CHAPTER VI
MARSE
For Marse, it began with a kiss on a moonlit spring night.
He'd taken Jessica, his soon-to-be bride, out for a night of
dining and dancing. They ate at the Inn of the Yellow Rose, and
they rode a carriage through the streets of Hurshtown, watching
the stars appear in the twilight. They talked about their future
with the laughing seriousness that is the sole property of those
who are young and in love. Then, when it was late and the evening
was drawing to a close, he walked her back to her apartments.
"Would you like to come up for a moment?" She asked when
they'd come to her building.
"No, I'd better be getting back to the Temple." Marse said
regretfully.
"Please? It'll only be for a minute." She smiled mock-
seductively. "Or don't you trust me?"
"Of course I trust you! I just don't know that I trust
myself. If I let you invite me in, then I'll be tempted to stay
when you offer to let me spend the night... which we both know
you will."
"So? What's wrong with that? Just because you spend the
night with me doesn't mean that anything is going to happen."
"But something could happen!"
"What, do you think you lose your mind every time you're
alone with a woman? If so, then I'm afraid you may have trouble
after we're married." He smiled.
"Not when I'm in the room with just any woman, no. Just
with you."
"Fine, so what if something does happen? I love you, you
love me, and we're firmly committed to each other, so who cares?
I mean, we're going to be married within the month! Besides,
it's not like the Order makes you take a vow of chastity or
anything."
"I'm sorry, I'm prudish and I can't help it. It's one of
those things they try to train into you in the Order." Jessica
made a stalling gesture with her hands.
"Look, we're getting ahead of things here. I mean, I trust
you, even if you don't trust yourself, and I know that you won't
do anything you'd regret afterward. All I'm asking is that you
come up and spend some time with me."
"Alone... in your apartment... late at night..." Marse
trailed off.
"I just don't want to be alone right now. Is that so hard
to believe? That I just want you with me for a little longer?"
Marse sighed.
"I'm sorry, Jessica, I just can't. Besides, if I don't get
back to the Temple soon, Brother Couthon will worry about me."
"Marse, I'm the one who has to worry about you! It isn't
safe to walk around alone these days." Marse held up his gilded
sunburst medallion so that it caught the moonlight.
"I'm never alone, remember? Besides, the day an acolyte of
Shani needs to fear for his safety is the day Chaos walks the
Realms." Jessica rolled her eyes.
"Look around you, Marse! I hate to shatter your illusions,
but if the world isn't in chaos already, I'd hate to see your
idea of order! I know you think nobody would dare to attack a
priest, but it's happened before. There are some people out
there who are just plain crazy, Marse, more of them every day,
and if one of them takes a notion to kill you, I don't think
they'll care if you're a priest or not! Hells, some of them
might do just because you're a priest!"
"Mind your language." Marse chided jokingly.
"This isn't funny, Marse. I worry about you all the time."
"Well, soon we'll be married, and then it'll be your job to
worry about me." He leaned forward and kissed her. "And I can't
wait."
Jessica's resistance melted with a sweet sigh. "I can't
either. I just want to make sure that you're around 'til then."
"I know, beloved, but I do need to get back. Brother
Couthon..."
"...Would make the logical assumption. The only thing he'd
worry about is whether or not you'd make it home in time for
morning prayers. But I understand. If you have to go, go."
"Thanks, Jessica."
"Yeah, yeah. Just be careful, and make it home safely. I
do worry about you, Marse, whether it's my job yet or not." She
laughed. "The story of my life. I finally met a decent man, and
he's already married to his goddess."
They kissed, in the street, beneath the pale white moon, for
what seemed like an eternity. Finally, reluctantly, Marse pulled
away, and watched as Jessica climbed the stairs to the second
floor. He waved good-bye, and turned to make his trip homeward.
A minute later he turned back, waiting to see if she would
wave to him out of her window, as she often did. She wasn't in
her window; in fact, her lights weren't even on. He turned and
walked briskly back toward her building. He was already running
by the time he heard her scream. He rushed up the stairs and
smashed through her door. Jessica was on the floor, her white
dress stained with a spreading patch of blood. A raggedly
dressed youth stood over her, dagger in hand.
