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The Foundation of a Herald
Posted: 10 Jan 2007 12:49 PM |
Letters to Father Certos
Antonin Smith stopped short of the entrance to the command plateau. A strong gust of cold air bit into his face, and he pulled close his wool hood. The Herald guarding the plateau entrance, a broad-shouldered man with a clean shaven face and sharp eyes seemed unaffected by the cold. He waited impatiently, and Smith smiled slightly, felt foolish when the Herald’s face remained impassive, then remembered why he had come. “Sir, I have a message for the High-Paladin.”
The Herald, Smith recalled his name was Burstrom, or something like that, considered the guard for a moment. Smith fought to urge to recoil under his impressive gaze. Burstrom was, if he remembered correctly, a veteran of the Port Royale Guard that left the service of his home to join the cause of the Novus Aristi. Beyond that, however, he knew little of the quiet giant before him. The silence was finally broken when Burstrom spoke, “Well,” his rumbling baritone was clear over another strong gust, “who is it from?”
“A warrior who wishes to join our cause,” Smith fought the urge to smile again. It was not uncommon for young men and women to seek out Haven, to ask to join the ranks of the Novus Aristi. Not all sought to join the Heralds, or any other strictly martial post. Haven was, after all, a village in its own right, and required the necessities of life as much as Buckshire, or Icy Vale, or Paws. Traders had joined to act as brokers in the major cities so as to purchase supplies for Haven. Fishermen had joined to harvest the bounty in the sea near Haven. Tailors and smiths, cobblers and potters, alchemists and fletchers had all come to Haven to serve the Greater Good in their own way. But occasionally, a warrior would come seeking the path of the Heralds. It happened far too infrequently for Smith’s taste, but he was not one who sought to become a Herald, so he felt he could hardly complain. He was happy to guard Haven, and it was that duty that brought him to the command plateau.
Burstrsom cleared his throat and Smith broke from his reverie. “He did not give his name,” he said quickly. “Jorgenson is with him. So is Sander.” Burstrom nodded his approval, at least the man was not left alone. Security has been a problem in Haven in the past, and while it has become markedly better, Burstrom still remembered the early days when it seemed Haven was more of a highway than a hidden base. It was more open now, the usefulness of a “hidden base” was limited in the service of the Greater Good, but lax security was still inexcusable.
The sound of footsteps running towards them cause both men to turn their heads. A young girl, barely past womanhood, was approaching fast waving a piece of paper. She stopped adruptly beside smith and stood doubled over, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. “I…” she tried to straighten, couldn’t, and bent low again, the quick gasps overpowering her words.
“Calm yourself, Seline,” said Burstrom as he took the paper from her hands. “Was this that urgent? You needn’t run so hard, of course.” She looked gratefully up at him as he scanned the note. “This is important, yes, but not worth such a hard run. Seline, you must learn to slow down.”
The woman stood straight, her breath now under control, and cocked her head to one side in a faux-defiant stance. A mischievous smirk crossed her face. Smith couldn’t help but notice she was very pretty when she smiled. “Why, Jonny, I didn’t know you cared!” He tried to figure out who ‘Jonny” was, but the answer wasn’t hidden for long. Burstrom smiled gently, an odd expression on his hard face, and muttered something quietly to Seline. Smith could not help but smile yet again, and this time he did not feel silly.
“Take this up to the High-Paladin,” instructed Burstrom. Both Seline and Smith moved to take the paper, but Burstrom pushed it into Seline’s hands. “No, you go.” With that, Seline was gone up the path to the command plateau. The Herald turned to Smith, "Go back and bring him here. The High-Paladin will want to speak with him as soon as possible.”
Smith could not resist. “Sir,” he asked, “who is this man, and why would Lord Byron wish to speak with him so immediately?”
Burstrom considered the young man. Smith still had a fresh face. He was, in fact, barely older than young Seline. So much potential, he thought, and so much curiosity. He could be captain someday, if he learned when and how to ask the right questions. If he understood how to respond to them. If he knew what to do when the opportunity presented itself. Part of what he needed, thought Burstrom, was knowing how to follow orders without satisfying curiosity. “Bring him here, Smith,” barked Burstrom, “His identity isn’t important.”
