The Three Lands Omnibus Part 69

Prosper resisted the impulse to follow him. The priest returned in a very short time, too short in which to have read the long letter that was now fully unrolled in his hands. He was holding, not a lamp, but a prayer-light, which he placed with the other lights dancing on the shelf for sacred objects. Huard handed the letter to Prosper and said, "My eyes grow worse as the years pile on. Please to do me the favor of reading this aloud to me."

He did so as Huard carefully returned the disused wine from Prosper's cup into an overly large wine casket nearby. Prosper's voice slowed as he read from the letter. By the time he reached the listing of his demons, he was finding it unexpectedly hard to speak. When he lifted his gaze finally from Martin's words, he saw that Huard was sitting in the corner of the chamber upon some cus.h.i.+ons, in the traditional manner of the tribe. At Huard's gesture, Prosper joined him there.

The priest asked, "Is what Martin writes true?"

Prosper discovered that his throat was clogged; he had to clear it before he could speak. "If you had asked me a week ago, I would have been hard pressed to understand how Martin could say such things of me."

"And now?"

"I would say that he has been more merciful to me than I deserve." Prosper stared down blankly at the letter, which he still held in his hand. The words had blurred, and he could see only the neat, beautiful hand of the City Priest. "He does not tell you that, at the time of the prisoner's trial, Martin made seven attempts to seek private audience with me, in order to warn me, under the lock of confession, that I was breaking my discipline. Nor does he tell you that, toward the end of my trial, I accused him of giving false witness."

"A remarkable statement, if Martin's reputation is true." Huard's voice was quiet.

"It is true." Prosper could feel a weight beginning to press upon his chest again. He took a deep breath. "Martin and I have disagreed on many matters since he became a priest. I have felt that he was far too indulgent with those under his care, sentencing them to discipline where cursing would have been appropriate. But one fact was s.h.i.+ningly clear from the moment he first walked through the doors of my training school: he is a person of absolute honesty. When I spoke the words that I did against him ... When I saw the shock on the faces of the people attending the trial and saw the look of pity on Martin's face ... It was then that I knew that his charge against me was true, and that I had allowed myself to be captured by demons. But truly, Huard, I do not remember the moment when I permitted the demons entrance; nor do I know best how I should go about ridding myself of them."

"Can you name your demons?"

Prosper stared harder at the letter. "Martin tries to."

"*Tries'? You do not believe that he succeeds?"

Prosper struggled with the answer, as a man struggles against the current of a stream. "Some of these demons I recognize a they have briefly tempted me over the years, and in the few cases where I have given in to the temptation, I have confessed my crime before the G.o.d, in the witness of my confessor. But other demons ..." He pointed to one word in the letter. "Here Martin says that my native demon is judgment, and that I do not understand what I have done. Certainly it was proved at my trial that I had engaged in harsh and hasty judgment in two cases over the years, and I regret my crimes bitterly. But Martin's phrasing seems to suggest that I ought not to have made any judgment at all, and that is absurd. I am- I was the City Priest, and it was my duty to stand in judgment over those under my care."

Huard said nothing for a moment. He had picked up a feather from the ground as they spoke and was now using a meat-knife to sharpen the quill into a pen, to the exact same angle Prosper had once taught him. Prosper found the sight oddly comforting. His comfort vanished, though, as Huard asked, without looking up, "When our chieftain refused to welcome you initially a what was in your mind?"

Prosper tried to cast his mind back, and found that he was gripping his hands together in concentration. "Shock. I could not believe that he would turn upon me in such a manner, when I was of his tribe. Fear. I have been afflicted by the demon of fear for the past three days." He hesitated, then added honestly, "Anger. It seemed to me that he was acting in a manner ill-befitting his t.i.tle, and that his behavior was likely to bring him punishment from the Mercy of all mercies."

Huard nodded, set the finished quill-pen carefully aside, and raised his gaze so that it was level with Prosper's. "And what thought did you give to our chieftain's pain?"

It was a blow as great as the chieftain had given him. For a moment Prosper could do nothing but try to catch his breath as he felt his body grow cold. "Oh, the G.o.d," he said in a strained voice. "Have I turned from the Mercy that far?"