Seeing Marse burst in, the burglar dropped his weapon and
ran, through the hall and into the bedroom, where he exited
through the window. After a moment of hesitation, Marse gave up
any idea of pursuing him, and turned to tend to his wounded love.
She was already unconscious from the loss of blood, and he
hurriedly located the wound, a vicious gash across her neck, from
beneath her right ear almost to her collarbone. He placed his
hands over the wound, smearing them with blood, and opened
himself to the power of his goddess. With Her power flowing
through him, he began the process of healing the wound, slowing
the flow of blood and forcing her flesh to mend. Clerics can
access the full might and majesty of their patron deity, but even
they have their limits. The amount of power that can be drawn is
limited by the capacity and experience of the cleric, and Marse
quickly found himself at the edge of his. Despite this, he
forced himself to go further, feeling the warm stream of power
flowing through him become a burning torrent, pouring the healing
energy of Shani into Jessica's body, intent on repairing the
damage to her no matter what price he had to pay.
He finally managed to close the wound and stop her bleeding,
but when he tried to heal her further, to replenish the blood
she'd lost, he drove himself just slightly too far, past even the
outermost limits of his ability. The energy he channeled turned
on him, a backlash of white-hot, blinding pain that relentlessly
battered him into a dark and silent rest.
He woke with her leaning over him, his head cradled in her
arms, resting on her lap. Sighing in relief, the gave thanks to
the gods for her deliverance. He looked up into the eyes of his
beloved.
And saw the smiling face of death looking back at him.
"My son, dealing with the death of a loved one is always
difficult. But you must take care that in your grief you do not
forget that you are still among the living."
"I do my chores like the other acolytes. I take my meals
with them, and I attend prayer with them." Marse said. Brother
Couthon shook his head and sighed.
"I know that you perform your duties, Marse. But you spend
all of your free time alone. Aside from meals, prayers, and
chores, nobody sees you! It's been weeks since her funeral, son.
I know you loved her, but you have to accept the fact that she's
dead."
"I can't see how I could accept it any more than I already
have. It's all I can think of. That I let her die."
"Now don't be ridiculous. There was nothing you could have
done to save her. Brother Alecti tells me that you'll be years
recovering from the injuries you inflicted on yourself trying to
heal her." This last wasn't quite true. What Alecti had said
was that he would likely never recover, but Couthon saw no need
to further upset the grieving younger cleric. Bad enough that
he'd lost Jessica. "There isn't any need to blame yourself."
Marse held his head in his hands, and Brother Couthon saw that he
was on the verge of tears.
"She invited me in." he said, speaking softly to the floor,
"She practically begged me not to make her go up to her apartment
alone." Now the moisture ran down his cheeks in twin rivulets
and dripped down to dampen the lap of his robe. "I just couldn't.
I was afraid of what might happen. I should have.." His voice
faltered, and his crying came in sobs, preventing him from
continuing.
"Marse, you can't second-guess yourself like that. There's
no way of knowing for certain what might have happened if you'd
gone up with her. Who's to say you wouldn't both have been
killed? The fact is, it wasn't your fault. You did what you
could, more than what most would have done." Marse's sobs
subsided. "My son, have you tried..."
"Prayer?" Marse finished for him. Couthon shook his head
ruefully.
"I take it I'm not the first to suggest it." Marse smiled
for a moment.
"Brother Couthon, we live in a temple. I'm surrounded by
priests everywhere I go."
"You're right, I should have known you'd have heard that
already. But have you actually heeded their advice?" Marse
nodded.
"I spend most of my time asking for Her guidance, but if She
answers, I am deaf to her words. Brother Gris told me that he
believes there is a reason for everything, that all that happens
is ordained by the gods. I'm not sure that I can accept that.
If it is all foreordained, then why is all this sorrow
necessary?"
"Philosophy is not one of Brother Gris's strong talents, my
son." Couthon cautioned. "I don't know that I'm comfortable
with him trying to teach predestination to our acolytes. If he
wishes to believe that everything is fated, then I certainly
can't blame him. There is a certain sort of comfort in the
thought, isn't there? But it isn't one of our teachings, just
his personal belief."
"I just don't know what to believe anymore. Why doesn't
Shani answer me?"
