Chapter 12.2.1

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I spent the day in menial tasks, as was expected of me, and waited to catch Wallen in a private place. I did not, for Sharp kept him busy with lessons on the lute, forcing him to learn the first of the cycle of songs. By late afternoon I had not succeeded.

I went out to the courtyard and watched the snow fall in a steady white curtain. A haycart turned into a drift before my eyes; a barrel became a mound. One lump rose up suddenly – it was a dog, shaking the thick shell from its fur. The clods flew off and ruined the perfection of the new-fallen snow, but within a minute the roughness was filled and smoothed by fresh fall. Such is the action of the goddess of snow, that she casually repairs the destruction of her work – but when her ire is roused, the catastrophe she brings is worse than any man or beast could ever wreak.

A hand touched my arm. I recognized Brother Peter by his height. He signed, "It is time for Vespers."

Vespers – the service just before dinner. Since I was not serving another in need – the only thing a monk considered more worthy than attending a service – I was bound to attend. Gods help me, what would I do?

Everything Brother Peter did, I realized.

I turned and followed him to the chapel. Although I had come here before, and had not been torn apart by the guardians of the chapel, I was still nervous as I stepped into its gloom. Today the stained glass windows were dull, and only candles lit the way. Their god, writhing in his eternal agony, seemed to glare at this Heathen intruder.

Peter dipped his hand int a silver chalice beside the door, drew a cross over his breast, and bowed to his god. He looked at me expectantly.

I peered into the chalice. Did it contain the elixir of truth? Would the anger of their god fall heavy on me if I touched it? Or was this the path by which he would steal my soul and keep me captive forever? I feared to touch it – until the steward of the castle, wringing his hands in a determined way, stepped into the chapel behind me. Should any action convince the man that I was not the Christian he thought I was, it would be this. I plunged my hand in, nearly knocking the chalice over, and dress a cross of my own. Then I bowed hastily and followed Peter to a bench at the very front of the room.

I had survived; I was intact. Among the enemy I bowed my head and thanked my gods for watching over me.

When the service began, I faced a second test, and this one I could not pass. The priest, standing before us but facing the god, sang out the service in a rich baritone. Everyone, including the Silent Monk beside me, sang back responses. Even if I could have sung, I did not know the words. All I could do was pull my hood deeper over my face and hope no one noticed that this monk was silent.

But then, who could have heard me over my companion’s strong tenor? The voice that only a god could have given to a man filled the room until nothing else could be heard. The service soon became a dialogue between the priest and the monk, holding all the glory, suffering, and forgiveness of their god. As I listened I came to believe that this was a god who would look kindly on a Heathen soul and hide him in the folds of his robes. Anger and fear could not stand against the pureness light of his love. Like a fountain of light, I thought, a fountain from a vision.
I breathed easily in the assurance of his charity.

Then the song faded away, leaving a peace upon the souls of the faithful.

The god in agony seemed no longer to be glaring at me, but smiling sadly. There was a great power here and a lesson here, even for a Heathen. Perhaps we were wrong to shun it all.
In silence, the people filed out of the chapel. Peter turned to me and signed, "Why did you not take part in the service, good brother?"

Quite truthfully, I responded, "I have lost my voice."

The monk pressed his lips into a thin line, then signed, "For that you must have wine with honey. Follow me."

No true Bard would refuse an offer of wine – though I doubted that the potion would restore my voice without an extra measure of magic.