Prison of Night

"Brother, will you speak for me to Major Khaftle? He-"

"One thing at a time, brother." Eldon was insistent. "First you must be given what help we have. After, well, we shall see. Come now."

He took the quivering claw into his hand, feeling the febrile heat of the skin, recognizing the fever, the disease. The man was dying and would die despite the antibiotics they could give. But he would not die alone and he would die in peace. Brother Veac would see to that.

The young monk accepted his charge and glanced sharply at his superior. It was not his place to question or to criticize, but he would not have been human had he not made a comment.

"It is late, brother, and cold."

"Yes."

"There is food and warmth within. You should rest now."

"And stop trying to act the young man, brother?" Eldon smiled as the other looked abashed. "Am I so old you think I have forgotten to remember how I thought when young? Take care of our friend now. Is Brother Biul available? Good." Then lowering his voice he whispered, "The infirmary, I think. There is room? Then see he has a place. I fear that he will not be with us for long."

But first came the easing of his heart and soul. To kneel beneath the swirling bowl of colored light, to drift into a hypnotic condition, to unburden himself, to suffer subjective penance and then to be given the bread of forgiveness. And if most of those coming to the church did so for the sake of the wafer of concentrates then it was a fair exchange. For each who knelt beneath the light was conditioned not to kill.

"Brother!" Biul looked up from where he sat busy with papers and rose as Eldon entered the office. "You must be frozen! Why must you be so stubborn? You are too old to act this way."

Older than Veac the monk cared less for diplomacy and long friendship had given him a casual familiarity. Now he bustled around, fetching a warm blanket, filling a bowl with soup, standing over Eldon while he ate. Only when the bowl was empty did he permit the older man to speak.

"Biul, you have all the attributes of a bully," said Eldon mildly. "If I didn't know you meant well I might even be annoyed."

"As I will be unless you take better care of yourself. We need you-and do I have to remind you that self-injury is a sin?" Biul cleared away the bowl, rearranged the blanket then said, "Well?"

"Little. A few coins."

"And?"

"Bad news." Eldon felt his shoulders sag. "War on Craig. The first engagements are over but there will be others that is certain. Help will be needed. Contact the seminary on Pace and have them notify those on Hope. A full medical team if possible, as many monks as they can spare at least. And perhaps influence could be brought to bear on those responsible to cease the hostilities."

It was possible, the Church had friends in high places, and it would be tried, but inevitably there would be delays and in a war situation delay meant suffering, disease, degradation and death.

To alleviate a little of it was the most they could hope to do.

As Biul left Eldon sank back in his chair, conscious of the warmth of the blanket, the snug comfort of the room. It was bleak enough, the walls ornamented with small mementos and a few paintings of worlds known when young, but it held everything he had come to value since, when a youth, he had applied for acceptance into the church and had commenced his training.

There was trust there, and faith, and the desire of one to help another. There was truth and tolerance and compassion. There was an acknowledgment that life was more than could be seen on the surface and that, without the belief in something greater than Man, then Man could not be greater than what he was.

A point on which he had argued when young and had still not understood what it really meant to be a monk.

Brother Hoji had stripped away his illusions.

He was old, stooped, withered, crippled, acid. He was in charge of indoctrination and had not been gentle. Leaning back, half-asleep, Eldon could hear again the voice which had rasped like a file through the confines of the room into which had been packed a score of youngsters like himself.

"Why did you apply to become monks? What motive drives you? That question must be answered before any other. Look into the mirror of your soul and search for the truth. Is it in order to help your fellow man? Is it that and nothing more? If not then you don't belong here. You are wasting my time and your own. Rise and leave and none will think the worst of you. Be honest. Above all, be honest!"

Someone had coughed; strain triggering a near-hysterical giggle covered too late into the resemblance of a normal expulsion of air.