"Then you must not know how to read," answered his opponent across the table condescendingly. "But we can fix that. That's my son playing over there. He can teach you." He smiled, feeling pretty clever.
"I know how to read!" said red-face. "And the Legends say in clear Miran that Gadriel had the nature of a lumen when he visited Lumenagea, not his divine nature!"
"Oh, but sir, you have that backwards," said condescending-man. "Because I've read every passage of the Legends where they mention the nature of Gadriel, and they definitely said he was 100 percent divine, not lumen."
It was hard telling just how long these two had been debating at the breakfast table of the Miran inn where Ajnin and Drea had spent the night. But now it was getting intense, and Ajnin and Drea, who sat eating silently at their own table, didn't stand a chance at having any actual conversation of their own.
"So you think you don't have to follow Gadriel's example!" said red-face. "Because that's what you're saying, if you say he was never truly one of us. You're saying he lived a holy life only because he was a god, and since we're not gods, we can't!"
That's when the cook joined them. "Gadriel was half lumen, half god," she said decisively. "And when we pray to him, we also become half god as his children."
Dangerously amused and startled, Drea almost choked on her bread. She sat smirking and trying to contain her laughter. Across the table from her, Ajnin looked at her and winced, as if acknowledging that the behavior of some Mirans was an embarrassment to him.
"Rubbish!" dismissed condescending-man, turning his nose up at the cook. "So Gadriel was the son of a god and a lumen? I think not. He was all god, plain and simple." And he pushed his empty plate away.
"How could he be the son of a god and a lumen?!" red-face scoffed.
"Obviously he wasn't," said condescending-man, folding his napkin neatly. "That would be disgusting."
"I didn't say he was!" the cook said defensively.
"Then how do you explain your statement that he was half god, half lumen?" asked condescending-man.
"He's a god, he can become whatever he wants!" said the cook.
"But you said he's only half god!" argued red-face.
"Was!" said the cook. "When he visited Lumenagea! Before and after that, he was a god again!"
Ajnin confidently strode over to where the action was. "Have you read Narsil's letter to Eejay Wigner?" he asked. "It's not commonly read, but it clears up this issue. She said that Gadriel came to our world as 100 percent god, and 100 percent lumen. And when we let him into our minds, we partake of the divine nature."
"What the BURNING SUN is that supposed to mean?!" Drea exclaimed, unable to keep her mouth shut.
Shocked at her free use of profanity, Ajnin dropped his jaw and exclaimed in confusion, "Drea!"
"Well," she said, all wide eyes on her, "seriously, how do you explain that?"
"It means," Ajnin said, "it means that we can overcome ourselves, by partaking of the divine nature."
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"We partake of it... Well Gadriel shares his divine nature with us," he said, "so we can follow his example and live a holy life."
"I fail to see the significance," Drea said.
"There is none," said condescending-man, "because not everything Narsil wrote was from Gadriel. She was full of herself and knew she could get her people to believe anything she said, so she came up with all kinds of things off the top of her big head."
"Treason!" shouted red-face, who was beginning to look more like purple-face.
Ajnin was beginning to lose his cool. "Gadriel chooses the humble to fill high callings," he said to condescending-man, gritting his teeth to keep himself composed, "and don't worry, if her head had been nearly your size, Gadriel would never have gifted her with visions and expected us to follow her lead."
Looking offended, condescending-man pushed himself back from the table. "I've had enough of this inept inanity, and I'm done trying to have a reasonable discussion with you imbeciles. You're all blind to the most palpable truths. It's the slumber, you're all taken by it. I'll leave you to it."
"So Narsil was right about the slumber?" Ajnin scoffed.
"Like I said," condescending-man huffed, "she was right about a few things. But don't expect me to stick around to explain that to you. I have more important things to do with my time. Son! Pick up your things! We're leaving."
Red-face turned to Ajnin and said, "I've read Narsil's writings, and she said Gadriel was a lumen."
"Yes," Ajnin said earnestly, "and god at the same time."
Drea rolled her eyes in amusement at Ajnin's sincerity, and said, "You all worship a dead queen whose dead words can be manipulated to say anything."
"I don't worship her!" protested condescending-man.
"Wasn't talking to you," she said. "I started ignoring you after the first time you said you were leaving."
Ajnin smirked at that, but condescending-man acted offended again. "I'm waiting for my son," he claimed.
"No," she said, "he's probably waiting for you. I'm sure he's seen this before and there's a reason he doesn't believe you're in a hurry."