Smith nodded, but couldn’t help feeling disappointed. Why couldn’t he know who this man was, and why he was so blasted important that Lord Byron would want to see him so quickly? He turned and made an impatient path back to the tent where the man was held. He would do as he was ordered, Smith was too competent a soldier to ask questions when it was made abundantly clear they were not welcome.
He returned to the tent to fetch the man. He was a broad man, similar to Burstrom in many ways. Smith could tell his girth hid a powerful body, one forged through years of difficult physical training. The sort of training that allowed a man to wield a heavy sword and wear plate mail. He had the look of a Midoran. A paladin, he thought to himself. The man looked to Smith, a brief expression of annoyance crossed his face, but he said nothing. Smith stood straight and squared his shoulders, such did presence of this man inspire a proper manner, a more noble demeanor. “Sir,” he said crisply,” come with me.” |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: The Foundation of a Herald
Posted: 11 Jan 2007 04:20 PM |
Cedrych stood tall and straight, assuming the posture that came automatically to all who trained at the Academy, even ex-knights on the list of heretics and outlaws and marked for death. Precious few things left over from those days worth keeping, he thought, but that was one of them. And he was glad, for he wished to speak to Byron as soon as possible, but he was determined not to show it. His face was calm and placid, but not stoic. He had never quite mastered stoic, it seemed his face was connected too close to his heart for the necessary indifference that this particular look required.
He calmly surveyed the mountainous community that was Haven. He hadn’t considered it before, but the place had grown quite a bit since his first trip here, and was now a beehive of activity. Numerous tents and semi-permanent shelters, and even a few permanent ones, had risen up wherever the rocky terrain gave way just enough to provide a few meters of semi-flat land that could be utilized. People, men and women, and a few other races, some in armor, but many others in clothes that identified themselves as craftsmen of some sort of another, scurried this way and that, occasionally nodding. Even the occasional shout of hello or burst of laughter broke through. It had become something of a real town, he thought. And he knew there were numerous rooms and tunnels within the mountains themselves.
Despite the seeming haphazard nature of the layout and the fair number of people about, there was a sense of order about it. People moved quickly with a purpose, but never ran. And after a minute or two, he made out patterns of movement, and along with the obvious signs from particular tents and shelters, he began to detect a certain order and pattern as to how things were arranged, based on both functionality of what was needed and the limitations of the setting.
Dwarves, he thought, would have made the mountain their own, part of their family, using their arts and tools to create a place that was not only practical but that also looked natural. Half-orcs, he conjectured from his experience, would have either tried to master the setting through their rough mining techniques, gouging the mountain, or ignored it altogether. The Aristi, it seemed, had reached an agreement with it, allowing both the mountain and themselves to co-exist. It was not balance for he didn’t like that term. It implied force and tension, two halves battling each other. No, the mountain and the Aristi had reached a sort of harmony. Thus, the name Haven seemed doubly appropriate.
And now there was a chance to extend that Haven. No, no, that was wrong, he thought. A chance to help others build their own haven, or more accurately, rebuild their haven. He supposed the news had reached here yet but he wasn’t sure.
A sudden movement caught his eyes, and he was glad for the distraction. He turned to the two guards who were watching him. One had turned to look at another man walking towards them. He recognized the man as the guard he has first spoken to briefly when he had arrived.
“I seek Byron Lorian. I wish to become a Herald of Aristi.”
While he knew his identity would become known soon enough, he didn’t want to give it immediately. He wished to become a Herald. The Aristi took any who were able and worthy and could pass the training. That was all that mattered.
The guard walked up to Cedrych. He was young, like most of them seemed to be, though his expression and demeanor showed that he had gone through a fair bit of training. In fact, all of the guards here seemed to have. Serious training, not like the slobs he had seen in Port Royale. Out of the corner of his eye, Cedrych had picked up various bits of silent communication between the two who had been watching him earlier. They were effective and efficient, perhaps not skilled enough to ferret out a Fennigan or a Cora, but he was impressed with their training.
“Sir,” the young man said. “Come with me.”