"I fear so." Huard leaned back against the wall, his gaze remaining upon Prosper. "*If a man is struck a whether the man be spiritual or temporal a he must devote no thought to his own pain but only to the pain of the man who has struck him.' That was one of the wisest pieces of advice you ever gave to me and my fellow pupils, yet even as a boy I suspected that you were better at advising in this matter than at following your own advice. You will recall that your words say nothing about pa.s.sing judgment over the man who has struck you."

"But I am spiritual- That is, I was a spiritual man, a priest. It was my duty-"

"Your duty." Huard's expression did not change, but his voice became suddenly harder than before. "Shall we discuss your duty to the G.o.d this afternoon, and how you have fulfilled it? You come here, with the blood of your exile mark still fresh, bearing a letter from the City Priest requesting that I offer you advice on discipline a and you must know how rarely it is that such a request is granted to a G.o.d-cursed man. Tell me again what you think of my decision to eat meat and wine today."

Caught off-guard, Prosper said, "It does not seem to me to be in the tradition of priestly discipline that I taught you."

"Tell me again what you think of my number of prayer-lights."

"You have a goodly number of lights, but-" He stopped.

"Go on. Tell me."

"Perhaps I should not have-"

"Tell me. I wish you to hear your own words."

The commands continued remorselessly for several minutes as Huard forced Prosper to repeat the words he had spoken that afternoon. Within the first few replies, Prosper could feel moisture trickling down his spine. By the end, his back was sticky with sweat.

When he had finished, Huard said, in the same hard voice, "When you arrived here, you told me immediately that you were cursed, and you asked me to read Martin's letter before welcoming you a that much is to your credit. Other than that, however, I have seen none of the marks of duty due from a G.o.d-cursed man to the man who may or may not consent to act as priest to him. Instead, your behavior has been wholly that of a tutor holding judgment over his pupil: you said nothing about your crimes until I prompted you, but you have pa.s.sed judgment upon me for my dietary discipline, the setting of my house, my wors.h.i.+p discipline, and my conduct as a priest. Nor have you confined your judgments to me: you have pa.s.sed judgment upon our chieftain, upon Martin, and upon the priests who were once entrusted to your care a all of them men who are welcome to the G.o.d's presence. You, a man bearing the curse-mark of the G.o.d's enemy, make these judgments. You, who have been found unworthy to wear the robe of priesthood."

Huard's voice, as adamantine as iron, was so far now from the hesitant pleading he had engaged in as a boy that Prosper felt his mind whirling in an eddy of bewilderment. Clutching at the first thought that drifted his way, he said, "You are right that I should not, in my present spiritual state, pa.s.s judgment upon you, but-"

"Sacred Mystery, Prosper, have you closed your ears entirely to the G.o.d's voice? Then hear words that you may remember better: *A pupil may ask questions, but he must neither condemn nor praise his tutor, for either act presumes that he is in the position of judge.' Or have you come to disbelieve your own teachings?"

Prosper struggled to breathe. He cast down his eyes for a moment before saying, "I have a question."

"Ask." Huard's voice had pa.s.sed beyond hardness to coldness.

"You speak of what I am now, since the demons entered me, but what of the time when I was City Priest, before the demons took hold of me? Surely at that time it was my duty to pa.s.s judgment-"

"And do you truly believe, Prosper, that the G.o.d gave you the honor of having spiritual care over his people so that you could spend all your waking days worrying over whether your priest-pupils were eating too many sugar b.a.l.l.s, or whether the men and women who took you as confessor had neglected some small crime, so that you could drag them into the G.o.d's court and have the triumph of showing how superior you were to them in your spiritual state?" Huard leaned forward. His eyes were as cold now as dark pebbles in a winter stream. "How long has it been, Prosper, since you gave thought to any other living creature, except to judge him? How long has it been since you were silent long enough to listen to the G.o.d's voice, whether it came from the sacred flame or from the men and women of whom you are so scornful?"

Prosper could not answer; he could not even raise his gaze above his hands, now white as they clenched each other. Above him, Huard continued remorselessly, "Vainglory in believing that your discipline is superior to all others. Arrogance in spurning the food offered to you by your host. Self-focus in giving no thought to other people's needs but only to what punishment you can place them under. Greed in a.s.suming that the priesthood is your right rather than a gift from the G.o.d. Envy that causes you to examine carefully the spiritual states of others so that you can rea.s.sure yourself that others are in a more demeaned state than your own. Cowardice in refusing to acknowledge that these demons did not enter you recently or briefly, but have been within you for most of your life. Above all, an evil judgment that has prevented you from listening when Martin, as your confessor, no doubt said words to you very like the words I am giving you now... . Have I named your demons, Prosper?"