That's when they noticed the traveler who had come in at some point. From the looks of him, probably Arrian. "How does a person get some food around here?" he asked, looking bewildered.
"Just one moment, I'll be right with you," said the cook, hurrying back to the kitchen.
Ajnin cringed at the thought of what impression this guy could have of Mirans and their religion. "I'm sorry," he said.
"No need to apologize," the traveler said. "I'm just getting something to eat and then I'm on my way."
Soon Ajnin and Drea were back on the road themselves. "That was embarrassing," he said as their horses walked beside each other.
"That was more fun than I've had in a while," Drea laughed.
He smiled and looked down. "But seriously, I'm so proud to be Miran and yet we're such a mess. I want to be a better example than that to non-Mirans and not get into ridiculous fights over the Legends and Narsil. But it's important to understand the truth of what they really say, and share it. I just need to find the balance. And I hope the rest of them do too."
"That'll never happen," she snickered. "Don't hold your breath."
"It's going to have to get better before Gadriel comes," he insisted. "We're not ready."
"You sure you're talking to the right person about this stuff?" she asked. "You know I don't claim the Miranite religion anymore and it doesn't claim me."
"Huh?" he acted confused. "Oh! You thought I was talking to you? I was talking to my horse!"
Drea was confused until she saw his mischievous smirk. Got her, he thought. "Ha, ha," she said sarcastically, "you're hilarious, brilliant."
"So you've finally noticed," Ajnin teased.
She simply rolled her eyes and tried not to think about the things she liked about him. It was annoying, but seemed to be a growing habit despite her efforts.
"Really though," he said, "I just hate it when people discredit those who did so much to secure the freedom and light we have now. They just want to throw out the window everything the early Mirans left us."
"Then you can't be happy with me," she said. "I say we burn the books and forget the history."
"And as annoying as you are for reasons such as that," he said straightforwardly, "I still find it more tolerable than the ones who claim to be Miranite while being that way. It's hypocritical. Pick one, people!"
Drea wasn't sure what to think. But somehow she couldn't find her desire to argue, despite the fact that the subject matter was easy argument material. Something strange had begun to happen to her: she actually somewhat liked getting along - disagreeing, but getting along anyway. Besides, there were obviously religious people who were much more idiotic than Ajnin about it, with fewer redeeming qualities. So she smirked as he went on.
"The slumber has definitely come," he said. "Mirans believe things that aren't anywhere in the Legends or Narsil. Until they get back to the pure truth of the early Mirans and the correct interpretation of the Legends, and quit believing new things, they're hopeless."
Meanwhile, at Battle Creek:
"The problem," Viggo said, "is that Mirans tend to think that there isn't a single truth to learn that wasn't written in the Legends or Narsil's writings. I know the gods spoke to the seers who wrote them, but seriously? The seers knew everything? Hundreds and thousands of years ago?!"
He had brought a chair outside for his mother, who sat in the sunshine watching the horses and goats with him and Alethes as they caught her up on their conversation from the night before. She smiled weakly at her son, who paced earnestly now as he usually did when on a subject like this.
"What?" he asked, stopping in front of her.
"You always asked the deepest questions," she said, "even when you were little. When he was three--" she turned to Alethes, who sat in the grass listening intently-- "he asked me why men get their marks on their wrists and women get them on their necks. I simply didn't have the answers to all his questions." Epifany chuckled quietly.
It was clear to Alethes that she adored her son. There was something in her eyes that broke Alethes's heart, something that felt strangely familiar. She was convinced that she somehow knew exactly how Epifany felt, that she understood the bond between mother and son. It felt sacred, and she knew that there was nothing she would not sacrifice to protect her child. Yet she knew she had no children of her own. She felt confused and overwhelmed with emotions she couldn't understand, and she wished these selfless people could have been spared from the weight of sorrow that oppressed them.
There was something special about Viggo, something that made her feel like she'd always known him - and wish he'd been in her life sooner. Somehow nothing she learned about him or his childhood came as a surprise. But the thought of him having suffered anything in his life broke her heart, and she had this strange feeling beginning to develop, that something wasn't right, and if she could only figure out how, she would do anything to fix it.
"Well, I know one thing," Viggo said, "if I had a mark below my ear where I couldn't see it, it wouldn't be a very effective reminder to me of anything." Alethes's head returned to the conversation, and they all laughed.
"I think you're on to something, Viggo," said Epifany. "I think a woman's new life mark isn't meant to remind her that she's Miran so much as it's meant to inform others of the fact."
