Damned - White Wolf Part 2

There was so much about the world that Braygan failed to comprehend. People mystified him. How could men ga/e upon the wonders of the mountains, or the glories of the night sky, and not understand the pettiness of human ambition? Fearing death, as all men did, how could they so easily visit death upon others? Braygan could not stop thinking about the hanging bodies he had seen before the burning buildings. They had not merely been strung up by their necks. They had been beaten and tortured first. The young priest could not imagine how anyone could find pleasure in such deeds. And yet they surely had, for it was said there was much laughter in the crowd as the hapless victims were dragged to their places of execution.

The young priest sat at the bedside of Brother Labberan, spoonfeeding him vegetable broth. Occasionally he would stop and dab a napkin to Labberan's mouth. The left side of the older priest's face was swollen and numb, and the broth dribbled from his mouth to his chin.

'Are you feeling a little stronger, Brother?' asked Braygan.

'A little,' answered Labberan, his words slurred. Splints had been applied to both of his forearms, and his hands were also swollen and blue with bruises. There was an unhealthy sheen on the man's thin face. Close to sixty years old Labberan was not strong, and the beating had been severe. Braygan saw a tear form, and slowly trickle down the old priest's face.

'Are you in pain still, Brother?'

Labberan shook his head. Braygan put aside the bowl of broth. Labberan closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. The young priest rose silently from the bedside and left the small room. He took the broth bowl to the lower kitchens and cleaned it. Several other priests were there, preparing the midday meal. Brother Anager approached him.

'How is he?' asked the little man. 'Did my broth sit well with him? It was always his favourite.'

'He ate well, Anager. I am sure he liked it.'

Anager nodded and seemed relieved. Small and round-shouldered, he had a nervous tic that caused his head to twitch as he spoke. It was most disconcerting to Braygan. 'It was the boys, you know,' said Anager. 'They hurt him the worst.'

'The boys?'

'His boys. From the church school.'

Braygan was nonplussed. Two days a week Labberan would travel in to the community hall, offering lessons in writing and arithmetic. He would also tell stories of the Source and His wonders. Teaching children was Labberan's joy. 'Our future lies with the young,' he would say. 'They are the foundations. Only through the young can we hope to eradicate hatred.'

'What about his boys?' asked Braygan.

'After Labberan was beaten by the mob some of the children came to where he lay and kicked him. You think it is over now, Brother Braygan?'

'Yes. Yes, I think so. Everything seems calmer.'

'It is these Arbiters, you know,' said Anager. 'They stir up trouble. Is it true that Brother Lantern thrashed one of them?'

'He did not thrash anyone. The man was clumsy and fell badly.'

'It is said that there have been many killings in the capital,' said Anager, blinking rapidly.

He lowered his voice. 'It is even said they might loose the beasts. What if they come here?'

'Why would they allow the beasts to come here? The war is in the south and east.'

'Yes. Yes, you are right. Of course you are. They won't send beasts here. I saw one, you know. I went to the Games earlier this year. Ghastly. Huge. Four men went in against it. It killed them all. Horrible. Part bear, they said. Dreadful. A monstrosity. It is so wrong, Braygan. So wrong.'

Braygan agreed, and thought it best not to point out that priests were forbidden to watch blood sports.

He left the kitchens and made his way up to the lower hall and out into the vegetable gardens. Several of the brothers were working there. As Braygan arrived they asked after Brother Labberan. He told them he thought him a little better today, though a part of his mind considered that to be wishful thinking. Brother Labberan was a broken man in more ways than one. For an hour Braygan worked alongside them, planting tubers taken carefully from large brown sacks. Then he was summoned to the abbot's study.

Braygan was nervous as he stood outside the door. He wondered which of his many errors had been pointed out to the abbot. He was supposed to have organized the mending of the chapel roof, but the new lead for the flashing had not arrived. Then there was the error with the dyes. It had not been his fault. The sack had split as he was adding the yellow. It should only have been two measures. More like ten had spilled into the vat. The result was a horrible, unusable orange colour, which had to be flushed away. It wouldn't have happened had Brother Naslyn not borrowed the measuring jug.

Braygan tapped at the door, then entered. The abbot was sitting by a small fire. He bade Braygan take a seat. 'Are you well, Younger Brother?' he asked.

'I am well, Elder Brother.'

'Are you content?'

Braygan did not understand the question. 'Content? Er . . . in what way?'

