him, walking at such a fast pace despite his limp that I was short of breath at keeping up with him. "Ma't, where do we go? Why do you walk so quickly?"
"I shall show you exactly where we mean to go!" He continued at his impossible pace, and I began to lag behind him. He rounded a corner and I was nearly an entire minute behind him. And then I saw him speaking with a man of about Ansidrion's age, standing in the street. Before I had come within earshot of them, Ma't placed a few coins into the man's hand. “The rest are at my home," I heard him tell the man. "Let us go now!" And then Ma't turned back down the way we came, and the man followed. The man wore a meek, plain smile upon a smooth, dark complexion. His clothes were modest--he certainly was not a beggar, but I could tell that the clothing had been worn for many consecutive days without having been washed. He walked calmly, and had the most upright posture I had ever seen. I wanted to ask Ma't what was happening, if he knew the man, but for once I found myself too curious to act. Nothing seemed like the right question to ask, and I knew that Ma't meant to teach me something, and so would not be forthcoming with details. Therefore, my best method of learning was through observation, so I watched the two of them carefully, following closely behind the modest, upright man.
But the two men said nothing to one another until Ma't stopped at the door to the church. "The coin is inside," he said, smiling. "Now as I said, this is all for a little bet I have with my friend, Fe'n." He pointed to me and nodded. The upright man looked my way and I forced a smile. "Fe'n believes that men of your generation are fools, but I know you to be wise, and therefore I will give you a bavdiyar coin for every question you answer correctly. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," the man nodded. He had a mild accent that had made the answer seem closer to "yeshur."
"Very well, let us begin. Do you believe in God?"
The man shrugged. "Yes. Of course."
"Good, good." Ma't seemed to dance with excitement, but I could not figure out what was happening. "Then I suppose you are a Beautav?"
The man nodded.
"Very well, and how often do you attend a sermon?"
"But at New Year, sir."
It is fine, it is fine!" The old priest confirmed. "You seem to be the perfect candidate for this little bet. Tell me, boy: what know you of a moon ritual?"
The man frowned, his thick eyebrows gathering to meet in the midst of his forehead. "I do not know, sir."
"It is fine!" His eyes shone with excitement. "Let us on to the next one. Can you name the Seven Lords of the Occult?"
The upright man frowned again. "There is Galmosto, of course. And, I suppose Ringellen. And..." he trailed off, lost in thought. "That is all I know, sir."
"Two is not bad! Do you know any doctrine?"
"Doctrine?"
"Yes, religious documents. Letters written by bishops or the Iqharepur on important issues of God."
No, it could not be! I knew these questions. How did Ma't know them? Was this the Noble Laborer? Yes, it was the only explanation! Perhaps these questions were a well-known test, and Ma't had led me directly to the man. My heart began to flutter with joyful anticipation. I did not know what Ma't intended to do with the comely man with the smooth voice and sturdy accent, but I felt that something incredible, even miraculous, was about to happen.
"No bishop has ever written to me, if that is what you mean to ask!" The man laughed. "No, no doctrine, sir."
"That is good," Ma't was still as excited as ever. "Come in and you shall sign your name. Then the coin will be yours."
The man shrugged and smiled. He looked at me and I did the same, just as confused as he was. Then we walked into the church after Ma't together.
Ma't produced a small paper and ink. Then he gave the man a straw and, with which the man managed a few letters onto the paper. Pelatt, he wrote. I said it aloud. "That is my name, but I am called P'att. I do not know how to write that, though." I smiled at him. I had to find a way to bring this man to Yhako.
Ma't retreated to the back of the room and then, true to his word, returned holding three bavdiyar n his hand. "Put out your hand, boy," he commanded P'att. P'att grinned and did what he said, and the coins fell into his hands.
"I shall eat for a month with these!" P'att exclaimed, his eyes full of light. "This is marvelous, oh, thank you sir!”
But before he had time even to look up at the priest in gratitude, Ma't's heavy cane came battering down upon P'att's wrist, and the coins flew everywhere. I leapt out of the way, terrified. P'att, startled, fell to the ground. But that did not stop Ma't, who raised the cane once again and smashed it down upon the poor man's right leg. P'att shouted in pain. I shut my eyes as tightly as I could and turned away. I heard the cane crash down again, and the man screamed. I opened my eyes and the whole room seemed to be coming down around me. I turned to Ma't, flinching all along, and saw him lift his cane up in the air once more. He was laughing with pleasure, his eyes crazed and full of satisfaction. This was the most dreadful thing I had ever experienced. I had to do something to make it stop. I grabbed the old man's right arm and held it with all my might. "No, Ma't!" I cried. "Stop!"
Ma't turned to me, still holding the cane with that wild look upon his face. I wrested the cane from his hand and threw it to the ground. His eyes slowly returned to normal, but the crooked old smile remained. P'att was still on the ground, his arms lain upon his head. He was moving, groaning, and blood began to seep through the right leg of his trousers. "He is a heretic," Ma't explained, his words seemingly distant from one another; isolated by quick, shallow breaths from his excitement. "It is as I have told you; it is right to protect the poor, innocent people from him."
But I could not shake the feeling that Ma't had just attacked the Noble Laborer. "What says to you he is a heretic? He is merely an uneducated man, but everything about him has suggested that his soul and heart are pure. Why have we not but bothered to educate him?"
"He stood in front of a deshilva school, a heretic school. He knew nothing of the true doctrine. It is too late to educate him, for his mind has already been poisoned by the heretics. Now stand aside, that I may finish the task." He pulled free from my hand, but I grabbed him again before he could recover the cane. I held his feeble wrists together in my hand behind his back, and wrapped my left arm around his chest. His heart was beating furiously, and I could feel his lungs rapidly expand and contract.
"I will not!" I insisted. "P'att, you must leave this place. I know you are badly injured, but you must get yourself home before worse shall befall you. Seek comfort and care in the home of a friend if you must, but be gone!" I watched the man as he struggled to find his way to his feet. He stood upon his right leg, but it gave out, and he collapsed to the floor once again. "Take the cane," I instructed him, holding tight against Ma't's resistance. The old priest might have summoned all of his strength in his zeal to carry out this crime, but in the fight for what was right, I managed to be stronger. I knew that I could and would restrain Ma't for as long as was necessary to save this man.
Slowly, he managed to stand up once again, leaning on the wooden cane with the orb atop. It was a bit too short for him, and his once-perfect posture had now been replaced with a harsh slouch and a slow, pained gait. He called out in agony each time he set his weight upon his right leg, but I knew he bore the injury with all of the strength and dignity he had. He looked back at me as he neared the door. "I am sorry," I told him, sighing. He cringed and hobbled from the building.
I knew it would take poor P'att some time before he managed to get to safety, so I continued to restrain Ma't, although he had stopped resisting. "You are allowing a heretic to go free, boy," he began to taunt me. "You stand in the way of God's work."
"Ma't, I have trusted you with the world, exactly as Mother instructed. But this day, you have not done the work of God."
We remained there for several minutes more, as Ma’t attempted to shame me into releasing him. But I remained steadfast, holding him firm for what seemed a half hour or more. Then, abruptly, I released him and he stumbled to the ground. Without his cane, walking would be difficult, and I had no idea when another friend or pupil might come to him to aid his stroll, but I did not care. I left as soon as I let him loose, still ignoring his words.
I walked the streets for an hour, searching for signs of noble P’att. There were a few spots of pink snow that led west toward Turka Street, and then a few more that pointed north. But then they disappeared, and I had no clue as to where he might have gone. I returned to the deshilva school where Ma’t had first located him, but the men within knew no one by his name, and he was not amongst the wards that slept there.
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