by R J Hanson
Roland thought about what the Servant of the Altar had said. He had thought it best not to mention what Velryk had to say in regard to most of the churches of the day. The concepts of good and evil had been taught to him from an early age. Not the complicated philosophies of faith versus acts of faith, but rather a more simple idea. The simple truth that a good man cares for his neighbor as he does himself and the evil man seeks to exploit his neighbor. The simple truth that some gods seek to protect their followers while others seek only their obedience.
Roland was thinking back on those lessons from his father. Lessons taught while training, and while walking along the road, not from behind an altar. Lessons taught while fishing, and while cutting wood, not in an over glorified building. Roland was thinking of those lessons when a voice from his side startled him.
“You seem deep in thought,” Father Gadriel said. “If you would like more time, then please take it. This is, after all, a place for reflection.”
“No,” Roland said. “Thank you. I have some things I wish to discuss with you, if you have the time.”
“Of course,” Father Gadriel said. “Please.”
Father Gadriel motioned for Roland to follow him to his small office and study apart from the main room of the church. Roland noted the many books on the shelves in Father Gadriel’s office. He was surprised to see a copy of Arto’s Thoughts on War among them.
Father Gadriel moved around his small desk to take a seat and gestured for Roland to do the same across from him.
“What can I do for you, Sir Roland?” the priest asked.
“I wanted to thank you again for your aid a few weeks ago,” Roland began. “I understand many are still uneasy about my fiancé and what trouble helping her could cause you and your church.”
Father Gadriel smiled, leaned forward a bit, and placed his clasped hands on his desk.
“I don’t think you do understand,” Father Gadriel said. “You seem like a direct man, so please, allow me to be direct. You haven’t been here long enough to understand. For that matter, you have little knowledge of the church in general.”
Roland had expected similar remarks but he had also expected an accompanying condescending tone. There was no note of disdain or condescension in Father Gadriel’s voice. Just directness, as he had promised.
“If you feel I stray from the facts, then please say so,” the Father continued. “You don’t understand the dark cloud the Warlock of the Marshes has been to this land. He has not attacked anyone here, but his presence unsettles many. The few churches here are not funded by the Cardinals safe at home in Lethanor. They are funded by those same farmers, soldiers, ranchers, and tradesmen that fear the Warlock.”
“Father, you must understand…”
“I was not finished,” Father Gadriel said cutting Roland short. “They fear him, and they fear Daeriv. They have good reason to fear Daeriv for he has shown himself a clear enemy to the peoples of this land. You have done a lot for the people here. Just the bit of hope you have inspired has had great effect, but it takes more than victories on the battlefield to bring people together.”
“Okay, now I don’t understand,” Roland said.
“If you would be quiet and listen, then you might,” Father Gadriel said. Not scolding, but again simply stating it as fact.
“Does Claire believe?” the Father asked. “Does she have a particular faith?”
“I suppose we haven’t really discussed it,” Roland said.
“You should,” the priest said. “Assuming you plan on having children, you, as parents, should have the same faith. The same philosophy. What do you get out of your worship of Bolvii?”
“I don’t know that I ‘get’ anything out of it,” Roland said. “I always felt like I owed it to him for the sacrifice he made for us.”
“We of the Great Man race do owe it to him,” Father Gadriel said. “His sacrifice is the only reason we have life. But your faith should also provide you comfort. Reassurance.”
“It’s not up to Bolvii to save me from the dangers of this world,” Roland said. “That I must learn to do on my own.”
“My, that’s prideful,” Father Gadriel said in an unvarnished judgement. “You don’t think Bolvii had anything to do with the strength you were born with? You don’t believe he has anything to do with your strength of will?”
“If I just turn everything over to Him, then what am I supposed to do?” Roland asked. “Am I to just sit by and wait for Bolvii to handle the troubles of this world?”
