"A New Prayer"
"I am a holy protector of 'Ethos'
I have sworn my life to my protectorate
God grant me the strength of mind, will, and body
to fulfil this duty to your satisfaction."
Brin is sitting quietly in a seat by the side of the prayer room he knows so well,
reciting in his mind one of the prayers taught to him for years in this building. Never
before has it held so much meaning. Until this, his first sojourn into the real world of
his Etone calling, he had seen these prayers as a means of professing his belief, of
reassuring himself of his duty. Now, he has no doubt as to it. He knows why he is here,
and what he has to do.
o 0 ( ..My travel, although brief and limited, has shown me what it means to wear these robes... )
He thinks back to the same time last year, how naive, and almost childish he was. Wandering
around the unused halls of the HQ. It was where he heard the music first. Where he wandered
for hours on end, neglecting his studies and training, in search of the most beautiful sound
he had ever heard, which seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. He sometimes thought he
was somehow imagining it. It was too real, and he was afraid to ask...always too afraid, humble,
timid. But...he somehow had to know. He has to find it. And he somehow had to find how he can
help his new friend back in the desert city.
The Music.
His eyes open wide, and he stands bolt upright. His heart sinks as he hears it again. None of the
faithful sitting and kneeling around him, perfectly silent, take any notice of either him, or
what he hears. He raises both hands to cover his ears, grasping two bunches of his hair, which
has grown down over them.
o 0 ( ...I can..still hear it... )
His hands drop to his side, and he trots quickly to the door of the prayer room, where only his
kind may enter. The music...grows louder as he approaches, and he flings the door open, and rushes
through, gritting his teeth against the cacophony ringing in his ears. The most beautiful noises
he has ever heard turture his mind and body as he rushes down the hallways he hasn't known for
months now. He must find...the source...
o 0 ( ...where I heard it first!... )
As he steps down the hallway, toward the site of his first encounter, the music grows more and
more deafening, swaying with his steady, loping gait, its rhythm adjusting to the quickening
beating of his heavy, tired heart. He reaches the spot.
In the wall, between two loose bricks, there is a small slit, that many times Brin had stared through,
across the sea, wondering. Once it was his window on the world, he used to gaze out for
hours on end, wondering what was to be when he had finished his training. Now, it seems to channel
this...beautiful torture through to him. Somebody is looking back.
Brin drops to his knees, every muscle, every portion of his brain screaming out for rest. Never
before has the music been so...insistent and...almost punishing.
o 0 ( ...Why?... )
- "Are you all right, brother?"
Brin is on his knees, bent over forward, until his forehead almost touches the cold stone floor of the
corridor. He can stand it no longer.
"The...mus..ic..."
A low gasp, and a short pause.
- "Ah. so you hear it too..."
A shocked Brin jumps up, and swings round, his robes straightening and swinging outwards as he does so.
"Ah. Father...", he kneels again.
The old priest smiles, and motions.
- "Please, stand. My old eyes cannot see you down there."
Brin slowly stands, the symphony still raging in his head.
"The...music...where...?"
The old priest glances over at the slit in the wall.
- "Ah. We really should get that patched up."
He looks up at Brin's puzzled look.
- "Ah, I know you. Brother Brin, is it? I can always spot the called ones. I spotted you here several months
ago, actually."
Brin tries hard to look even more puzzled this time, and has regained some of his composure. He looks down at
the old priest. Father...whathisname... . He speaks.
"'Called ones'? What am I hearing, Father? Help me!". Tears begin to well up in his dark eyes.
The Old Priest is a little taken aback. "What? you don't know?" he sighs. "I suspect no-one took the time
to explain to you. you have...a calling. Have you never wondered why you were sent where you were? Do you
think your protectorate requires defending from the Wel menace?" ... he chuckles ... "No, your calling is
there. Some trainees respond to the training by exhibiting an unconscious urge to serve the people of a
certain area. Sometimes, their urge is to fight Wels in Aquvy, and that's good. Sometimes they have a calling
to something unusual. The 'Ethos' usually sends them there anyway, sometimes writing them off as rejects. Some
do well, however..." he scratches his chin, and regards Brin closely. "Your case was special, though. Very...
specific calling. My theory is that it sometimes has something to do with a person's relations. You never knew
your mother, no?"
Brin nods forlornly. "No...I think I understand."
o 0 ( ...of course! It explains everything!... )
The Old Priest continues. "The music is a manifestation of your calling. A reminder that you are away from
your protectorate, and you belong there. I, and many others, learned to ignore it. Now I seldom hear it,
since my calling is here..." he smiles broadly. "ususally it isn't heard inside the HQ, although that breach
in the wall appears to be amplifying it somewhat. Perhaps an old memory of it is doing this. I'll have it
looked after."
Brin latches onto that word... o 0 ( ...belong... )
"So, to make it stop, I...return?"
The Old Priest nods. "Yes. When it is time, the music will tell you. Perhaps you should start heading back
toward your parish..."
Brin nods. "Perhaps...perhaps I should. I am in your debt, Father..." He kneels, and kisses the Priest's hand.
The old priest tuts. "Think nothing of it. Now, go." He sets off down the corridor, shuffling quietly.
...
Brin gathers up his belongings, and leaves the room in the dormitory. As he passes through the prayer room
once agin, he kneels in the centre of the floor. Closing his eyes, he quietly recites a new prayer.
"I am Brin Gaisce, Etone
my life belongs to my protectorate.
God, grant me the strength of mind, will, and body
to answer this calling to your satisfaction..."
As he stands, and leaves the HQ on his way back to the base, a light snow speckles his robes, and falls around
him, giving the scane a certain magical quality. As he steps onto the gangplank of the ship, the music stops.