"Sometimes the answers you seek aren't to be found with the
gods. Sometime, you already know them." Couthon clapped the
younger priest on the back and helped him rise. As he showed him
to the door, he offered some final words of wisdom. "Take
comfort, my son. Your Jessica was a woman of virtue, and she had
a pure heart. There is no doubt in my mind that she basks in the
eternal joy of the Light now. And there shouldn't be in yours,
either. You will meet again, before the End of All."
Once Marse was gone, the elderly priest turned his own
thoughts to prayer, communing with his goddess. "What can I do
to help him?" He asked. His answer was quick in coming, and
when he understood, he almost laughed out loud. "So that's what
you have planned for him. Always giving glory to those who never
seek it. Is there no way to spare him this misery, though?" He
paused and listened, hearing an unspoken voice. "Very well,
then. I'll do what I can, but he's at his wits' end." He
laughed as he heard Shani's answer. "No, I know you didn't say
it would be easy. I just wish there was some other way." The
warder went about his duties, knowing that Marse would likely
return to his office within the week.
Marse continued to mope around the temple for the next few
days, until it became his turn to work in the infirmary. He did
what he could to help, bandaging and redressing wounds,
dispensing medicines and such advice as he could give. Twice,
patients came to him, asking to be healed. The first he directed
to one of the other Brothers on duty. The second he decided to
try to heal by himself. The patient complained of sharp pains in
the stomach, and occasionally passing blood. Marse laid his
hands on the man's stomach, and reached out to feel the injury.
He quickly located the man's problem, an inflamed ulcer, and
reached for the power to heal him.
Marse recoiled from the cold emptiness he found inside, the
dead, hollow wound deep within where his connection to the
goddess used to be. A wave of nausea flew through him as the
feeling of death inside of him clenched his stomach. He reached
out to his goddess for comfort, but it was as if a wall lay
between them. The cold rotten patch within him seemed to radiate
sickness, and he found himself being drawn down into it,
spiraling downward into a dark abysmal place from which he
instinctively knew there would be no escape. He felt himself
grabbed and lifted onto one of the infirmary cots, and something
warm and bitter was poured down his throat. He gagged and
coughed, breaking free of the whirlpool of lethargy that held him
down. He opened his eyes, and found his Brothers around him, all
of them with concern on their faces.
"You must not do that again, Brother." One of them said.
"We nearly lost you."
"I.. I cannot heal!" Marse exclaimed, shocked.
"You should rest now." He was told, and sent back to his
own bed in the priest's quarters.
Marse's misery was now complete. He'd lost both of his
loves, Jessica and his goddess, and there seemed little left for
him. Lying there in his bed waiting for the dull shuddering lack
he felt inside to go away, he made one of the most difficult
choices of his life. As Brother Couthon had expected, Marse was
back in his offices the next day.
"I'm here to tell you that I want to leave the temple." To
his surprise, Couthon just nodded.
"I know."
"But how...?" Couthon smiled.
"You may not be able to hear Her, but She can still hear
you, my son. I know that you want to leave, and I know why. The
Brothers told me of what happened in the infirmary. I'm very
sorry that you went through that. I should have told you how bad
things were right away, but I wanted to wait until you were done
grieving."
"Just how bad are things for me, then?" Marse asked. "Is my
ability to heal gone forever?"
"Your ability to call upon the gods is completely destroyed,
I'm afraid. You burned it away by trying to do too much, too
soon. But as to forever, who can say? Perhaps there will come a
time when you will heal again. Remember that wherever life is,
there, too, is hope."
"Then I'd rather leave. I just feel so useless now! I
can't heal, I can't even pray!"
"My son, everyone can pray. Just because you can no longer
hear the gods' words does not mean that they do not hear you.
And you don't have to be useless. Believe it or not, your
situation is not unique."
"How so?"
"There are a few Brothers who were born unable to call upon
the gods. They have never used the gods' power, never heard the
gods answer their prayers."
"Then how do they know?"
"They have faith, my son. They felt called to the Order,
and they believe in the gods, even though they can never know
them personally."
"But I've never heard of a cleric who was unable to heal."
"That's because there aren't any."
"But you said..."
"There are many kinds of healing, Marse. They can't all
call upon the gods, but all the Brothers can heal."
"I don't understand what you mean."