“You trust Him,” Father Gadriel said. “Learn to be still and trust Him. You trust Him and allow Him to work through you. In your vow to the Prince to protect the people of this land you took a vow to uphold the edicts of Bolvii as well. I suspect you were taught those values early on and carry those ideals in your heart. I suspect that is what led you to Lawrec to begin with.”
“So, which is it?” Roland asked. “Am I in charge, or is He? Am I supposed to swear some sort of allegiance to this church, to you, and just do whatever He tells me? Or whatever you tell me that you say comes from Him?”
“Bolvii gave you strength,” Father Gadriel said. “He gave you His word and the ability to reason as well. Use your brain. You understand the principles of Bolvii. You don’t need me, or anyone else, to tell you what the right thing to do is. You are friendly with the Warlock and love his daughter. Why did you make those choices?”
Roland, confused, and getting angry, struggled for a moment to find the proper way to answer that question. He expected to fence with the priest but didn’t expect this.
“I was taught to judge a person by their actions,” Roland said defiantly. “Not by some label put on them.”
“Good,” said Father Gadriel, surprising Roland completely. “Yet you came here today already sure of my character because I am a priest, did you not?”
That took Roland aback. Had he managed to be just as prejudiced against this man, against others in the church, as so many had been against Lynneare and his wife-to-be, Clairenese?
“You look on those of the church with disdain because you believe you know the nature of their character based on what some in the church have done,” the Father continued. “Is that not just as wrong as others judging Lady Claire in the same way? The churches, like any other large group, are going to have their bad apples. You came here, I suspect, to ask that I look past Lynneare’s nature and that of his daughter. I am prepared to do just that for it is what we are called to do. However, I would ask that you do the same in our regard.”
“You are right, Father,” Roland said after a long pause. “I must talk to Claire. I have a lot of thinking to do. I brought this,” Roland said taking a small coin pouch from his waist. “I wanted to thank you for your help and pay you for your trouble. I see now there is more I should be doing.”
“I believe you already do, but go with Bolvii’s blessing,” Father Gadriel said. “I will be here when you are ready to talk further. Make sure Claire knows she is welcome here, and among us.”
Roland stepped from the church still a bit confused. That conversation had not been at all what he was expecting. He was prepared to argue, prepared to bribe even if necessary. He was not prepared to reconsider his own thoughts, his own unrealized prejudices.
Roland made his way through the market purchasing a few other supplies, he collected Road Pounder, and rode from the city gates toward home.
Chapter III
Through Works
Roland and Claire walked through a field not far from the foundation markers of their home-to-be where volunteer wheat had begun maturing. There had been no time to plow and plant properly in the area that had so recently been contested by Daeriv. Fortunately, a meager crop had come up on its own. The sun was low in the sky which, along with gathering clouds, promised a beautiful sunset.
“I made a decision,” Roland said. “One I realize now I should have spoken with you about.”
“Go on,” Claire said.
>
She wore a simple dress that day. One that showed the wear and dirt of the work she had done on their home. Such a simple dress and yet she was so radiant in it. A few smears of ash on her neck and cheek along with her dark hair pulled up in a bun made her pale skin shine.
“I think we should do more to help the churches here,” Roland said. “The one’s actually doing the work they are called to do by their faith.”
“What brought about this change?” she asked.
“I had a long talk, a good talk, with Father Gadriel,” Roland said. “He didn’t ask for money, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I was not,” Claire said. “I have no grudge against the churches or people of this land. Most are scared of me. My father’s reputation and what they imagine my nature to be makes them scared. I understand that. Although, it does make me sad.”
Roland let out a sigh of relief. He had also imagined this conversation going much differently. Although he still had some difficult issues to tackle.
“I was thinking of writing to Marnie and having her arrange to ship supplies for the churches from Modins,” Roland said. “It is our wealth, but I believe it has only been possible because of Bolvii. Furthermore, the work the churches are doing here is needed. I think they need our support.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Claire said. “I have seen the good work they do. If the shipments come from there then perhaps the congregations here wouldn’t be afraid of accepting the help. I don’t think their fear of me and father would permit any sort of more direct aid.”