Cedyrch nodded and fell in behind the man. He had been to Haven enough times to know how to get to most of the places by himself, and on a few occasions they had even let him. But this was different now. He (hopefully) wasn’t going to be an outsider anymore – allowed to move around, but watched (no doubt). He wanted to become one of them, and so decorum and expression and demeanor mattered even more. Not for their own sakes, of course, but because of what it meant and represented to people he might work with, fight with and perhaps even die with. So he followed behind quietly.
“This is the man, sir,” said the guard to the Herald as they reached the entrance to the command plateau. Cedrych recognized the Herald, a broad-shouldered man with a clean shaven face and sharp eyes seemed unaffected by the cold. He had recognized the man from several visits to Haven, although the two had never been introduced.
The Herald responded with the briefest of nods at the guard, dismissing him. The guard paused, and Cedrych recognized the fleeting look of disappointment that passed his face. He doesn’t know, he thought, and he desperately wants to. Cedrych fought back a smile. I know that feeling well, young man.
Still, the guard knew his duty, and he turned crisply without a word and walked back to his post where Cedrych had first arrived. Cedrych couldn’t help but glance back at him as he left. “A good soldier,” he mused. “Might make as a very good soldier.”
It was said as much for its probative value as for anything else, and the Herald, to his credit, didn’t take the bait. “Come with me, sir,” he said, staring at the paladin, then motioned Cedrych to follow him.
It felt good, actually, the crisp conduct and discipline. It spoke to purpose and clarity, but also fellowship. An esprit de corps. That had been a strength of the Academy, and at the Villa too, though Cedrych preferred the larger, more open setting of the Isle.
They walked to the plateau proper, and Cedrych had one more opportunity to gaze down at Haven. A new home? Perhaps, he thought. He liked the idea of and being and training with the people. In Midor, students were mostly sequestered at the Isle, then sent away from home for years as knight-errants. The villa had been a secret, and they themselves were supposed to be as well. But here, the Heralds were what they were, working and training alongside the people. The thought appealed to him greatly.
He turned and realized they had already reached the top. And Byron was there, facing him, but speaking with a young girl and looking at a piece of paper. “Thank you, Seline. You know to whom this goes?”
The young girl nodded and smiled. It seemed to Cedrych she was trying her best to stifle her typical youthful exuberance as she walked slowly by, her whole body bobbing back and forth as she smiled to both he and the Herald. Then when she thought she was out of view of everyone, she ran, nearly skipping thought Cedrych, down the path. Well, he thought with a smile, it was probably good that not everyone had the same quiet and stoic demeanor here in Haven.
He glanced back and saw Byron watching him. He was in his traditional black and gold armor, his sword at his waist, his hands by his sword. He didn’t look any different, not that Cedrych recalled anyway. And perhaps it was just Cedrych’s epiphany, or perhaps it was just the recent events, but he looked at Byron and actually felt…glad. He had no idea right now if his face looked calm or placid, but for a moment, he felt that way.
“Sir Burstram, have you met Cedrych von Maistlin?” asked Byron in a formal, respectful tone.
“No, sir,” clipped Burstram.
“I believe we’ve seen each other, but not been formally introduced,” said Cedrych, and bowed briefly. Burstram nodded.
“Thank you, Sir Burstram,” said Byron. And the Herald bowed formally to Byron and walked back down to the plateau entrance.
There was silence for a moment as the two men regarded each other.
“I’m glad you’re here, Cedrych.”
“I believe this is my place, if you’ll have me.”
“That will be up to you, not me. Given your previous experience in Midor and elsewhere, I suspect you will find parts of your training much easier than others. On the other hand, there will be parts you will find far more challenging.”
“I expect no special treatment.”
“Of course not. And like anyone else, we will use your skills and experience where they can best be put to use.”
There was another silence. They were still feeling each other out, Cedrych thought. There were ties here, but also much history. Though perhaps he was the only one feeling it. He ventured a try and smiled wryly at Byron.
“Eh…you know…it would be okay for you to tell me I told you so.”
Byron looked him quizzically for a moment, then shook his head. “I would never say such a thing, nor should you expect such.”
“No,” said Cedrych. “As a knight and one of the most honorable men I know, I am sure you wouldn’t.” He paused. “But as a colleague…said in half-jest…to another colleague…perhaps even a friend…aware of the history they have between each other…it wouldn’t be so bad.”