"No." Prosper's voice was breathless and broken. "I must have dozens more demons. The G.o.d help me, I did not know."

He covered his face and wept.

After a time, he felt Huard's hand upon his shoulder; after a time more, Prosper lifted his wet face to look up at the priest, who was standing beside him. Though the late afternoon light made the priest's face glow, Prosper's vision was darkened by tears. Prosper whispered, "Can I be saved?"

"Certainly." Huard's voice was rea.s.suringly matter-of-fact. "You know your catechism, Prosper. *Any man who requests aid of the Mercy of all mercies shall receive it.' Your battle against the demons will not be an easy one, though. I would hate to tell you what sort of disciplines you would have placed me under if, during my four years as a priest-pupil, I had committed half as many crimes against the G.o.d as you have managed to commit in the s.p.a.ce of two hours."

"I require hard discipline." Prosper had dropped his gaze to the ground and was struggling to keep his breath even. "I see that now a my spirit is in dire peril... . Huard, I have no right to ask this of you, but will you help me?"

As he spoke, he s.h.i.+fted himself into the position he now realized he should have fallen into from the moment he pa.s.sed Huard's threshold: that of a G.o.d-cursed man kneeling in pet.i.tion before a priest who, by the G.o.d's Law, was under no obligation to help him a could indeed hand him over to a murderous crowd if he considered it appropriate. Prosper felt again the edge of fear p.r.i.c.king at his skin, and he was staring now with dark wonder upon the words he had spoken in this chamber. Sacred Mystery, he could have died of starvation had not the priest shown mercy upon him, yet he had openly scorned the food of his host. He felt a sickness enter into him.

"Certainly," Huard replied, in as straightforward a manner as before. He eased Prosper back into a sitting position and squatted down beside him. "I am restricted in the help I can give by the G.o.d's Law, though. You know the rules on exile, Prosper: I cannot offer you the comfort of the G.o.d's presence during your year of exile, neither to hear your confession in the G.o.d's name, nor to purify you, nor to allow you to give partic.i.p.ation in the wors.h.i.+p services. I can offer you advice on discipline should you ask, but I cannot punish you if you break your discipline, nor can I even draw your attention to the fact that you have broken your discipline, unless you ask for further advice from me. Are you willing to listen to my advice under such conditions?"

"Huard, I am a hand's breath from the eternal fire that cannot be quenched." Prosper's voice was hoa.r.s.e. "If you told me to eat a bag of sugar b.a.l.l.s, I would follow your advice."

"You antic.i.p.ate me." The smile in Huard's tone caused Prosper to lift his eyes, but the priest's expression was serious as he said, "Two disciplines, then, I advise upon you. The first is that you must put aside all thoughts of your priesthood during this exile. Whatever you may be in a year's time, for now you are a temporal man and must engage in behavior appropriate to a temporal man."

"I see," said Prosper slowly. "Eating sugar b.a.l.l.s."

"They are a symbol only." The smile had made its way onto Huard's face. "You must eat as a temporal man does, dress as he does, and above all act as he does. You know the catechism, Prosper: one of the greatest crimes a temporal man can commit is to pa.s.s judgment upon the spiritual state of his fellow living spirits. If you suspect that someone's spirit is in danger of being demon-infected, then it is your duty to report the matter to me, but otherwise you must in no way try to judge whether anyone you meet is a dutiful servant of the G.o.d. Your duty instead is to seek out ways in which you can be of a.s.sistance to others, ways that do not require you to judge other people's spiritual states."

"That is good ad-" Prosper caught himself in time and said, in a low voice, "I thank you for giving me this advice, Huard. I will follow the discipline as you have suggested. And the other advice?"

"Concerns your wors.h.i.+p discipline. Had you given any thought to that?"

Prosper nodded. "Most of my ponderings on the way here were devoted to that. I thought it best if I adhere more strictly than before to the times of prayer, devoting most of my waking hours to prayer and self-examination-"

He broke off; the priest was shaking his head. Rising to his feet, Huard began using his moistened thumb and forefinger to silence the prayer-lights about the chamber. "Think again, Prosper," he said, as though the man before him were a dull-minded pupil. "How did your demons enter, and what discipline is appropriate to close that path of entrance?"