“I was thinking we should do our part to alleviate some of those fears,” Roland said.
Claire stopped and looked into the eyes of the man she loved so much.
“Roland, I love you,” Claire said. “I love all of you, everything about you. Including your faith in Bolvii.”
“I don’t understand much about magic,” Roland said. “I know that paladins and priests gain some powers from their deities, and other mages and sorcerers gain their powers some other way.”
“What are you trying to say?” Claire asked. “Just say it, love.”
“I thought we should go to the church when they worship,” Roland said. “I thought, I hope, you would think about us worshiping there together.”
“Would they have me?” Claire asked. “Would they invite me in?”
“Father Gadriel is a good man,” Roland said. “He extended an invitation to us both. If others there do not want us then I would not force our presence on them. But if we don’t even try, then how could we blame them for their ignorance.”
At the time, Roland had no idea what hazard he had helped Father Gadriel create. Yet who can know Mother Fate’s ways other than Father Time?
“Roland, I’m afraid of them,” Claire said after a long pause. A pause long enough for Roland to imagine all sorts of terrible possibilities. “Not of their slings and spears but their rejection. How could they forgive what I am?”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Roland said. “You are as you were born. Have you committed some great sin against humanity I’m unaware of?”
“No,” Claire said. “Of course not. Father saw the cost of his sin long ago. Long before I was born. But there were temptations I had to conquer. Dark temptations.”
“Anyone who says they haven’t been tempted is either lying or evil to the core,” Roland said. “So, that issue resolved, will it…could it hurt you, magically in some way?”
Claire let out a brief laugh and then caught it. She had no idea how worried Roland had been about this. Had he really been afraid she might burst into flame if she entered a church, or been stripped of her powers for doing so?
“No,” Claire said. “Blessed places and holy weapons only injure those that draw their power from an evil source. There are three types of magic. The sort that priests and paladins use comes from their god, as you have rightly guessed, through prayer. Mages and wizards draw their powers from the energies that surround us all, an invisible but potent force. Theirs is a difficult magic to learn and requires a great deal of study. I use the power of my mind. My will is the source of my capabilities.”
Claire’s ‘capabilities’ ran far beyond her innate abilities and mentalism, but she saw no need to muddy the waters by over explaining it. That might lead to a conversation about her other sources of power and she saw no reason to delve into the intricacies of her skills. It was enough for Roland to have a basic understanding. The fact that she was well trained in all three realms of magic, making her a true archmage and master of the arcane, was difficult for most to understand.
“Are you willing to give them a chance, then?” Roland asked.
“For you, anything,” Claire said.
A few days later, in the early hours of morning, Claire prepared a light breakfast of cheese, cold meats, and grapes while Roland, Tindrakin, and Eldryn hitched a team of mules to their one wagon. Kodii came into the barn returning from one of his hunts with a deer that had been gutted hanging over his shoulder.
“You go temple,” Kodii said, more of a statement than a question.
“Yes,” Roland said. “I’m glad you’re here. Would you join us?”
“Temple,” Kodii said gesturing back into the coming dawn and toward the forests of the area.
“I think I understand,” Roland said. “You are always welcome to join us.”
“My people live alone,” Kodii said. “Groups attract big hunters. Meat eaters as big as barn,” Kodii said pointing to the large structure beyond the house and yard. “My people live quiet. Noise attract big hunters. We gather for big hunt. We gather for mating. No other times.”
Having said that, which was a lot for Kodii all in one sitting, he proceeded to the tree behind the barn where he usually skinned his harvests.
“It’s been a while since I went to an actual worship,” Tin said. “I think the last time I was in a church was in Modins before shipping out to Lawrec. My family insisted.”
“We never went to a proper church,” Eldryn said. “Velryk taught us about Bolvii and about the old Code on a daily basis, but I don’t remember ever going somewhere else to worship.”