He held out his hand. “I’m honored to be able to fight by your side.”
Byron nodded, the briefest of smiles crossing his face, as he offered his hand, and the two men shook. “As I said, I’m glad you’re here.”
And Cedrych felt whatever water was remaining drain under the bridge.
“Then I must ask you something, Byron. I know it’s not typical to ask a request before one begins training, but I think that the situation requires it.” The Aristi leader raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.”
“You’ve heard of the situation in Brandibuck Vale, yes?” asked Cedrych.
“We’re just getting reports in now,” replied Byron. “It sounds very bad. We’re beginning to put together a small relief force right now.”
“It’s worse than bad. I was just there, before I came here. It’s complete devastation. Those people need help. Lots of it.”
“And you’re suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting not just a small force, but a large force,” said Cedrych. He gestured to the tents and people below them. “You have nearly a town here, full of skilled artisans and craftsmen. They follow you. They follow the Aristi way. Take them, and the Heralds, to the Vale. I’ve already written to Sir Jongras and the Illumine Alliance and asked them to begin help as well.”
“An extremely noble sentiment, Cedrych, and I can tell you we will definitely respond,” said Byron. “But I do have to think of security here, and people have families and other responsibilities. Plus the Alliance may be better suited to that in some ways.”
“I understand, Byron. I would never wish to put Haven in jeopardy, and how many you send with what sort of provisions I leave in your hand. But I’ve seen it, and the Vale is completely devastated. It needs more than just a small group of Heralds. And this is an opportunity to show what the values and principles of the Aristi are.”
The last son of the Aristi paused, gazing at the solitary tent that stood atop the plateau, clearly lost in thought and calculation.
“Byron, I’ve traveled a lot lately, and I hear a constant theme: where are the forces of good? I know that the Alliance and the Aristi do many things in the background, behind the scenes, that they don’t get credit for. And I know that you don’t care to get credit for. But the Vale is in darkness, and it needs light. Let us be the beacon.” |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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Re: The Foundation of a Herald
Posted: 17 Jan 2007 08:03 PM |
The order was made, and soon carts of aid, as well as healers and Heralds of Aristi, were wheeling towards Brandibuck. But bad things, as they so often do, come in packages.
Next was the attack on Port Royale. Aid was sent there, with the approval of the Queen, but the effort was already taxing the Aristi resources. Than came reports from Bregodigm, and the dwarven refugees living a stones throw away at Ikarian Bay. And finally, the Midor Farmlands.
Reports were intermittent from the south, but Byron harbored no illusions as to what happened. Destruction, complete and merciless. Some would say the Midorans deserved it, that they were being punished fort eh arrogance of their leaders. But to Byron, it was a great tragedy. The continued suffering of a people who's food supply had been disrupted. And a madman who would not hesitate to use his people's suffering as a weapon aimed at the heart of Ferein.
Cedrych had remained in Haven for the first few days after his arrival. Byron has kept him close for reasons that eluded the former paladin of Midoran. He was given a tunic in the Aristi design, but had not been told to put it on. As a sign of independence or defiance, Byron did not know which, Cedrych had chosen to remain in his armor, making him an odd, silvery site in sea of gold and black that was Haven.
Byron darted around Haven, issuing orders and signing endless documents, all the while not saying a word to Cedrych. He offered no explanation to what he was doing, and insights into the workings of the Aristi faith where not forthcoming. The first day came and went, and Cedrych continued to follow Byron. He could sense the frustration building inside Cedrych, and nodded in satisfaction when he bade him good night that evening.
The second day came and went, slower than the first, and by now Cedrych’s frustration was evident. Cedrych’s stance was tense, and he no longer tried to engage Byron in conversation. But for the second day, Byron said nothing directly to him except to bark an order for him to keep up as the High Paladin moved from one area of Haven to the next.
Cedrych had finished stuffing the last of his supplies into a large pack when Byron slipped into the tent. “You were not at the morning report,” he said accusingly. Cedrych stared incredulously at the black-clad paladin. He considered for a moment, his gaze resting firmly on the smooth face and strong features of the Novus Aristi High Paladin. The frustration of the last two days, no, the frustration of the last few years, washed over him, and he shouted.