Prosper shut his eyes, as though preparing himself to p.r.o.nounce a particularly difficult word in the ancient tongue. He said finally, "My thoughts have been centered too much upon myself. If I engage in long periods of self-examination, my demon of self-focus will take advantage of this fact to pull my thoughts further from other people onto myself."

"Indeed." Huard's voice came through the darkness disembodied, as though he were the G.o.d. "Self-examination is one danger; prayer is another. Prosper, the easiest way to allow the demons victory over you is for you to pray to the G.o.d."

Prosper's eyes flew open. "But-" He stopped, stilled not by any understanding, but by a warning look from the priest.

While Prosper's eyes had been closed, Huard had changed into the formal robe of the evening service. The robe's gold edging glittered in the last s.h.i.+mmer of the day's light and in the glow of the single prayer-light that remained lit. The priest now held in his hand the purification lamp, unlit. Prosper, staring at it, felt a word welling up within him.

The priest nodded as though Prosper had spoken the word, though of course the word was reserved for use by priests. "I am sorry to say this, Prosper, but I fear that you have been neglecting the discipline of silence. You have all the signs of a man who has talked and talked and talked, whether to his fellow spirits or to the G.o.d, and has done no listening for many years. That, more than anything, explains your condition. The demons abhor silence, and they love a mind filled with speech and thoughts and even prayer, provided that the prayer is not balanced by moments of silence when the pet.i.tioner awaits the G.o.d's response.

"And so the second discipline I place upon you a a harder discipline a is that you do not pray during the coming year. You should speak as little as possible, confine your thoughts to the duties I placed upon you a while ago, and engage in the silence as many times a day as you were planning to talk to the G.o.d."

Prosper forced himself to wait before answering. He found himself straining his spirit to do so, like a priest who has forgotten long-ago lessons in the changing vowels of the ancient tongue. He held back until his spirit was beginning to shake from the strain; then he looked up at Huard. In the diffident voice of a pupil to his tutor, he asked, "If I do this, do you believe that I have the strength to drive out my demons so that I can re-enter the G.o.d's presence and return to the priesthood?"

Huard was a long time returning his answer. His gaze was upon the shadows on the floor, as though he were judging the moment at which he must enter the sanctuary. Finally he looked up and said, "Do you remember the shortest sentence in the catechism?"

Prosper nodded slowly. "*Trust the G.o.d.'"

Huard's hand touched his shoulder briefly, and then the priest was gone, leaving Prosper to the silence of the coming evening.

CHAPTER TWO.

"Mystery."

The sacred word, whispered in the ancient tongue, carried to the far reaches of the sanctuary. In the dark, the only sound to be heard was the clinking of the chain of the priest's lamp as the purifying light from it touched the faces of the kneeling wors.h.i.+ppers, along with the crackle of the sacred flame burning behind the man-sized G.o.d-mask hanging behind Huard. The priest himself, outlined between the G.o.d-mask and the darkness of the sanctuary, could barely be seen. His whisper and the lamp were the only evidence that the G.o.d's representative stood in this chamber.

Prosper, hidden in a black corner where the purifying light could not reach him, tried to bring his mind to silence. After three months, he still felt uneasy at these services. Partly this was because Huard practiced the modern custom of mixing the s.e.xes at services. Partly, though, it was because he could not rid himself of the feeling that he was breaking the G.o.d's Law by being here.

"But I am forbidden to attend services!" he had cried in the early days, when he was still struggling to adopt the discipline of phrasing his protests as questions and requests.

Huard did not admonish him a could not admonish him, by the G.o.d's Law a but said only, "In our days together in the training school, I was never able to accept your desire to read more into the G.o.d's Law than is found in the text itself. The law on exile says that a G.o.d-cursed man may not be purified or give partic.i.p.ation at wors.h.i.+p. I take this to mean that you cannot recite the names or the prayers. But the first part of the service, the silence, is different. I believe that you would benefit from sharing silence with the other tribal folk."

A good notion, Prosper thought to himself a momentarily slipping in his discipline against pa.s.sing judgment on Huard a but it would have been easier for him to keep the silence if he had not been attending services with women and children. He let his eyes open momentarily to identify where the distracting noise was coming from. It was not hard to guess, for it came from the same direction every time: in the rows nearest the altar area, where the children knelt.

Today, the front row was filled with four boys wearing identical tunics, clearly of the same family. Prosper a standing rather than kneeling, for this was the only way for him to keep outside of the purifying light a could see the children quite clearly: two boys just above weaning age, a third boy slightly older, and a catechism-aged boy.

