The West Is Dying

by David C. Smith

  “Yes, your worship, I did so.”

  “Then meet those obligations! Do not presume to be Bithitu! Do not presume to know the ways of the church when you are not even familiar with the ways of a priest! Am I understood?”

  “My Lord Muthulis—”

  “Am I understood, Thameron?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are being placed on probation, and you will be monitored. You are not to spend any more time with the rabble of this city. We have set up commissions and prayer groups to help the indigent and the disadvantaged of Erusabad. Join one of them! But do not go into the city yourself to take money from the wealthy to give to cutthroats! Do not go into the city to spend your time with prostitutes! And do not stray from the temple grounds without first reporting to one of your mas­ters your business for leaving! Is that understood?”

  “Yes—yes, Lord Muthulis.”

  “Then you may go. Now. And hereafter, Thameron, as you wear your priest’s garments, see yourself as a priest and believe yourself to be a priest of this church. Is that understood?”

  Thameron stared at him. Stared in mute astonishment.

  “Is it? Is that understood?”

  * * * *

  “Do you realize what he said to me?” Thameron asked Hapad.

  They were sitting on one of the benches that lined a wide avenue not far from the temple. As they spoke, passers-by occasionally dropped coins onto the bricks at their feet.

  Hapad retrieved the money and said, “I tried to warn you.”

  “But he’s a hypocrite!” Thameron said. “The church is built on men, not on the Word of Light!”

  His friend chuckled. “For someone so intelligent,” Hapad commented, “sometimes you’re very naive, Thameron. Look you.” He pointed.

  Across the street, a trio of mendicants sat on the ground, their backs to the wall of a building. From time to time, they listlessly lifted their hands, holding out empty palms to passers-by.

  “You are a priest,” Hapad reminded Thameron. “You’re not a beggar. You have a cot to sleep on, you have food when you want it, you have friends, you have—”

  “I have a knot in my soul. Hapad, those beggars, whatever condition they’re in, may be closer to Bithitu in their poverty than Muthulis is with all his wealth!”

  “I understand what you’re saying, yes. But, Thameron, if you look for perfection, you’ll always be disappointed. At least on earth. The Word of Bithitu must be shared. The Church is the best way to do that. Perhaps some things are wrong with it, but those things can be changed.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “Even if they can’t be changed, then isn’t more good being done than harm? Don’t the important things the Church does count for more than any mistakes it makes?”

  Thameron shook his head. “No. He told me—Muthulis as much as said that if I don’t follow the Church, then I’m not following Bithitu. That’s a lie. Bithitu came before the Church.”

  “Perhaps he was becoming upset. Knowing your personali­ty, you drove him to it,” Hapad smiled.

  “I’m not wrong,” Thameron insisted.

  “Nor is the Church, my friend. But you’re not completely right, either,”

  Thameron lifted a fist to his chin, settling into a brooding posture.

  “Thameron, do you see the dome of the temple?”

  “Yes.”

  He did not look to see it, but that wasn’t necessary. The dome was the tallest in Erusabad; it towered far above them and, with its gold facing, glowed all day long, every day, in the brilliant sunlight, with eye-hurting intensity.

  “The temple,” Hapad argued, “is bigger than we are and can see farther than we can, and more clearly. I think of the Church in that way. Perhaps it can’t see everything—only Bithitu and the gods can do that—but it’s stronger than we are, taller than we are, it’s survived longer than we will, and it can see—”

  ”There’s a way,” Thameron interrupted him.

  “What?”

  “There is a way.”

  “A way for what? To do what?”

  “Muthulis told me to join one of the city groups of priests if it was so important to me to serve there. Hapad, it won’t work! I’ve spent months in the city; the people there trust me, they know me. If I become like other priests, all that work is lost, and the people won’t listen any longer.”

  “What do you mean, there’s a way?”

  “A special dispensation. The Church grants—”

  “Oh, Thameron!”

  “The Church grants them. You know they do! If a priest drafts a proposal and shows just cause—”

  “Thameron, they’ll never allow you to do that!”

  “They have to listen to me!” he shot back, volatile and strong willed. “If I request a hearing for a special dispensation, the metropolitan must hear me!”

  Hapad let out a heavy breath. “That’s true, but—”

  “I’ll draft the proposal, and Andoparas will hear me. They cannot refuse! I’ll build an argument that will make sense even to Muthulis. And when they see the sense of what I’m doing, they will allow me to do what’s best!”

  What is best, my friend, or only what you want to do? Hapad shook his head and stared at the high golden dome of the all-seeing temple.

  He wondered what Bithitu or the gods must be thinking if they were looking down now at him and his obstreperous friend.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Every morning, then, for the next many days, following services, Thameron went to the library in the southern wing of the temple. Every afternoon and every evening he returned to the library. He studied the scriptures of Bithitu and the important commentaries and epistles. He borrowed arguments from as many sources as he could, all orthodox in doctrine. He paraphrased Omu-thates, sanctified as the first High Priest and Commentator of the Light. He borrowed from Gheini of Soramand and Thos-othos of Benadbar, both profound church scholastics. He took words from the scriptures of Bithitu himself.