“Of course I’m leaving,” he bellowed, “I’d rather be out doing something useful than sitting around here listening to your quarterly supply requisition reviews!” Byron stood stoically, and Cedrych seized his chance, “What are you doing here, Byron? Nothing? Mindless, meaningless….it’s all pointless, isn’t it? Nothing is being done!” He paused to catch his breath, it had been some time since he had shouted like this. He is not shouting at me, not completely, thought Byron, and he allowed Cedrych’s words to wash over him.
When Cedrych had spent his energy, Byron looks appraisingly at his companion. “And so you are going.” It was not a question.
“Yes,” spat Cedrych, “I never should have come here.”
“What will you do?” asked Byron. “Where will you go?”
“Somewhere…anywhere,” Cedrych was calmer now, but the distain was still in his voice, “To Port Royale, I think. Or back to Brandibuck. Someplace where I can do some good, instead of sitting here not doing anything!”
“Are you sure,” asked Byron, “that is where you want to go?”
Cedrych seemed to consider for a few moments, than nodded his head. “Yes,” he finally said, “I am needed there.”
Byron smiled, and he could not help but be amused with Cedrych as his face flushed with anger, “Why are you smiling, dang it? Are you pleased that you’ve driven me away?”
“Hardly,” responded Byron, “I have not driven you away.” He spoke again, before Cedrych’s harsh retort could leave his lips, “You have taken your first step to Lymdril, Cedrych. You have found in your heart Yendaynril, that is, insight, to help drive your action. Rather than staying here, because you think it is expected, you are willing to leave, to take action.”
Cedrych was dumbfounded. Who did he think he was, with his black and gold armor and smug attitude? He had found no great insight or call to action by wanting to leave. Had he made a mistake, coming here? “You’re wrong, Byron. I have done no such thing.”
“Perhaps,” said Byron, “but if you have started on your journey. Go. I will meet you in Port Royale shortly.”
And with that, Byron was gone, and Cedrych was alone. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Questions
Posted: 18 Jan 2007 02:38 PM |
At first he thought it just more riddles, and that had made him angry. Or that Byron was treating him like a child, as if insight could simply come from getting angry and wanting to leave. It had taken him a few minutes to settle down after Byron had left, though he had mercifully managed to stew in silence. Any more outbursts would have proved more embarrassing than he could stand.
But as he thought about it more (and it was all he could do to simply sit there and make himself think about it), the more he realized what Byron had said at the very beginning was right. Given your previous experience in Midor and elsewhere, I suspect you will find parts of your training much easier than others. On the other hand, there will be parts you will find far more challenging.
It wasn’t like starting at square one (or even oval seven) again. In some ways, he was beginning way behind the start line, having to unlearn key concepts and break down basic parts of his past training that were core to him.
Even the basic idea of prayer – Lanhesian as the Aristi called it – was turned on its head. But it wasn’t really prayer, at least not how he knew it. You didn’t pray to a god because there wasn’t a god to pray to. You didn’t recite a passage or psalm from the Book of Midoran because the Aristi didn’t have the equivalent.
His prayers had almost always started with the Sailor’s Psalm from the 8th book of Midoran, his favorite. While most of the other students at the Academy had recited various knight’s prayers or the Warrior’s Psalm, he always loved the sea, and the Sailors Psalm always seemed the most powerful to him, the words both cleansing and focusing his mind as he reached closer towards Midoran and his all-knowing light.
Midoran is my Captain, I shall not lose course,
His light is my north star
His words my compass
His righteousness my chart
With him at the helm, I fear no storm, no still water
Even as I break close to the rocks, approach the tempest
You are at the helm, making my course clear
Breaking open the skies
Bringing light and wind, filling my sails, filling my vessel
With the glory of your bounty
Surely blue skies will follow me all the days of my voyage,
And I shall sail on the ship of your word forever.*
But the Aristi had no use for such things, and neither did Cedrych. Not anymore, although he absently went over the Sailor’s Psalm in his mind once again, simply enjoying the interplay and power of the words.