"It's strange, isn't it?" Viggo asked. "If a man wanted to hide his Miran identity and blend in with the world, all he would have to do is cover a part of his arm, which he might already do just by wearing long sleeves. But if a woman wanted to hide her mark, she'd pretty much have to hide her face in a scarf or something. And that wouldn't help her blend in most places. I guess people thought it was more important to mark women than men."
"And of course," Alethes said, "Mirans and pretty much all Gadrians have male leaders. Miras only made an exception for Narsil because it became clear that she was Gadriel's chosen, and despite her humility, strength, and worthy leadership skills, and not to mention the gift of prophecy, it was an uphill battle for her to even be acknowledged as such. But if a Miran man wants to be a leader, the people need no evidence to assume Gadriel has called him. They wouldn't give a woman a chance, even though their greatest leader was a woman. How does that make sense? They just take the words of people who lived in times of darkness and ignorance, and give them more credit than common sense. Because as Viggo said, they believe the only trustworthy ideas were written in ancient, dusty books. That is the slumber if ever there was one - the stubborn refusal to progress."
"I think Gadriel was making a statement by choosing Narsil," said Viggo, "that he doesn't see things the way people normally do, that it's really about your character and your heart. And he wanted us to see that he wasn't interested in playing by our rules and limitations."
"That's true," Epifany said, "because before the Miran movement, people blindly followed the same superstitious ideas for centuries, unwilling to accept anything new. But it's strange how Miras has fallen into the same rut now."
"Mirans have neglected to be truly understanding and sympathetic of their ancestors," said Alethes, shaking her head. "They think they honor those who went before us by idolizing their dead words. But they don't take into consideration where they were coming from, and carry forward the torch they worked so hard to pass on to us. They don't want to. They have abused the light - some through ignorance, but some through arrogance. They twist Narsil's writings to justify their own preferences. And the most shameful part is that she's long dead and can't speak for herself."
"That's exactly what your dream was about," Epifany said. "I wanted to ask you, what did the white horse's foal look like? If you remember."
Alethes smiled. "I couldn't forget that," she said, "I'd never seen a horse quite like her: a palomino, but such a soft, mild yellow and creamy white mane and tail."
"You mean like that one?" Viggo asked, raising one eyebrow in confusion as he looked at Whinnem grazing nearby and back at Alethes.
"Yep," Alethes laughed. "That's probably the strangest thing about the dream. The day after I dreamed it, I found her in real life, alone in a field. And we've been together ever since. My dream horse."
"Wow," Viggo and Epifany both said, then grinned at each other.
"I do have some clear memories like that," Alethes said. "But I can't seem to remember my home. My brain still sees only this place as the scene of my memories. It's been - what? Two and a half months? And I still can't seem to remember my home and family."
Epifany sighed, then said, "All will be clear in due time."
"Rubbish!" dismissed condescending-man, turning his nose up at the cook. "So Gadriel was the son of a god and a lumen? I think not. He was all god, plain and simple." And he pushed his empty plate away.
"How could he be the son of a god and a lumen?!" red-face scoffed.
"Obviously he wasn't," said condescending-man, folding his napkin neatly. "That would be disgusting."
"I didn't say he was!" the cook said defensively.
"Then how do you explain your statement that he was half god, half lumen?" asked condescending-man.
"He's a god, he can become whatever he wants!" said the cook.
"But you said he's only half god!" argued red-face.
"Was!" said the cook. "When he visited Lumenagea! Before and after that, he was a god again!"
Ajnin confidently strode over to where the action was. "Have you read Narsil's letter to Eejay Wigner?" he asked. "It's not commonly read, but it clears up this issue. She said that Gadriel came to our world as 100 percent god, and 100 percent lumen. And when we let him into our minds, we partake of the divine nature."
"What the BURNING SUN is that supposed to mean?!" Drea exclaimed, unable to keep her mouth shut.
Shocked at her free use of profanity, Ajnin dropped his jaw and exclaimed in confusion, "Drea!"
"Well," she said, all wide eyes on her, "seriously, how do you explain that?"
"It means," Ajnin said, "it means that we can overcome ourselves, by partaking of the divine nature."
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"We partake of it... Well Gadriel shares his divine nature with us," he said, "so we can follow his example and live a holy life."
"I fail to see the significance," Drea said.