“Nor do I,” Roland said. “I hadn’t really thought about it until speaking with Father Gadriel. Apparently, there was a lot I hadn’t thought about.”
The four rode silently with only the creak of the wagon and sound of the mules’ hooves on the trail to accompany them. Each wrestled with their own inner thoughts and apprehensions of what might lay before them.
The small group arrived as Father Gadriel was opening the main doors to the simple church. The priest gave them all a warm smile which surprised Claire. It was one of the few, painfully few, pleasant surprises of the day.
“Sir Roland, Lady Claire,” Father Gadriel said. “I’m am happy to see you. Sir Eldryn, and Squire Tindrakin, I am happy to see you as well. Please, come in. All are welcome here. You can help me arrange the benches.”
The group moved inside the church with Claire hesitating only briefly at the portal. They made quick work of arranging the pews. Once that was done Roland and Claire took a seat on the back row near the door. Eldryn and Tindrakin had remained standing next to the door, as if on guard. Father Gadriel noticed their position, and perhaps their trepidation, and bid them come to the front. Roland took a breath and then looked at his bride-to-be. She smiled and nodded and the couple moved up front as Father Gadriel had bid them. The Father looked past Roland and Claire to Eldryn and Tin but Eldryn just held up his hand as if to say he was very comfortable where he was.
Parishioners filtered in slowly as the time for worship to begin approached. Although Roland failed to notice, Claire observed she and Roland were given a wide birth. None took seats within several feet of the couple. She again doubted the wisdom of coming here. She again doubted the wisdom of the life she and Roland hoped to build together.
Who she was, what she was, would be with her for the rest of her life. Her father’
s ominous reputation in and of itself was another hurtle they must overcome. A hurtle they must overcome. That was her answer. Simple. Complete.
Her love for Roland, which began when she first looked upon him through the scrying mirror of her father’s, was strong. It was more than strong, it was absolute. She felt, she believed, he was just as committed to her. In that inner thought, they must overcome, she had not thought of herself independently. Rather, she had automatically thought of it as a challenge they must face together.
Clairenese, daughter of Lynneare, the Warlock of the Marshes, had been a woman of her own mind for many decades. She was strong. She was dangerous. She was self-reliant. However, in such a short time her love for Roland had bloomed into a force she could not have anticipated. In such a short time she no longer thought of the challenges of this world as something she must overcome, but something they must overcome. In that simple truth she had the answers to so many questions and worries.
Father Gadriel stepped up to his altar, which was comprised of a stout board laid from one barrel of apples to another barrel of walnuts. He placed the Holy Book of Bolvii on the altar and opened it before him. He closed his eyes and drew his fingers across the pages of the Holy book as he began a prayer to Bolvii.
“Thank you all for gathering here this morning to worship Bolvii, our savior,” Father Gadriel began. “Let us go back to that time when Bolvii risked his own life for the lives of our ancestors. A time when the gods struck down a great kingdom with the intent of wiping an entire race from the face of the world. Had some of our ancestors sinned? I say to you everyone one of them did. Did they all deserve death? I say to you everyone one of them did. Why, then, would Bolvii risk so much for them, for us? Love. Simply love. Of which the two greatest aspects are mercy and forgiveness. Two virtues Bolvii calls upon us to display!”
Father Gadriel let his words settle over the gathering and let his eyes fall upon those in the crowd who suddenly seemed very uncomfortable in their seats.
“Mercy and forgiveness,” Father Gadriel said again, more softly. “Bolvii’s symbol, the Owl atop the gauntleted fist. Wisdom and Strength! But what is wisdom without love? What is strength without a just cause to serve? Giants are strong! Evil Sorcerers possess great wisdom! Giants protect only themselves and use their unnatural strength to loot and pillage. Evil Sorcerers use their vast wisdom in only the pursuit of power. I say to you, Bolvii’s strength and wisdom are for naught without love, without mercy and forgiveness.”