  And if you see the heart of a child, listen to that heart and listen to its voice: for the child is not afraid but full of wonder, and the heart of the child is eager to learn, to share and know. Be as the child.

  When at last he had composed a rough version of his proposal, Thameron turned to one of his learning masters for help in presenting his paper in accepted form. His master was bound to aid him, for that was the way of the Church; but at every opportunity, the elder adjured Thameron not to pursue the matter.

  “They cannot refuse me,” Thameron reminded him.

  “But you will make enemies.”

  * * * *

  When we reason to illumine the Good, we worship at the altar of the True Light; but when we dissemble and make argument to confound the Truth of the Light, we dwell in Shadow and serve the ignoble actions of men.

  It was such a small thing, really, but small and simple as grand designs and great actions are essentially small and simple. The truth of it, the sense of it, seemed to him tremendously compelling. It even occurred to Thameron, as he pored over the old texts, as he imaginatively relived the early days of the faith, brought to life for him from old scrolls, that perhaps he was creating a new dimension in the affairs of the Church. Perhaps he was broadening its attitude, reawakening it to fundamentally powerful things; perhaps he was at the forefront of some new direction for the prophet’s Church. For the Church could not continue as it always had; it could not remain stolid and old while the world quickened around it. Bithitu himself had observed that all things are change; the Church must change, grow, become fresh and vital, renew itself.

  When at last he was finished and satisfied with what he had done, he read his finished proposal to his master, and later to Hapad. Both agreed that Thameron was making too great an issue of an unimportant matter. They did not agree with him that he was breaking new ground in Church direction: all he wanted, in essence, was the freedom to work with the poor and wicked of the earth on his own terms. Neither thought that h
is argument would alter the opinion of the council.

  Thameron refused to let their pessimism dishearten him. Hot with enthusiasm, he requested an audience with Muthulis and was admitted into the chief priest’s office the following afternoon. There, with all deference and protocol, Thameron submitted his argument, stated his case, and asked to be interviewed by the Holy Council once his proposal had been deliberated upon.

  Muthulis accepted the small scroll. He regarded the youth sadly and asked him, “Have you learned nothing? Is this the result of what we have taught you? Why do you persist?”

  “I wish to have my argument submitted, and I wish to have it reviewed and decided upon by the council.”

  “And so it shall be done, Thameron. But I ask you again: Is this truly what you wish to do with all that we’ve taught you?”

  What does it mean to a man to hold the wealth of coffers if his heart is cold to his neighbor’s heart? Truly I say to you, there is more bounty in the soul of one man than there is in all the gold in all the coffers of all the world.

  He learned two days later that his proposal had been ac­cepted for review by the Holy Council, and that his interview would take place in three days. Thameron was ecstatic. He wished to celebrate in some way, but he knew—even without Hapad’s telling him—that for his own sake, it would be best not to go into the city. Thameron wished to; he was in high spirits, he wanted to share that enthusiasm, and he hadn’t been to visit the people in the streets for two weeks. But he felt certain that, once his decision was delivered, he would not only be given the freedom to preach the scriptures to the unfor­tunate of the earth but also encouraged to do so by the Church leaders themselves.

  Satisfied of this, he became a model cleric during those three intervening days. He rose early and stayed wide awake during matinal services; he spent his days on the church grounds, helping his elders or entering into the discussions of doctrine and policy that were held spontaneously in the gar­dens and the classrooms. His change of manner was noticed by his masters and was reported to Muthulis, who reacted with some doubt as to the validity of Thameron’s suddenly improved habits and commented that the child is always on its best behavior when it expects to be rewarded for a good performance.

  On the morning of his interview, Thameron awoke in good spirits, cleaned his robe before donning it, and ate a hearty break­fast. Following morning devotions, he was escorted into the chamber of the Holy Council. Thameron had been here only once before, in this narrow, sunlit hall of a room, when as a novitiate he had been given a tour of the temple. Unfamiliar with the chamber and unaware of what exactly he should do, he took a seat, changed it, then changed it again when informed where he should posi­tion himself.

  He had assumed that his interview would be the first matter on the agenda, and as soon as Andoparas, the metropolitan, and Muthulis and three other elders seated themselves behind their long table on the high dais, Thameron rose to his feet. One of the wards standing nearby whispered to him to be seated and remain seated until called upon to advance.

  Thameron watched as a long, slow parade of men were called forward one at a time, as they advanced before the judgment seat and heard their complaints settled or their suggestions vetoed. One priest was petitioning for a change of quarters, another asking for an allowance to perform some deed or service, a third demanding that action be taken with the city patrol to control the loitering of certain beggars and other undesirables on the western steps of the temple. One by one, they advanced; one by one, they heard their proposals read back to them and listened to the verdicts as set down by Andoparas. A change of quarters was impossible at present, for there were no free cells; but the cleric would be given any materials necessary to effect needed repairs in his current quarters. Money requested for such-and-such a service was denied at this time, but the proposal would be placed on file with further action to be determined upon at a later date. As for the loitering of the beggars and other undesirables.…

  The wait became interminable. Thameron’s mind wandered, he thought of Assia and—

  “Thameron, Priest of the Third Rank of the Temple of Bithitu in Erusabad, step you forward!”