No, Lanhesian was something completely different. It was like personal meditation, and one could apparently focus on anything: an object, a problem, an idea or even one’s own actions. The purpose is to reflect, Byron had said once when Cedrych had asked about it long ago. Review yourself and everything around you in a quest for insight. Lanhesian was supposed to lead to insight, although apparently one could also find insight without Lanhesian, which was what Cedrych had unwittingly done.
Byron called it a first step, Cedrych called it confusing.
But if anything, the incident had made clear another key difference, the lack of barriers for the Aristi between faith and life, between study and action, knowledge and learning. As a knight of Midoran, life was segmented in certain ways. You studied at the church. You trained at the Academy. You fought in the field. Each part of your life had its certain place, with certain rules and rituals.
But for the Aristi, it seemed there was no difference. You were always in the field. That resonated with him…you are always in the field. Your actions don’t just result in effects and consequences, they result in learning, in training, in wisdom, and even apparently, insight. Would a Midoran have called it a distinction without a difference? Perhaps, but Cedrych felt there was something to it, as he rolled the words around in his mind. You are always in the field.
Still, it was confusing, the lack of rote knowledge and rituals that the Aristi used. It meant that there was so much focus on the individual, as if minmizing what one might learn from another. He suspected that this wasn’t necessarily the case, that Byron had only been trying to let him learn this particular lesson on his own, and that questions might be answered (or at least allowed to be asked) in the future.
He hoped so, and soon. He had a lot of questions, and some needed to be answered (or at least asked) sooner rather than later. After all, it wasn’t often that you spoke to a goddess.
***************************************************************
Lady Emma had just left after one of their long conversations. He sat back down on the cushions, and turned absently to the cushions next to him, lost in thought.
And sitting next to him was Elbereth.
He didn’t know how he knew. He just knew. The young elvish woman sitting next to him was definitely Elbereth.
He wished he had reacted in the way that knights are taught to when faced with the unexpected. Unfortunately, he did not. He jumped out of the cushions, and had taken a minute to settle down.
“An interesting choice of word she made... no?” the elvish lady—no, goddess— had said. “She spoke, I believe, of allegiance. One wonders whether allegiance is a concept you understand. Whether it will be easy to accept when it was seemingly so difficult to give... for some at least…”
“Are we discussing the Lady Emma now, or my decision with the Aristi?” he had responded, and it had sounded harsh, as if he was rebuking her. And he felt chilled for a moment when he realized what he had said.
She rested her staff on her shoulder and clasped her hands in front of her. “We speak of you. Of your choice. Of your allegiance.”
“To the Aristi. Which you think I cannot keep” And again, he was shocked by the tone of his voice, and bit his tongue.
“Do I?” she asked. “And is what I think so important?” She had smiled gently at him, and he suddenly felt very relaxed and calm. At least, as much as one could in front of a goddess one didn’t necessarily believe in and had rejected once.
“I told you once before, yet you chose not to listen and made a choice of your own. That is to be respected.”
“But?”
“I do not force. I do not judge.”
He knew that to be true…somehow. If Ulalume served her, then there truly was no reason to be afraid. “I know. I respected the decision my companion Ulalume made. I…I have no quarrel with you, far from it.” He closed his eyes, realizing how ridiculous that last part must have sounded.
But she had merely glanced meaningfully to the other cushions. “Then perhaps you might tell me why. I am interested.”
“Why…I rejected you?” He gulped involuntarily, a loud noise that broke the quiet of the room.
“Shall we say, why you rejected what you had always believed.”
That had made him wince. He paused for a while, then finally looked straight at her, for the first time. “All I can tell you is that at the time, I was not ready to believe what I believe now. Or rather, know what I know now.”
“And what do you know now, Cedrych?”
“I know that I have faith, which I’m not sure I had when you approached me.”
You are a knight, such a thing would be unusual, no?” Any other tone of voice – any other voice for that matter – and he have taken it as a slight, a quick joke at his expense. But somehow her voice managed to convey understanding and sincere curiosity. “Faith I would think is necessary.”
“Perhaps one can misplace it, I suppose.
The goddess nodded. “A good answer.”
He continued. “I placed my faith in expectations that I would somehow be given the answers to all my questions I had. That I could work out answers through riddles and secrets.”