"There is none," said condescending-man, "because not everything Narsil wrote was from Gadriel. She was full of herself and knew she could get her people to believe anything she said, so she came up with all kinds of things off the top of her big head."
"Treason!" shouted red-face, who was beginning to look more like purple-face.
Ajnin was beginning to lose his cool. "Gadriel chooses the humble to fill high callings," he said to condescending-man, gritting his teeth to keep himself composed, "and don't worry, if her head had been nearly your size, Gadriel would never have gifted her with visions and expected us to follow her lead."
Looking offended, condescending-man pushed himself back from the table. "I've had enough of this inept inanity, and I'm done trying to have a reasonable discussion with you imbeciles. You're all blind to the most palpable truths. It's the slumber, you're all taken by it. I'll leave you to it."
"So Narsil was right about the slumber?" Ajnin scoffed.
"Like I said," condescending-man huffed, "she was right about a few things. But don't expect me to stick around to explain that to you. I have more important things to do with my time. Son! Pick up your things! We're leaving."
Red-face turned to Ajnin and said, "I've read Narsil's writings, and she said Gadriel was a lumen."
"Yes," Ajnin said earnestly, "and god at the same time."
Drea rolled her eyes in amusement at Ajnin's sincerity, and said, "You all worship a dead queen whose dead words can be manipulated to say anything."
"I don't worship her!" protested condescending-man.
"Wasn't talking to you," she said. "I started ignoring you after the first time you said you were leaving."
Ajnin smirked at that, but condescending-man acted offended again. "I'm waiting for my son," he claimed.
"No," she said, "he's probably waiting for you. I'm sure he's seen this before and there's a reason he doesn't believe you're in a hurry."
That's when they noticed the traveler who had come in at some point. From the looks of him, probably Arrian. "How does a person get some food around here?" he asked, looking bewildered.
"Just one moment, I'll be right with you," said the cook, hurrying back to the kitchen.
Ajnin cringed at the thought of what impression this guy could have of Mirans and their religion. "I'm sorry," he said.
"No need to apologize," the traveler said. "I'm just getting something to eat and then I'm on my way."
Soon Ajnin and Drea were back on the road themselves. "That was embarrassing," he said as their horses walked beside each other.
"That was more fun than I've had in a while," Drea laughed.
He smiled and looked down. "But seriously, I'm so proud to be Miran and yet we're such a mess. I want to be a better example than that to non-Mirans and not get into ridiculous fights over the Legends and Narsil. But it's important to understand the truth of what they really say, and share it. I just need to find the balance. And I hope the rest of them do too."
"That'll never happen," she snickered. "Don't hold your breath."
"It's going to have to get better before Gadriel comes," he insisted. "We're not ready."
"You sure you're talking to the right person about this stuff?" she asked. "You know I don't claim the Miranite religion anymore and it doesn't claim me."
"Huh?" he acted confused. "Oh! You thought I was talking to you? I was talking to my horse!"
Drea was confused until she saw his mischievous smirk. Got her, he thought. "Ha, ha," she said sarcastically, "you're hilarious, brilliant."
"So you've finally noticed," Ajnin teased.
She simply rolled her eyes and tried not to think about the things she liked about him. It was annoying, but seemed to be a growing habit despite her efforts.
"Really though," he said, "I just hate it when people discredit those who did so much to secure the freedom and light we have now. They just want to throw out the window everything the early Mirans left us."
"Then you can't be happy with me," she said. "I say we burn the books and forget the history."
"And as annoying as you are for reasons such as that," he said straightforwardly, "I still find it more tolerable than the ones who claim to be Miranite while being that way. It's hypocritical. Pick one, people!"
Drea wasn't sure what to think. But somehow she couldn't find her desire to argue, despite the fact that the subject matter was easy argument material. Something strange had begun to happen to her: she actually somewhat liked getting along - disagreeing, but getting along anyway. Besides, there were obviously religious people who were much more idiotic than Ajnin about it, with fewer redeeming qualities. So she smirked as he went on.
"The slumber has definitely come," he said. "Mirans believe things that aren't anywhere in the Legends or Narsil. Until they get back to the pure truth of the early Mirans and the correct interpretation of the Legends, and quit believing new things, they're hopeless."
Meanwhile, at Battle Creek:
"The problem," Viggo said, "is that Mirans tend to think that there isn't a single truth to learn that wasn't written in the Legends or Narsil's writings. I know the gods spoke to the seers who wrote them, but seriously? The seers knew everything? Hundreds and thousands of years ago?!"