  His stomach jumped, his heart danced as he jerked up from his bench and moved to his left, stepping on the toes of those seated by him, to reach the aisle. Advancing toward the judgment dais, Thameron became painfully aware of his poor posture and his awkward gait. He seemed to walk forever beneath the stern gaze of the five elders, and when at last he reached the first step of the dais, he almost collapsed from agitation before managing to kneel obediently.

  Rising again, he stared into their faces. Five of them: all old men, dressed in their colored albs of station, perspiring in the stifling heat of the closed chamber, looking down at him with blank or bored expressions.

  While scribes copied the words on parchment rolls, Muthulis stood and read Thameron’s proposal. When he was finished, the chief priest handed the scroll to Andoparas, at his left, and resumed his seat.

  Thameron, trembling with anticipation, stared up at the metropolitan of the temple.

  Andoparas glanced at the scroll. “There is good thought here,” he admitted. “Unfortunately, it is misguided thought. This issue has been raised several times. The matter was settled satisfactorily four generations ago by Andosaras the Younger, who guided the creation of secular work groups to help bring the Light to the unfortunate. We suggest that Priest Thameron, whose aptitude for research seems considerable, busy himself more properly by aligning his efforts with the labors of these work groups. It is not advantageous for the Church—in fact, it is obviously self-defeating for this Church—to encourage individual interpretation of doctrine by members of our caste, and certainly so by members this young and inexperienced. Proposal denied.”

  Thameron was stunned. He could not speak; he was stunned. But he raised a hand to attempt something in his own defense; this was, after all, ideally an interview—

  Muthulis leaned toward Andoparas and whispered something in the metropolitan’s ear. Andoparas regarded Thameron critically.

  “Your—your worship,” Thameron protested, “if you please—”

  “Furthermore,” announced Andoparas, a coldness now appar­ent in his tone, “we think it pertinent to add that any appeals on this matter, or any further attempts by Priest Thameron to pursue this course of action independently, will be met with the strictest of probationary punishment; and continued viola­tions of the common regulations dealing with our secular brethren will be met with by dishonorable expulsion from the ranks of the priesthood and the order of this Church.”

  This was unbelievable. His perception swimming, Thameron stared at Andoparas. In that moment, nothing existed in the world for him save that elder’s cold eyes, broad forehead, tight mouth, cynical expression. A growl, a reaction, flame boiled in the young man’s throat; his heart pulsed; he stared at Muthulis and fought down an impulse to leap, run, jump at the man—as hatred, disgust, anger possessed him—

  “My lord! If you would—”

  Andoparas slapped his hand loudly on the table. “The verdict has been passed. Make way for the next petitioner. That is all!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Thameron was as astonished by his reaction to the council’s verdict as he was by the verdict itself.

  Never before had he felt emotions so compelling. Rage. Hatred. Impo­tence. Vengefulness. He had been lied to and humiliated, made to appear a fool. He had been mocked and his ideals, his goodness had been dismissed as irrelevant and inconsequential. Worse than that—these people had made him what he was, taught him and fed him and raised him, and now, as he came before them in all sincerity to share with them the deep sensibility that made him one of them—

  What words were strong enough to describe this humiliation?

  The image he had held of Bithitu and of the Church and its masters—false.

  The hopes he had seen for himself, goals he had hoped to accomplish—without merit. />
  He was a fool, he had been a fool, he had been regarded as a fool all along. It had all been a trick, a prank played at his expense.

  Thameron had hurried from the council chamber and raced through the temple, his mind a furnace. Voices called out to him, but he had not even looked up in response. Only peripherally aware of what he was doing or where he was going, he fled with quick, angry steps from the temple grounds into the street.

  He began to walk, to clear his mind, to order his universe, trying to fathom the depths of roiling emotion within him, to make sense of the lies he had been told today, last week, all these long years.

  “Priest!”

  The voice was unfamiliar to him. Thameron paused and looked up, flushed and trembling.

  It was an aristocrat, who pressed two gold coins into his hand. “For the Church,” the aristocrat told him solemnly and passed on.

  Thameron stood looking at the gold in his hand. For the Church? For the Church? Was the man a fool? Thameron’s first impulse was to throw the coins to the ground or hurl them across the avenue. Better to cast them into a fire, have them melted and turned into some pornographic object of art—

  He looked around him. In his im­passioned anger, Thameron had hurried halfway across the city. Around the next corner was Ibro’s tavern.

  Assia would be there.

  Heart pounding, head aching, Thameron shoved the gold coins into a pocket of his robe and continued down the street and around the corner.

  Early dusk darkened the overcast sky as he entered Ibro’s tavern.

  He took a chair at a table hidden in a corner, sat silently, and stared at the few patrons in the public room. Behind the counter, Ibro and an overweight, unattractive woman were taking orders for drinks and meals. A man at the counter asked for another gourd of ale. A thin red-haired woman came down the stairs at the rear of the tavern in the company of a porcine man. She looked depressed; he looked depressed. He crossed the room and went out by a side door, while she asked for something to drink, then returned upstairs with it.