~Chapter I~
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“Are you listening, Brother?”
With utmost steadiness, I bring the quill over the page, seeing to that the ink shall only fall in its proper place. I grimace at the presence of the one behind me.
“Perhaps if thou wouldst meet me when I am at rest.”
“Yet, you are always working…”
“Not on our Lady’s day,” I sigh, wishing he would at last be done with this.
“Oh, when you are cloistered away in fast and prayer?”
“As one should be.”
“Roland!”
With this, the curly-haired youth smacketh his palm upon the table, so severely it maketh the candle above, and the molten wax within, sway. I turn down to the manuscript, aghast, relieved to see it hath escaped unscathed from his outburst. Still—
“Count thyself blessed this page is still white, or I would have thee flogged! Dost thou know not how precious these are?”
A grave look doth overcome the youth, Crispin’s, face.
“I thought you were now a man of peace, Brother—or was that all a simple farce?”
I set the quill within the well and rub mine eyes, sighing deeply, with shame swelling in mine heart.
“…Yes, I am. Please forgive me.”
“It is done,” he replieth wearily. “But you need to cease attempting to flee from this. This is not some mere request, some favor, but an order from our Lord. Would you dare deny him?”
“I serve a lord no longer, but merely a Lady—and I believe she would prefer I remain in her house alone, a servant of no other.”
“Oh, you are thoroughly ridiculous,” Crispin laugheth with contempt in his voice, “You speak of having me flogged, yet know you not what his Majesty would do if he heard these words?”
“Please let me be, Crispin.”
“You know it true—”
“I said, let me be.”
A tense silence doth fall between us. I hope he shall soon depart, and let me return to the manuscript…but of course, he will not.
I gaze to his face, and stare at him intensely, overcome with unease as the years suddenly descend upon me. I remember when he was a mere boy, an orphan, given to the king to be his servant—the king, in his utmost magnanimity, took him in unquestioningly. A paragon of charity, or so I thought.
In those days, I still believed myself to be the king’s blade, a loyal dog to protect that meek, precious, naïve sheep, not yet knowing that under the wool hid a most ferocious wolf—a beast so vicious, its jaws could only be muzzled by the Sun herself. Though it was only mine own transgressions, my deep sin, which gave him cause to bear those teeth. And thus, I cannot fault him…
But, even so…I have not the strength to leave this safe, sunny field, and wander into those dark woods again.
“I see not why you quarrel with me so.”
From the depths of my soul, I sigh.
“Perhaps thou hast forgotten, so I shall remember to thee—your lord once nearly put me to the flame, and only the intervention of our most blessed Lady is why I yet live at all. Yet thou wouldst have me believe he desireth me for such a lofty task?
“I know it is but some trick, and I wish for none of it. Allow me to pursue my penance in peace.”
“It is too late for that now,” Crispin saith quietly, turning his gaze away from mine own. “It doth matter little if you be correct: either you become one with his machinations, or you be put to the pyre once and for all. Or do you presume our Lady’s mercy shall spare you twice? I am sure she shall appreciate such pride.”
I cover both mine eyes with my palms, head thrust within a raging whirlwind. He be correct, it would be dreadfully foolish—even for a fool such as myself.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Tell thy lord I assent, and shall do whatsoever he pleaseth. Now verily, be gone.”
“Yes!” Crispin exclaimeth with clear relief in his voice. “May you have a blessed day, Brother.”
“Thou as well,” I whisper as he taketh leave of the small study.
With a deep breath, I gaze to the vellum, pure and white. I must continue my work, and yet the will now eludeth me… This whole sordid affair is beyond perplexing.
That His Majesty would elicit my services is confounding enough; yet, that he would do so for this…
The very first embassy from Folwêšiâ to Soléiâ, the first contact between our two continents—besides those scattered merchants—in nearly two millennia…I cannot fathom a reason for this beyond some intrigue.
I have no familiarity with that place; I have had no dealings with their merchants, know not their tongue…all I know are those luxuries which arrive from across the sea, those fine silks and porcelains, spices and incense. And for my skill as a scribe…I am more of a novice than many of these youths that surround me, who have spent the whole of their short lives mastering these skills. I suppose I am not wholly unlearned—my knowledge of Shinannan and Arinasan outmatches those of all of my brothers—perhaps they so see it fit that we should converse in our shared ancient tongues?
All I know is that I scarcely cam bear the thought of entering those high walls of Solzédniê again.
…And yet, Crispin is unfortunately correct: if I forsake this, I shall surely find myself offered to my Lady instead, not with dignity and exaltations, at the end of my natural life—but horrifically soo , hearing curses and damnations as the flames consume me whole.
Slowly I arise and exit the silent study, and soon make way to the garden, and sit upon a wooden bench. For a moment, my raging heart doth steady, for it is this season I love most: when the air is cooled, and the leaves are the color of hearthfire—and our Lady’s light, so benign and gentle, shineth upon the world most piteously, a tender warmth within the chill. Regardless of my past, my terrible transgressions—still, the light doth shine upon me as any other. I gaze to the Sky, most bright and clear and blue, and upon her precious rays—and within, I know, all shall be well.
Yes, that is what I need do—focus not upon any curse, but upon my blessings. If His Majesty doth plan some ruse, that be his own business, for I shall not sway again. If he wish to lead me to temptation, to once more find me in some contemptible act, so be it: like an ancient oak, sturdy and steadfast, I will waver not, yet simply stretch my leaves to that most glorious Sun above.
In truth, this affair may be a wonderful opportunity to grow closer to my Lady. I know those of Folwêšiâ are as beloved as we, and know her as we do. Their nobles, too, are endowed with wisdom, knowledge of her sacred mysteries, as are ours: not falling into the petty idolatry of the common folk, believing the Sky and the Earth are her father and mother, or that the Moon is her contemptuous sister, as though one so great as her would have a humanlike family… They, too, know that these are mere manifestations of her light, as are we, and all else that exists. With that alone, I know—no matter how different our customs may be, we have common ground with one another.
With these thoughts, I arise with a renewed vigor. This be not a curse, but a blessing: His Majesty’s intentions may be loathsome, our Lady’s are always pure; and thus, I return to the study, eager to continue my labor.
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Lovingly created by [James Margaret Rose].