universe. Beyond all
imagination, in the outer darkness, there is light: a great glory of sunlight.
I have seen it. I have seen it, night after night, and mapped the stars, the
beacons of God on the shores of the darkness. And here too there is light!
There is no place bereft of the light, the comfort and radiance of the creator
spirit. There is no place that is outcast, outlawed, forsaken. There is no
place left dark. Where the eyes of God have seen, there light is. We must go
farther, we must look farther! There is light if we will see it. Not with eyes
alone, but with the skill of the hands and the knowledge of the mind and the
heart's faith is the unseen revealed, and the hidden made plain. And all the
dark earth shines like a sleeping star.'
He
spoke with that authority which the miners knew belonged by rights to the
priests, to the great words priests spoke in the echoing churches. It did not
belong here, in the hole where they grubbed their living, in the words of a
crazy fugitive. Later on, one talking to another, they shook their heads, or
tapped them. Per said, 'The madness is growing in him,' and Hanno said, 'Poor
soul, poor soul!' Yet there was not one of them who did not, also, believe what
the astronomer had told them.
'Show
me,' said old Bran, finding Guennar alone in a deep eastern drift, busy with
his intricate device. It was Bran who had first followed Guennar, and brought
him food, and led him back to the others.
The
astronomer willingly stood aside and showed Bran how to hold the device
pointing downward at the tunnel floor, and how to aim and focus it, and tried
to describe its function and what Bran might see: all hesitantly, since he was
not used to explaining to the ignorant, but without impatience when Bran did
not understand.
'I
don't see nothing but the ground,' the old man said after a long and solemn
observation with the instrument. 'And the little dust and pebbles on it.'
'The
lamp blinds your eyes, perhaps,' the astronomer said with humility. 'It is
better to look without light. I can do it because I have done it for so long.
It is all practice - like placing the gads, which you always do right, and I
always do wrong.'
'Aye.
Maybe. Tell me what you see—' Bran hesitated. He had not long ago realized who
Guennar must be. Knowing him to be a heretic made no difference but knowing him
to be a learned man made it hard to call him 'mate' or 'lad'. And yet here, and
after all this time, he could not call him Master. There were times when, for
all his mildness, the fugitive spoke with great words, gripping one's soul,
times when it would have been easy to call him Master. But it would have
frightened him.
The
astronomer put his hand on the frame of his mechanism and replied in a soft
voice, 'There are... constellations.'
'What's
that, constellations?'
The
astronomer looked at Bran as if from a great way off, and said presently, 'The
Wain, the Scorpion, the Sickle by the Milky Way in summer, those are
constellations. Patterns of stars, gatherings of stars, parenthoods, semblances...'
'And
you see those here, with this?'
Still
looking at him through the weak lamplight with clear brooding eyes, the
astronomer nodded, and did not speak, but pointed downward, at the rock on
which they stood, the hewn floor of the mine.
'What
are they like?' Bran's voice was hushed.
'I
have only glimpsed them. Only for a moment. I have not learned the skill; it is
a somewhat different skill ... But they are there, Bran.'
Often
now he was not in the stope where they worked, when they came to work, and did
not join them even for their meal, though they always left him a share of food.
He knew the ways of the mine now better than any of them, even Bran, not only
the 'living' mine but the 'dead' one, the abandoned workings and exploratory
tunnels that ran eastward, ever deeper, towards the caves. There he was most
often; and they did not follow him.
When
he did appear amongst them and they talked with him, they
imagination, in the outer darkness, there is light: a great glory of sunlight.
I have seen it. I have seen it, night after night, and mapped the stars, the
beacons of God on the shores of the darkness. And here too there is light!
There is no place bereft of the light, the comfort and radiance of the creator
spirit. There is no place that is outcast, outlawed, forsaken. There is no
place left dark. Where the eyes of God have seen, there light is. We must go
farther, we must look farther! There is light if we will see it. Not with eyes
alone, but with the skill of the hands and the knowledge of the mind and the
heart's faith is the unseen revealed, and the hidden made plain. And all the
dark earth shines like a sleeping star.'
He
spoke with that authority which the miners knew belonged by rights to the
priests, to the great words priests spoke in the echoing churches. It did not
belong here, in the hole where they grubbed their living, in the words of a
crazy fugitive. Later on, one talking to another, they shook their heads, or
tapped them. Per said, 'The madness is growing in him,' and Hanno said, 'Poor
soul, poor soul!' Yet there was not one of them who did not, also, believe what
the astronomer had told them.
'Show
me,' said old Bran, finding Guennar alone in a deep eastern drift, busy with
his intricate device. It was Bran who had first followed Guennar, and brought
him food, and led him back to the others.
The
astronomer willingly stood aside and showed Bran how to hold the device
pointing downward at the tunnel floor, and how to aim and focus it, and tried
to describe its function and what Bran might see: all hesitantly, since he was
not used to explaining to the ignorant, but without impatience when Bran did
not understand.
'I
don't see nothing but the ground,' the old man said after a long and solemn
observation with the instrument. 'And the little dust and pebbles on it.'
'The
lamp blinds your eyes, perhaps,' the astronomer said with humility. 'It is
better to look without light. I can do it because I have done it for so long.
It is all practice - like placing the gads, which you always do right, and I
always do wrong.'
'Aye.
Maybe. Tell me what you see—' Bran hesitated. He had not long ago realized who
Guennar must be. Knowing him to be a heretic made no difference but knowing him
to be a learned man made it hard to call him 'mate' or 'lad'. And yet here, and
after all this time, he could not call him Master. There were times when, for
all his mildness, the fugitive spoke with great words, gripping one's soul,
times when it would have been easy to call him Master. But it would have
frightened him.
The
astronomer put his hand on the frame of his mechanism and replied in a soft
voice, 'There are... constellations.'
'What's
that, constellations?'
The
astronomer looked at Bran as if from a great way off, and said presently, 'The
Wain, the Scorpion, the Sickle by the Milky Way in summer, those are
constellations. Patterns of stars, gatherings of stars, parenthoods, semblances...'
'And
you see those here, with this?'
Still
looking at him through the weak lamplight with clear brooding eyes, the
astronomer nodded, and did not speak, but pointed downward, at the rock on
which they stood, the hewn floor of the mine.
'What
are they like?' Bran's voice was hushed.
'I
have only glimpsed them. Only for a moment. I have not learned the skill; it is
a somewhat different skill ... But they are there, Bran.'
Often
now he was not in the stope where they worked, when they came to work, and did
not join them even for their meal, though they always left him a share of food.
He knew the ways of the mine now better than any of them, even Bran, not only
the 'living' mine but the 'dead' one, the abandoned workings and exploratory
tunnels that ran eastward, ever deeper, towards the caves. There he was most
often; and they did not follow him.
When
he did appear amongst them and they talked with him, they
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