The youngest boys, quite naturally, were fidgetting the most during the silence, turning to look at the people behind them and exchanging nudges. The third was better disciplined: he was still, with his head bowed, clearly attempting to silence his spirit in hope that the G.o.d would speak to him.

The fourth boy was different. For a start, he had a more dishevelled appearance than even the youngest boys: his tunic was rumpled and crooked, and his hair was uncombed. From long experience of teaching boys this age, Prosper judged him to be of fifteen years, yet the boy looked far from ready for his coming-of-age. The boy sighed heavily at periodic intervals, scuffed his toes against the stone floor, and swung his arms to and fro, jostling his quieter brother.

Prosper saw a stirring in the second row, where some of the women knelt. A fine-boned woman leaned forward and whispered in the boy's ear. He bit his lip and nodded, ceasing to swing his arms or scuff his toes, but even this admonishment could not prevent him from sighing again as the silence progressed.

Prosper knew how he felt. Closing his eyes, he tried again to still the thoughts that scurried about in his mind like restless boy-pupils. At the front of the sanctuary, the sacred flame continued to whisper forth its secrets, almost hidden by the dark mask that represented the G.o.d's unknowability. Only a glimpse of the fire upon the altar could be seen through the eye-holes in the mask.

The sacred flame. It had always been the most comforting object in Prosper's life, serving as it did as a visible image of the G.o.d, and also as a reminder of that which remained hidden behind the mask of the G.o.d's unknowability. To the G.o.d's beloved folk, the flame would one day bring light and warmth; to his enemies, the flame would be a fire that could never be quenched.

The flame was one thing more than that, and increasingly Prosper found his thoughts dwelling on that other use of the sacred flame as the months of his exile continued.

When he had expressed a desire to be burned at the end of his exile if the demons were not exorcised, Prosper had intended the statement as no more than a formal gesture of regret. He had not doubted at that time that he would be able to rid himself of his demons. Now, after three months in which he had made little progress, his breath caught tight within him whenever the flame was lit.

More times than he could count, he had watched as men or women were chained to the stone pillar that was erected in every tribal territory for this purpose. Most of the G.o.d-cursed were there for twistedness; some were there for other grave crimes against the G.o.d, such as atheism or oath-breaking. Some had been placed there for lesser crimes, when discipline had failed to work: crimes such as murder, abuse of power, or impure love.

Always, when Prosper was present, he had been the one to light the torch from the sacred flame and to come forward to set ablaze the wood beneath the G.o.d-cursed person's feet. He never delegated the duty; he considered it too sacred an act. This was the priests' final mercy: their last attempt to save the G.o.d-cursed from the terrible fate of entering into the G.o.d's light when their spiritual condition was so grave that such light could only be an eternal fire for them.

The purification by fire sometimes worked. On a few joyous occasions during his priesthood, Prosper had heard the dying man or woman cry out words which made clear that the brief but intense pain had brought such repentance to the G.o.d-cursed that the demons were forced to flee. When that happened a if the G.o.d's Law were to be trusted, as surely it was a the G.o.d lifted his curse in the last moments of life and welcomed the man or woman into the light that would now bring eternal comfort to the G.o.dly spirit.

Prosper was beginning to suspect, though, that even the men and women who were successfully purified through fire might have had a different perspective than their priest on the sacred act they were undergoing.

Staring at the flame, Prosper became aware that his s.h.i.+rt had become covered with sweat and was now clinging to his body. Hastily, he closed his eyes and tried to still his mind. If Prosper could only hear the voice that the flame represented ...

"Mercy of all mercies, High Judge above all judges, Commander beyond all commanders, Father within all fathers-" Huard's whisper, breaking into the silence, jarred Prosper like a shout. Sighing inwardly, he opened his eyes and then, as quietly as possible, he slipped through the side door. Behind him, the tribal folk began to recite the many names of the Unknowable G.o.d, which he was forbidden to speak.

Usually he tried to continue his discipline of silence for the remaining time before the evening meal, but tonight he was too weary and downcast to do so. Instead, rather than let his mind dwell on the discouragements of the day, he busied himself with the tasks that he had volunteered to do as Huard's temporal guest: cleaning ashes out of the central hearth and placing new wood there, scrubbing the cooking pot in the nearby river under the summer moonlight, checking the bedsheets to see whether they needed to be put out for was.h.i.+ng the next day. By the time he was through, he could hear the tribal folk emerging from the sanctuary door. As always, Huard lingered in the sanctuary, cleaning behind the altar area and upholding his own discipline of silence.

