presence. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing the first time he tried it on me. I think he was not much used to looking up at people's faces rather than down. He sent a young monk to fetch me to his office the second day I was there. She would hardly look at me but kept sneaking glances under her hood as she led me up the stairs and into his little office. I saw that she was a Jarn and probably little more than fifteen.
Father Gerthmol was polite, except for his searching glances.
"We put everyone to work here, everyone," he explained. "What we need to know is what you're good at. 'Turn any willing hand to the task at hand, and find the task most suited to the willing hand,' " he quoted. "What can you do to help while you are here, daughter of Gwien?" He smiled with more heartiness than the situation merited. His use of that form of my name seemed a little forced. The monks took new names when they were received into the church, abandoning their old one with their old lives. Most followers of the White God kept their new names in the same way they had their old, but the monks had theirs in the open for everyone to use.
"I have some small skills at most things, and what I do not know I will be pleased to learn."
This pleased him no end, for the White God sets great store by learning and knowledge for its own sake. He questioned me about my domestic and agricultural skills, and as I was about to go, he said, "If you truly like to learn, we will teach you to read." I smiled.
"I have this skill already; my mother taught me." He tested me with some prayers that were lying about his desk. When he found that I could read and write as well as he could he offered me free run of the library. He begged me to spend some time talking to the monk in charge of copying manuscripts to see what was most urgent and to lend a hand. He said this with so much more sincerity than he had talked about the value to the community of the skill at bottling apples that again I was hard-pressed not to giggle. If another of the ala had been there and winked at me I could hardly have kept a straight face.
I soon fell into a routine in my life at Thansethan almost as rigid as that of the monks. I would rise at dawn and drink minted water and eat thin gruel in the refectory. Later, as I grew larger, Thossa, the infirmarian monk, suggested to me that I should drink a preparation of elderflowers and raspberry leaves, so I took to drinking that instead. After this meal I would ride out on Apple for an hour while the monks prayed. Then I would go to the library, a delightful place, on the upper story. It was light and spacious and furnished with books. The monks had collected these from different places. I would copy manuscripts for a few hours in the best of the light. When the monks went to their noon worship I would stop copying, ease my cramped fingers, and read until their return.
I read
Memories of the White God, partly to please the monks and partly from curiosity.
Although it pleased me more than hearing it all secondhand, it did not please me very much. I found the fragmentary nature of the eyewitness accounts confusing, especially in the parts where they contradicted one another. I thought it would be much improved by some connecting narrative and explanation. I suppose many devout believers thought the same thing, for Raul's notes on such things have become popular with the priests recently. Despite the deficiencies, I did feel considerable sympathy with the White God as man; a man who believed himself the rightful king of the Vincan province of Sinea.
Yet in some ways I felt he deserved everything that happened—either he should have led the rebellion or discouraged it altogether. I think anyone in that situation who sacrificed himself to save his people and in doing this trusted the Vincan authorities to keep their word afterwards must have been crazy. Whether he was a god or not, I found him lacking in judgment.
Page 38
I felt
Father Gerthmol was polite, except for his searching glances.
"We put everyone to work here, everyone," he explained. "What we need to know is what you're good at. 'Turn any willing hand to the task at hand, and find the task most suited to the willing hand,' " he quoted. "What can you do to help while you are here, daughter of Gwien?" He smiled with more heartiness than the situation merited. His use of that form of my name seemed a little forced. The monks took new names when they were received into the church, abandoning their old one with their old lives. Most followers of the White God kept their new names in the same way they had their old, but the monks had theirs in the open for everyone to use.
"I have some small skills at most things, and what I do not know I will be pleased to learn."
This pleased him no end, for the White God sets great store by learning and knowledge for its own sake. He questioned me about my domestic and agricultural skills, and as I was about to go, he said, "If you truly like to learn, we will teach you to read." I smiled.
"I have this skill already; my mother taught me." He tested me with some prayers that were lying about his desk. When he found that I could read and write as well as he could he offered me free run of the library. He begged me to spend some time talking to the monk in charge of copying manuscripts to see what was most urgent and to lend a hand. He said this with so much more sincerity than he had talked about the value to the community of the skill at bottling apples that again I was hard-pressed not to giggle. If another of the ala had been there and winked at me I could hardly have kept a straight face.
I soon fell into a routine in my life at Thansethan almost as rigid as that of the monks. I would rise at dawn and drink minted water and eat thin gruel in the refectory. Later, as I grew larger, Thossa, the infirmarian monk, suggested to me that I should drink a preparation of elderflowers and raspberry leaves, so I took to drinking that instead. After this meal I would ride out on Apple for an hour while the monks prayed. Then I would go to the library, a delightful place, on the upper story. It was light and spacious and furnished with books. The monks had collected these from different places. I would copy manuscripts for a few hours in the best of the light. When the monks went to their noon worship I would stop copying, ease my cramped fingers, and read until their return.
I read
Memories of the White God, partly to please the monks and partly from curiosity.
Although it pleased me more than hearing it all secondhand, it did not please me very much. I found the fragmentary nature of the eyewitness accounts confusing, especially in the parts where they contradicted one another. I thought it would be much improved by some connecting narrative and explanation. I suppose many devout believers thought the same thing, for Raul's notes on such things have become popular with the priests recently. Despite the deficiencies, I did feel considerable sympathy with the White God as man; a man who believed himself the rightful king of the Vincan province of Sinea.
Yet in some ways I felt he deserved everything that happened—either he should have led the rebellion or discouraged it altogether. I think anyone in that situation who sacrificed himself to save his people and in doing this trusted the Vincan authorities to keep their word afterwards must have been crazy. Whether he was a god or not, I found him lacking in judgment.
Page 38
I felt
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