“To receive answers, one needs to ask. But to receive the correct answers, one needs to direct questions to one who can provide the answers.” She paused. “Have you asked, Cedrych. Did you ask?”
He paused. “I’ve always looked to find the answers inside myself.” An Aristi approach, he thought to himself.
She laughed, a soft sound that seemed to light up the whole room, and thus it was impossible to feel slighted. Nor he did he think she meant it that way. “How can you provide answers to yourself?”
“It’s what I’ve been taught to do. Use the Code and other teachings as a guide. And look inside yourself for answers.”
“So you believe you have them now?”
He paused again. “Should I—”
But being a goddess, she anticipated the question. “Do you need me to tell you what your heart knows? The confirmation that what your heart knows is correct?”
“No, I…” and he fumbled for words. “The questions that I value the most I feel I have the answer to.” He did mean that, didn’t he? “Perhaps that is the way of mortals in our arrogance…” And he trailed off.
She smiled at him again, and he felt forced to try to put his thoughts together in a better way. “That is why I rejected you. I was simply not ready to believe in you. You were just another force come to use us, or betray us. In our arrogance we thought that...or at least I did, I suppose. And now I find myself in a peculiar position of admitting that you teachings, as much as I know of them, of course, might be quite….eh….” What, Cedrych, what are you trying to say?...”compatible with mine in some ways, but…but yours, ultimately, is not my path.” And for some reason, some reason he could not name, he added: “I think.”
She paused briefly, then smiled one last time at him. “We will speak again, I think” the goddess said. “Do not forget to ask your questions.”
“My questions? But I said—”
“But ask in the right places, Cedrych von Maistlin.” And she simply faded from view, her voice trailing away as if blown on the wind.
He sat there for a while, rethinking the events. His body trembled a bit as the enormity of speaking with a goddess, sitting mere inches from her, finally hit him. Why try to fool yourself, he thought. You still have many questions. He nodded in spite of himself, repeating the words over and over, his head slowly dropping down as he headed towards slumber. “Ask in the right places…”
* Inspired by and loosely based on the Sailor’s Psalm, Written by Ens. Anderson, USS McCall 1943 |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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Re: Questions
Posted: 22 Jan 2007 07:27 PM |
They had met again in Port Royale, and Byron already knew what he wanted from Cedrych. “I am giving you a field promotion to Captain,” said Byron in a crisp, if low, voice. “You are to coordinate relief efforts in Port Royale. Speak with the Queen first, I do not want the Novus Aristi to come without her sanction.”
Cedrych looked surprised, both with Byron’s directness and what he had to say. A field promotion to someone newly indoctrinated in the Aristi faith certainly was an odd move, but Byron was sure of the decision. Cedrych was, if anything, a good soldier. He would do his duty, even if he didn’t feel he deserved the title. Well, thought Byron, whether he deserves the title or not is for him to decide. He has it, now the challenge is what he does with it. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: Questions
Posted: 22 Jan 2007 07:34 PM |
"I thought the Aristi were focused inward," said Cedrych. "How does one find help in finding insight?"
Byron smiled, "Everyone you meet affects you, Cedrych. Your thoughts, your experiences, and even your actions. We are not islands, and though our journey to discover the Greater Good is unique for each individual, the path is touched by many." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and look up, "Without your influence, Cedrych, the Novus Aristi would not be here, at least, not in this form." |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Truths
Posted: 16 Feb 2007 02:02 AM |
At the very least, all of the traveling through the countryside let him plenty of time alone with his thoughts.
And so somewhere between Taldir’s Crossing and what he thought was Eventree, two small villages little more than dots on an old map, it finally hit him why Byron had made him captain.
He had been thinking about a conversation with Cora, of all people, when the realization hit him.
They had been discussing the people of Port Royale and the “business” that Jessup ran. “Those people need a strong hand; otherwise they’re just animals. You can’t imagine what Port Royale would be like without Jessup,” she had said.
“If given the chance, people will rise to whatever expectations are given of them,” he had replied proudly, surprising even himself at how passionately he felt about Port Royale. “You expect nothing out of them. Thus, you get the worst.”
Cora, of course, had laughed at him, and he had thought little else of it.