'With your life here.'

'Oh yes, Elder Brother. I love the life.'

'What is it that you love about it, Braygan?'

'To serve the Source and to ... and to help people.'

'Yes, that is why we are here,' said the old man, looking at him keenly. 'That is what we are expected to say. But what do you love about it?'

'I feel safe here, Elder Brother. I feel this is where I belong.'

'And is that why you came to us? To feel safe?'

'In part, yes. Is that wrong?'

'Did you feel safe when the man attacked you in the town?'

'No, Elder Brother. I was very frightened.'

The abbot looked away, staring into the fire. He seemed lost in thought and Braygan said nothing. At last Cethelin spoke again.

'How is Brother Labberan faring?'

'He is not improving as fast as he should. His spirits are very low. His wounds are healing, though. I am sure that in a few days he will begin to recover.'

The abbot returned his gaze to the fire. 'Brother Lantern thinks we should leave. He believes the mob will gather once more and seek to do us harm.'

'Do you think that?' whispered Braygan, his heart beginning to pound. 'It cannot be true,'

he went on, before the abbot could answer. 'No, it is getting calmer now. I think that the attack on Brother Labberan was an aberration. They will have had time to think about the evil of their deeds. They will understand that we are not enemies. We are their friends. Do you not think so?'

'You come from a large town, don't you, Braygan?' said the abbot.

'Yes, Elder Brother.'

'Did many people own dogs there?'

'Yes.'

'Were there sheep in fields close to the town?'

'Yes, Elder Brother,' replied Braygan, mystified.

'I came from such a town. Men would walk their dogs close to the sheep, and there would be no trouble. Occasionally, though, a few dogs would gather together, and run loose. If they went into a field of sheep they would suddenly turn vicious and cause great harm. You have seen this?'

'Yes, Elder Brother. The pack mentality a.s.serts itself. They forget their training, their domesticity, and they turn . . .' Braygan stammered to a halt. 'You think the people in the town are like those dogs?'

'Of course they are, Braygan. They have come together and indulged in what they are led to believe is righteous anger. They have killed. They feel empowered. They feel mighty. Like the dogs they are glorying in their strength. Aye, and in their cruelty. These have been harsh years - crop failures, plagues, and droughts. The war with Datia has sapped the nation's resources. People are frightened and they are angry. They need to find someone to blame for their hardships and their losses. The church leaders spoke out against the war.

Many have been branded as traitors. Some have been executed. The church itself is now accused of aiding the enemy. Of being the enemy. The mob will come, Braygan. With hatred in their hearts and murder on their minds.'

'Then Brother Lantern is right. We must leave.'

'You have not yet taken your final vows. You are free to do as you wish. As indeed is Brother Lantern.'

'Then you are not leaving, Elder Brother?'

'The Order will remain here, for this is our home and the people of the town are our flock.

We will not desert them in their hour of need. Think on these things, Braygan. You have perhaps a few days to consider your position.'

CHAPTER TWO

ABBOT CETHELIN FELT HEAVY OF HEART AS THE YOUNG PRIEST, Braygan, left the study. He liked the boy, and knew him to be good-hearted and kind. There was no malice in Braygan, no dark corners in his soul.

Cethelin moved to the window, pushing it open and breathing in the cool Tantrian mountain air.

He could taste no madness upon it, nor sense any sorcery within it. Yet it was there. The world was slipping into insanity, as if some unseen plague was floating into every home and castle, every croft and hovel. A long time ago, close to his home, Cethelin recalled seeing a host of rodents scampering towards the distant cliffs. He and his father had walked to the clifftops, and watched as the rodents hurled themselves into the sea. The scene had amazed the boy he had been. He had asked his father why these little creatures were drowning themselves. His father had no answer. It happened every twenty or so years, he had said. They just do it.

There was something chilling in that phrase. They just do it.

Ma.s.s extinction should have a better reason. Now, at sixty-seven, Cethelin still pondered the reasons behind the madness -not, this time, of rodents, but of men. Had it begun when Ventria invaded the Drenai? Or had that merely been a symptom of the madness? War had spread like an unchecked bush fire through the heartlands of this eastern continent. Civil war still raged in Ventria, as a result of the Ventrian defeat at Skein five years before.

Rebellions had spread throughout Tantria, only to be followed by war with the country's eastern neighbours Dospilis and Datia -a war that continued still.