He had brought a chair outside for his mother, who sat in the sunshine watching the horses and goats with him and Alethes as they caught her up on their conversation from the night before. She smiled weakly at her son, who paced earnestly now as he usually did when on a subject like this.
"What?" he asked, stopping in front of her.
"You always asked the deepest questions," she said, "even when you were little. When he was three--" she turned to Alethes, who sat in the grass listening intently-- "he asked me why men get their marks on their wrists and women get them on their necks. I simply didn't have the answers to all his questions." Epifany chuckled quietly.
It was clear to Alethes that she adored her son. There was something in her eyes that broke Alethes's heart, something that felt strangely familiar. She was convinced that she somehow knew exactly how Epifany felt, that she understood the bond between mother and son. It felt sacred, and she knew that there was nothing she would not sacrifice to protect her child. Yet she knew she had no children of her own. She felt confused and overwhelmed with emotions she couldn't understand, and she wished these selfless people could have been spared from the weight of sorrow that oppressed them.
There was something special about Viggo, something that made her feel like she'd always known him - and wish he'd been in her life sooner. Somehow nothing she learned about him or his childhood came as a surprise. But the thought of him having suffered anything in his life broke her heart, and she had this strange feeling beginning to develop, that something wasn't right, and if she could only figure out how, she would do anything to fix it.
"Well, I know one thing," Viggo said, "if I had a mark below my ear where I couldn't see it, it wouldn't be a very effective reminder to me of anything." Alethes's head returned to the conversation, and they all laughed.
"I think you're on to something, Viggo," said Epifany. "I think a woman's new life mark isn't meant to remind her that she's Miran so much as it's meant to inform others of the fact."
"It's strange, isn't it?" Viggo asked. "If a man wanted to hide his Miran identity and blend in with the world, all he would have to do is cover a part of his arm, which he might already do just by wearing long sleeves. But if a woman wanted to hide her mark, she'd pretty much have to hide her face in a scarf or something. And that wouldn't help her blend in most places. I guess people thought it was more important to mark women than men."
"And of course," Alethes said, "Mirans and pretty much all Gadrians have male leaders. Miras only made an exception for Narsil because it became clear that she was Gadriel's chosen, and despite her humility, strength, and worthy leadership skills, and not to mention the gift of prophecy, it was an uphill battle for her to even be acknowledged as such. But if a Miran man wants to be a leader, the people need no evidence to assume Gadriel has called him. They wouldn't give a woman a chance, even though their greatest leader was a woman. How does that make sense? They just take the words of people who lived in times of darkness and ignorance, and give them more credit than common sense. Because as Viggo said, they believe the only trustworthy ideas were written in ancient, dusty books. That is the slumber if ever there was one - the stubborn refusal to progress."
"I think Gadriel was making a statement by choosing Narsil," said Viggo, "that he doesn't see things the way people normally do, that it's really about your character and your heart. And he wanted us to see that he wasn't interested in playing by our rules and limitations."
"That's true," Epifany said, "because before the Miran movement, people blindly followed the same superstitious ideas for centuries, unwilling to accept anything new. But it's strange how Miras has fallen into the same rut now."
"Mirans have neglected to be truly understanding and sympathetic of their ancestors," said Alethes, shaking her head. "They think they honor those who went before us by idolizing their dead words. But they don't take into consideration where they were coming from, and carry forward the torch they worked so hard to pass on to us. They don't want to. They have abused the light - some through ignorance, but some through arrogance. They twist Narsil's writings to justify their own preferences. And the most shameful part is that she's long dead and can't speak for herself."
"That's exactly what your dream was about," Epifany said. "I wanted to ask you, what did the white horse's foal look like? If you remember."
Alethes smiled. "I couldn't forget that," she said, "I'd never seen a horse quite like her: a palomino, but such a soft, mild yellow and creamy white mane and tail."
"You mean like that one?" Viggo asked, raising one eyebrow in confusion as he looked at Whinnem grazing nearby and back at Alethes.
"Yep," Alethes laughed. "That's probably the strangest thing about the dream. The day after I dreamed it, I found her in real life, alone in a field. And we've been together ever since. My dream horse."
"Wow," Viggo and Epifany both said, then grinned at each other.
"I do have some clear memories like that," Alethes said. "But I can't seem to remember my home. My brain still sees only this place as the scene of my memories. It's been - what? Two and a half months? And I still can't seem to remember my home and family."
Epifany sighed, then said, "All will be clear in due time."