Until now. He slapped the nape of the horse with a hand, a booming laugh, a flock of birds flying away at the sound that had broken the austere solitude of the countryside. It made sense now. The captaincy. The ridiculous two days of meetings at Haven before he had finally ridden out in anger.
Some would have called it a test, but it wasn’t really. It was simply life. One either did or didn’t. One either rose to expectations or didn’t. It was a truth. And more often than not, people would rise to expectations, if they had the chance. That was another truth.
And what Byron had told him, that what Cedrych had said one time that had completely changed his thinking about the Aristi. Nine little words, said in anger during an argument, not meant to be any sort of insight. Yet they had changed things, Byron had said, many things. Each person’s actions – what they said and did – did have an effect on everyone. People were connected, just as Byron had said, not islands in the ocean, cut off from one another. Yet another truth.
And that was the core of it. There wasn’t just one truth, one grand truth that defined everything. There were truths. Many of them, each defining life. If the maxim that Cedrych had always lived by was indeed correct – that each person is the sum of their actions, and no one thing defines us – then why shouldn’t there be multiple truths? The Greater Good united those truths, but it was not the sole truth.
The disdain he once felt for other faiths now felt irrational, for he realized they too serve truths, part of the Greater Good. Beauty, creation, justice…all truths in their own right, part of what the Aristi sought to advance.
Even a faith like Syn’s, he considered. It might not serve the Greater Good, but contained it own truths. Decay and death were part of life, part of the cycle. Life would mean nothing if people did not die, if things did not fall apart and decay.
That Syn – or Midoran, or any faith – would seek to trump her truth above all others…that’s where, in Cedrych’s opinion, evil arose.
He thought back to the story that Rosen had told at the gathering in Brandibuck where various faiths had been discussed. “The young girl wants a doll, yet her mother tells her she cannot have one,” she had said. “And so she learns she is not the center of the universe.”
It was a truth, yes, Cedrych considered. The girl would learn that the world was huge and she was a small part of it. But it was only one truth among many. The girl might also learn that if she worked hard, she might get a doll. She might learn that sharing with her friends might allow her to play with several dolls.
He laughed briefly to himself. Byron would doubtlessly be impressed by the depth of his thinking, discussing dolls and faith. That is, assuming he ever saw him again. Cedrych had disturbing news about the Atalan, but at the little villages he went through, no one ever knew anything for certain. It was all rumors and stories.
His thoughts were disturbed by a distant shout down the road behind him. He turned and saw a horse galloping towards him carrying a tall rider. He placed a wary hand on his sword, but as the figure approached, he recognized the black and gold livery.
“Sir…Sir von Maistlin,” the figure said, out of breath.
“Aye. That’s me, sir.” He spoke formally though he could tell the rider, though he sat tall in the saddle, was still young, perhaps just coming of age.
“H-Haven…It’s…You need—”
“Rest a moment. Your news is important, but only if I can hear it and understand it.” He smiled briefly.
The young man nodded, taking a few more deep breaths which seemed to settle him. “Lord Byron has called all the Aristi back to Haven. There is…trouble there.”
“Trouble? In Haven” His eyes widened for a moment, his voice incredulous. “How long ago? When you went sent?”
The young Aristi told him.
He again slapped the nape of his horse, though this time there was no humor in it as he swore loudly. “How long can it take to find to find one slightly obese man riding around the countryside in black and gold armor?”
The man looked as if he had been struck, and Cedrych immediately regretted his words. “Sorry, lad, not your fault, truly.” He placed a hand on the Aristi’s shoulder. “I’m angry at myself for not being there when needed is all. You’ve done fine.”
The boy nodded, though he didn’t look convinced, but Cedrych didn’t have time to console him any further. “You looking for anyone else?” he asked as he took a drink from his waterskin and prepared for a long and fast ride to Haven.
“Only Sir Jeranek.”
“I heard news a day or two back that he was in the Dardenstoun area. You might try there if he hasn’t already begun to make his way back.” Cedrych turned his horse around and kicked his heels hard into his mount. “Good luck.”
And with that he was off. He had been looking forward to seeing Haven again soon, but now it was for other reasons, one that left him troubled. He had been gone a long time. The only question was, had it been too long? |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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