In Naashan to the southeast the Witch Queen's forces had invaded Panthia and Opal, and even the peaceful Phocians had been drawn in to help defend against the invaders. To the northwest the Nadir had spread into Pelucid, crossing the vast deserts of Namib to raze and plunder the cities of the coast. War was everywhere, and in its wake came the carrion birds of hatred, terror, plague and despair.

Cethelin felt the last worst of all. To spend a lifetime offering love to all, only to see it brutally transformed and twisted -obscenely reshaped into a blind, unreasoning hatred - was hard to bear. His thoughts swung to Brother Labberan. The children he had nurtured had turned on him, kicking and screeching.

Cethelin took a deep breath, and fought for calm.

Kneeling on the bare boards of the study floor the abbot prayed for a while. Then he rose and walked down to the lower levels and sat for an hour at Labberan's bedside. He spoke soothingly, but the old priest was not comforted.

Cethelin was tired by the time he climbed again to his own rooms, and he took to his narrow bed. It was still early afternoon, but Cethelin found that short naps at such times helped maintain his vigour. Not so today. He could not sleep, and lay upon his back, his mind unable to relax. He found himself thinking of Lantern and Braygan; opposites in so many ways. I should have sent Lantern across the water to found an order of the Thirty, he thought. He would have made a fine warrior priest.

A fine warrior priest.

A contradiction in terms, thought Cethelin sadly.

Unable to take comfort from rest he rose from his bed and made his way to the east wing of the monastery, moving past the kitchens and through the silent weaving rooms.

Mounting the circular steps he climbed to the First Library. His right knee was aching by the time he reached the top, and he felt his heart thudding painfully.

There were several priests present, studying ancient tomes. They rose as he entered and bowed deeply. He smiled at them, and bade them continue with their reading. Moving through the aisles, he ducked beneath the last arch and entered the reconstruction room.

Here also there were priests, meticulously copying decaying ma.n.u.scripts or scrolls. So engrossed were they in their work they failed to notice him as he continued through to the eastern reading room. Here he found Brother Lantern sitting by a window. He was reading a yellowed parchment.

He glanced up and Cethelin felt the power in his sapphire gaze. 'What are you reading?'

asked the abbot, sitting opposite the younger man. He winced as he sat, then rubbed his aching knee. Lantern noticed his pain.

'The apothecary said he would have some fresh juniper tisane for your arthritis within the month,' Lantern told him, then suddenly smiled and shook his head.

'We may yet have another month,' said Cethelin, sensing the irony that caused the smile.

'If the Source wills it.' He pointed to the parchment and repeated his question.

'It is a listing of little-known Datian myths,' replied Lantern.

'Ah. The Resurrectionists. I recall them. The stories are not Datian in origin. They come from the Elder Days, the days of Missael. The hero Enshibar was resurrected after his faithful friend, Kaodas, carried a lock of his hair and a fragment of bone to the Realm of the Dead. There the wizards grew Enshibar a new body and summoned his spirit back from the hall of heroes. It is a fine tale, and resonates through many cultures.'

'Most myths contain a grain of truth,' said Lantern warily.

'Indeed they do, Younger Brother. Is that why you carry a lock of hair and a fragment of bone within the locket round your neck?'

For a moment only Lantern's sapphire eyes glinted with anger. 'You see a great deal, Elder Brother. You see into men's dreams, and you see through metal. Perhaps you should be reading the dreams of the townsfolk.'

'I know their dreams, Lantern. They want food for their tables, and warmth in the winter.

They want their children to have better and safer lives than they can provide. The world is a huge and terrifying place for them. They are desperate for simple answers to life's problems. They fear the war will come here and take away all that they have. Then the Arbiters tell them it is all our fault. If we were dead and gone everything would be fine again. The sun would shine on their crops, and all dangers cease. However, at this moment I am more interested in your dreams than theirs.'

Lantern looked away. 'You do not believe in this . . . this hidden temple of the Resurrectionists?'

'I did not say that I disbelieved. There are many strange places in the world, and a host of talented wizards and magickers. Perhaps there is one who can help you. On the other hand perhaps you should let the dead rest.'

'I cannot.'

'It is said that all men need a quest, Lantern. Perhaps this was always meant to be yours.'

He leaned back in his chair. 'If I asked a favour of you would you do it?'

'Of course.'

'Do not be so swift, young man. I might ask you to put aside your search.'

'Anything but that. Tell me what you need.'