Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

“And what are we going to do when we get there?” Bronwynn added. It was not the first time they had asked Pelmen this question, but there was always hope he would finally condescend to answer.

And answer he did. “You’ll see it in a moment.”

“Really?” The girl grew excited for the first time in days. “Can we see it from here?” She stood in her stirrups, trying to peer past Pelmen’s head.

“W-what are we g-g-going to do?” Rosha asked from behind. Bronwynn had noticed a strange tension between the two men, but nothing had been explained to her. In fact, it seemed from her conversations with Rosha that he himself didn’t really understand why it existed. It was just something that had seemed to grow between them since the storm a few nights before. Rosha dismissed it as more of Pelmen’s strangeness, but Bronwynn wondered if there weren’t more to it than that. It seemed to her that Pelmen was hiding something.

They rode down into a small forest bowl, fighting through a tangle of roots and brush, then up the other side. Here, abruptly, the trees stopped, though there were stumps and small bushes in abundance. In a moment they stood atop the last hill, looking down on the giant central river valley of Lamath.

“It’s like home!” Bronwynn exclaimed, her eyes misting over unexpectedly. “But not,” she added.

“Much greener than Chaomonous at this time of the year,” Pelmen said quietly. “Then again, maybe there are parts of Chaomonous that are greener. I haven’t seen all of your land.”

“That’s it… it’s so green’” the girl gushed.

“And s-s-so flat,” Rosha snorted. The lad turned his mount to look back at the forest longingly, already missing its cool covering.

Pelmen knew what the lad was thinking. Rosha scorned Lamath because he feared Lamath. “Too big a land to be someone in, Rosha?” he asked.

Rosha wheeled his horse back to face him. “Too bbig? I n-never said that.”

“Good.” Pelmen smiled. “Because it’s not too big for you.” There was a minute or two of silence on the hill, as the two men regarded one another. Bronwynn quickly grew impatient, and her pony seemed to sense her urgency, for it began dancing around. Finally she interrupted.

“You said we would see where we are going?” Pelmen glanced at her, then pointed out across the countryside to the northeast. The recent rain had settled the dust and washed the horizon blue. Four or five villages with their own local fields were easily visible from this height, as was a broad blue strip of river that curved through the countryside on its way to the east and the sea. “The village there… in the bend of the Mashab River.”

“That little place?”

“No. Look out from it—north. You see a low white wall?” Bronwynn shaded her eyes and squinted. “No,” she said frankly.

“I s-s-see it,” Rosha murmured.

“Of course you see it,” Bronwynn said. “Anyone could see from the shape of your nose that your grandmother was an eagle.” Rosha chuckled, and Bronwynn was pleased with herself for easing the tension. “What is it?”

“It’s a monastery of the Divisionist faith.”

“That tells me a lot!”

“You’ll have plenty of time to learn more.” Pelmen spoke a word to Minaliss and was off again.

“You are always welcome here, my brother.” The old holy man smiled toothlessly. “And these with you as well.

Though I must confess I am a little startled at your sudden reappearance after such an extended absence.” The Elder of the monastery sat on a three-legged stool in the center of the library, sipping a hot bowl of thin soup between sentences. Pelmen also sat on a stool, but the brethren had provided soft, pillowy stuffed chairs for Rosha and Bronwynn. This luxury, together with the warm, protective atmosphere of the cloister and the soft drone of the conversation, rapidly put them to sleep.

“It was time,” Pelmen said simply, “though I cannot tell you how I knew.”

“Indeed, it is time, my brother.” The old man’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward to stare at Pelmen. “If you’ve come to do the thing at last.” Pelmen did not look away, but he had to fight to keep his eyes from filling with tears. “I have, my brother,” he answered, “yet I wonder still why it must be me?” The Elder chuckled, a melodious laugh that seemed incongruous emanating from that toothless mouth. “Who else then, Pelmen? Who found the book and deciphered it? Who but you could do the task, and tell the tale?”

“I never asked the Power for this—”

“Do you think I asked for this?” the old man asked, gesturing at the bare room and slopping his soup in the process. “Oh my,” he muttered, setting the bowl on the floor and sopping up the spillage with the hem of his grimy blue robe. “But this is what came,” he continued, not looking up, “an old man and a group of men to guide spiritually.” He glanced up at Pelmen. “More or less.” He grinned. “Nor do I complain anymore. Why should I?” He gestured again at the books. “Look at the wealth I possess… and the friends!” He stood and made his way to the door to open it. He whispered something to a brother outside and soon in came a group of men to bundle the boy and girl up in robes and carry them off to their rooms. “Exhausted, they were,” he muttered to Pelmen, scolding him. “You brought them too far too fast.”

“No choice in that. Elder. They both must grow well beyond their days in a hurry if they are to match the burdens being thrust on them.”

“Yes.” The old man sighed. “Yes.

The changes do come, don’t they?” He seated himself on his stool, lowering himself in sections to avoid complaints from aged joints. “Well then. What will you do about the woman?”

“What woman?” Pelmen asked, puzzled. “You don’t know of the Priestess from the north? Where have you been, boy?”

“I’ve not been in Lamath, if that’s what you mean—my father.” Pelmen grinned as he added this last. It had been a long time since his teacher called him boy.

“Playing magician again, I suppose.” The Elder sighed. “And I thought it was her appearance that had brought you back. I underestimate you again!” the little man called out loudly, and Pelmen realized his teacher spoke not to him, but to the Power.

“Perhaps I should know of the woman?” The Elder quickly sketched the details of Serphimera’s appearance and the sudden explosion of her popularity. The news troubled him, but what concerned him more were the stories of what happened in the wake of her visitations to monasteries.

“Burned parchments. Burned codices. Burned libraries, all over Lamath. And naturally the most virulent reprisals against Divisionists. She is, after all, orthodox.” The little man chuckled, but there was no joy in his laughter.

“Has she been here?” Pelmen asked urgently.

“Look around, boy.” The Elder smiled, gesturing again at the rolls and books. “Use your head a little. No, your precious codex has not been destroyed…” The old man’s voice softened. “Though Power knows I’ve wanted to do it myself, knowing the grief it’s caused you.”

“No!”

“I haven’t,” the Elder soothed.

“Where is it?” Pelmen asked eagerly. The Elder rose slowly from his stool and moved his bowl to one side; then he moved his stool and bent to lift the edge of a woolen rug, to flop it out of the way. The process took a full two minutes, and Pelmen fought impatience.

“It’s in the cavern, then?” The Elder sighed. “Well, of course, it is. Go ahead.” He waved Pelmen to a stone slab in the floor. “You know I can’t lift it.” Pelmen quickly grabbed the inset handle and lifted the slab out of the floor. A cold gust of wind blew up into the room, and the Elder stepped away from the edge of the black hold. “It’s where you found it,”