It was mid-evening by the time he returned. Prosper, who was tenderly carrying an armful of ma.n.u.scripts to the shelves where they belonged, was careful to say nothing as Huard entered, both because his own discipline demanded it, and because Huard usually preferred to maintain his silence after his return home.

The priest, though, was in one of his chatting moods tonight. "Three confessions from boys," he announced cheerfully. "They always keep me overly long. Oh, to be a boy again and to treat with such seriousness the terrible crime of scuffing one's toes."

The corner of Prosper's mouth turned up; he could guess who had given that confession. "I was wis.h.i.+ng tonight that I was a boy also."

"Ah." Huard, pulling off his robe of wors.h.i.+p, paused to give one of his opaque looks at Prosper. "Tonight's silence was difficult?"

"As difficult as it has been for the past three months," Prosper said, his voice tight. "I seem doomed to live out all the warnings I gave to you and my other pupils. *Be sure to practice the ancient tongue daily, for what is learned with ease as a child will be hard to relearn in old age if you forget it.' Do you remember when I said that to you?"

"Quite clearly," said Huard in the ancient tongue, p.r.o.nouncing his q in the exact manner that he had been taught. "So the language of silence is as hard to relearn?"

"After thirty-five years of talking non-stop? The G.o.d, Huard a I don't know how to describe it. Such a simple discipline, I thought, and not one that I need worry about overly much. And so, when the silence came, I either kept my mind on the tutors and pupils who a.s.sisted at the service, judging whether they were behaving properly, or else, on the occasions when I was the purifier, I kept my mind on the wors.h.i.+ppers, judging whether they were all properly attentive. It did not occur to me that I would become incapable of listening myself."

"Ah, well," said the priest. "It will come back as time pa.s.ses. You are becoming more attentive in listening to others."

Prosper shook his head. "That is hard enough a to pay as much attention to a person's words as I would if it were a difficult pa.s.sage in the ancient tongue a but this is far worse. No words have come to me yet, only emptiness. The G.o.d who reads all hearts knows that I do not deserve to be spoken to, but still-" He looked over to where Huard was adding new oil to the prayer-light that had remained lit since his arrival. The sight of the candle stilled the demon of fear that was beginning to take hold of Prosper. He said more quietly, "Do you have any advice to offer me on this?"

Huard, putting aside the oil ewer, considered the matter for a moment before saying, "The river may help."

"The river? ... Oh, the G.o.d, yes! I had forgotten that image a I haven't used it since my earliest years of tutoring. I'm not even sure I remember it in full."

"Silence is a river," Huard said promptly. "A river at night, black and fearful, carrying unknown dangers. You must not linger on the sh.o.r.e, nor must you try to swim a that will only carry you back to the sh.o.r.e. Instead, you must fling yourself into the water, and trust the G.o.d to take you to where his light is. There you may hear his voice."

"A good im-" He caught himself in time and said, "Thank you; that image is helpful to me. I will know next time to let the river carry me rather than try to swim into the silence through my own efforts."

Nodding contentedly, Huard picked up the globular silver vessel in which the sacred flame had burned and began polis.h.i.+ng it in a carefully methodical manner that Prosper had begun to know well. Prosper c.o.c.ked his ear, and after a moment, carried on the hush of a breeze, he began to hear the noise that Huard had heard: the low hum of the tribal folk gathering for the evening meal.

"Supper is beginning," said Prosper, knowing that in this small matter he could be of a.s.sistance to Huard. "Let's join the others."

"It is early yet," said Huard, who did not look up from the purifying lamp. The priest's stomach gave a growl of protest at these words.

"Yes, but I am eager to mix with the others tonight," said Prosper, not meaning the words, but knowing that it was the easiest way to make Huard join him at the feast.

Huard put down the silver lamp with a smile. From the look in his eyes, Prosper knew that he understood the motive of Prosper's words.

Thirty-four years before, Prosper had experienced one of the greatest shocks of his life when he had entered the only private place in his training school a the altar area which no one but vowed priests were permitted to enter a to find huddled under the altar a small, plump boy eating a bag of sugar b.a.l.l.s that a soft-hearted woman from the nearby tribe had given him.