"As I said, there are many kinds of healing. With herb
lore, a good knowledge of the body, and the right tools, you'd be
amazed what you can do. Don't get me wrong, it won't be nearly
the same as what you had before. There won't be the same sense
of oneness with Shani, no rush of power, no feeling of
omnipotence. Just the joy of seeing the sick and injured made
well again."
"That's more than I thought I'd ever have again."
"Then you'll stay?" After a moment of deliberation, Marse
nodded.
"Yes, I'll stay. And thank you for not just letting me go."
Couthon shook his head.
"I couldn't afford to let you go even if I wanted to. You
may not have realized this, Marse, but the Order isn't exactly
thriving these days. Look around you, and see how many empty
beds there are. Since Frodan's Folly, our numbers have declined
drasticly. Tell me, when was the last time you saw a Paladin
come through here?"
"Well, I've never actually seen a Paladin. I didn't think
they came this way often."
"In my day, before Frodan's Folly, we'd almost always have
one here, sometimes as many as five at once. Now there haven't
been any through here for years. They almost all followed Frodan
to the Altar, and those that did didn't come back. Frodan wanted
to prove once and for all that the Order could handle anything
short of the End of All. When he failed, people lost faith in
us. We don't have nearly as many novitiates as we should, and
that means we'll have less priests later on. I haven't seen a
Paladin declared since well before you were born. Whether you
can call upon Her power or not, we need you. Besides, I think
She may have something special planned for you."
"I thought you didn't believe in predestination?"
"I don't. But I don't believe the gods leave everything to
chance, either. They have their plans, don't you worry about
that. And I think you may be a part of Hers. Now, back to your
duties, and I'll expect you to see Brother Ector for lessons in
the fine art of medicine first thing in the morning." Marse
left, and Brother Couthon stared at the door, thinking of
everything he knew from his goddess. Glancing at the small
mechanical timepiece on his desk, he rose and went to the temple
grove, where he strolled peacefully through the pleasant shade of
the lovingly tended trees. He passed some time speaking with one
of the Druids who made the temple grove their sanctuary, and when
he began to walk back to his office he was fairly unsurprised to
find a large doe with a pelt as white as bleached cotton standing
directly in his path.
"You wished to speak with me, did you not?" The goddess
asked.
"My Lady, you know my thoughts before I think them." The
doe's ears twitched in what might have been amusement.
"Sometimes they are not difficult to guess. Speak your
mind. I do not have much time on this plane, but for now I can
devote that time to you."
"I thank you, My Lady. I'm worried about the boy. Do you
really think he's ready for that much power, that much
responsibility?"
"He will be ready when the time comes, and that is all that
is important. I know this must seem cruel to you, but sometimes
that is the way of things. Would that it were not so."
"I understand, My Lady. If I may ask, when will the time
come?"
"You will have time to prepare him, fear not. He will be
far from here when it happens."
"But he's never been outside the city, My Lady. For that
matter, he hasn't even been outside these Temple walls that
often, except to visit Jessica. If I may ask, how is she?"
"She is well. How else would she be, in the Light?"
"Thank you. I just wonder if he should not be... groomed a
bit for the position. That much responsibility, so suddenly, is
not an easy thing to bear."
"Fear not for him. You do not see it yet, but there is a
great potential within him. He is not yet worthy of the
knowledge and power he will be given, but the knowledge and power
themselves will transform him, and what he will become will be
worthy."
"Is it truly going to happen in my lifetime? Can he really
retake the Altar?"
"No, my child, he is not the Champion." She saw his
disappoined look, and her ears twitched again. "Do not look so
sad, my child. I did not say that the Champion would not come.
The Champion is being drawn here even as we speak. After all,
the Champion can not be a priest. Only a true Paladin may claim
that right."
"A Paladin? Are there truly any left after Frodan's Folly?"
"Some live still, though they are few and scattered. Most
of those who do still live were old when Frodan made his attempt
on the Altar. Though I do not doubt their faith in me, I am
afraid they simply could not be an appropriate Champion."
"Then, if I may ask, who will the Champion be? May I know
his name?" The doe's ears twitched again, though Couthon
couldn't see what was funny.
"His name," Shani said, in a voice that left no doubt that
she was laughing, "Is Merri."
(
geocities.com/timessquare)