"No," Quentin-Andrew heard himself say aloud. "No, it wasn"t like that. When I touched you, there was no fire. I felt no pain, only light ..."
In the cell he had left behind, the fire was gone. All that remained was a broken figure on a table, covered with a dark cloak, and beside it the young man, his fists tight as he stared down at the fruits of his work. The young man"s chest was heaving. He turned away abruptly and started toward the door of the cell. Then he seemed to become aware that he was holding something. He stared down blankly at the thin blade, and his finger touched a drop of blood that had dried near the hilt. His face contorting in fury, he flung the thigh-dagger away and left the cell, unarmed.
The dagger, spinning through the air, soared over the corpse and landed in the dying coals. Flames sprung up at once, invading the cell, chasing after the figure that had left. The fire filled the air like flood-waters, and Quentin-Andrew heard himself cry out- And then it was gone. Everything he had seen was gone, but for the dark landscape, which was now filled with light.
He knew this landscape.
From where he stood, under the shadow of a cloud, he could see spring-green fields and black mountains beyond them. At the feet of the mountains were dark shapes that he might have taken for tiny villages if he had not known better. All of the land before him was dancing in the heat of the risen sun, blurring and stretching, as fabric does when pulled.
But this tugging a this foreshadowing of a rending a was not due to the heat. Looking down from the top of the mount upon the landscape of his childhood, Quentin-Andrew knew that every image he had experienced since his death had been an illusion. The G.o.ds had taken images from his childhood vision of what the Land of the Dead would be like, and had used those images as a way to reveal the truth. As far as they went, the images had been true. But now Quentin-Andrew was about to be shown the deeper truth that lay within the vision.
The heat of the day pressed behind him, like the sun riding the northern sky. But he knew that the heat did not come from the sun. In a panic, he spun round.
The illusion had not broken there. Before him lay the City of the G.o.ds.
It was just as he had imagined it as a boy, staring up each night at the walled palace where the Chara lived: light shone forth from the marble-white building, brighter even than the reflected light that had burned from the Chara"s palace until the Northern Army"s attack doused that flame. The palace before him seemed to dance like a living flame, and all the air was growing brighter by the moment, as though the fire of the palace were filling the world around him.
Below the white heart of the flame were streets lined with neat houses, all wavering in the light as the illusion strove to keep intact in these final moments. Standing on the golden streets was an enormous group of men and women. They were silent, watching him.
His hand moved in an automatic manner toward his thigh; then he remembered that he was no longer armed. He scanned the crowd slowly, trying to read the people"s intent from their expressions. With a jolt of blood through his body, he recognized one of the men. He looked at the woman nearest the man; he recognized her too.
One by one, he began to make out the faces. They were all here a all the thousands of men and women he had murdered during his life. And standing at the front of the crowd, with his arms outstretched in welcome, was Gareth.
The whiteness of the palace coalesced into a ball of light, spreading its warmth in the manner of a spring sun. Wordlessly, the light spoke to him, saying, "Here is the fire you feared, son of Quentin-Griffith. Enter into my City."
Still standing in the cool darkness surrounding his body, Quentin-Andrew tentatively put forward his hand until it touched the light beyond the darkness. A sharp pain flashed through his body, more exquisite than he had ever known, as the fire burned out the last of the remaining darkness within him. Then it was gone, and nothing lay within except warmth.
Smiling, he stepped into the light.
And that was the end of the beginning for Quentin-Andrew.
=== Mystery === MYSTERY.
CHAPTER ONE.
To Huard, priest of the tribe of the Feasters, under the care of the City Priest, under the care of the High Priest of the Northern Peninsula: This letter is borne to you by Prosper, who until a few hours ago held the honored position of City Priest. He has now been stripped by the High Priest of his t.i.tle and of his priesthood and has been placed under the G.o.d"s curse. The sentence given to him was exile from the Capital Territory and from the G.o.d"s presence for one year"s time.
I know that you will be concerned that I have sent you a demon-filled man. Like all men who have given themselves over to the power of those spirits who are enemies of the Unknowable G.o.d, he is filled with impulses toward destruction. For that reason, I will explain what destructive acts led to Prosper being placed under the G.o.d"s curse, and why I believe that you may be able to help him.
Prosper entered into the service of the G.o.d at age thirteen, three years before he would normally have been permitted to take his vows of priesthood, because his father was a friend of the High Priest. He took his vows under the instruction of the High Priest himself, who then appointed Prosper to the t.i.tle of City Priest when Prosper was twenty years old. Many people are said to have commented at the time how unusual it was that the High Priest would appoint a man still in his youth to so high a position.
I recite these facts, which you know as well as I do, in order to emphasize that, from the beginning of his adolescence, Prosper was supervised only by the High Priest, whose duties require that he spend the majority of his time in prayer to the G.o.d. For his first two years as City Priest, Prosper lived in the same house as the High Priest, but thereafter Prosper founded a training school for boys entering into priesthood, half a day"s ride from the High Priest"s dwelling, and from that time forward Prosper received no spiritual supervision at all except for his quarterly confessions to the High Priest.
You were one of the earliest boys to serve as a pupil at the City Priest"s training school, so you know better than I what Prosper was like in those days. My own training was completed only twelve years ago, and by that time Prosper had acquired the reputation among the priest-pupils he trained of being a hard and exacting master a not necessarily a fault, we can both agree, but one which brings certain dangers that may open a person to demons.
Prosper himself was the first to realize that he had begun to turn his face from the G.o.d, but by the time he realized this, the demons seemingly had already laid hold of his spirit, for rather than turn for a.s.sistance to the High Priest, as he ought to have done, he instead made his confession to me.
I had offered my priestly vows only four months before. Being young and inexperienced, it did not occur to me to question why Prosper had sought one of his former priest-pupils as his confessor rather than the High Priest. I believed Prosper when he told me that he considered the matter too serious to await his quarterly confession.
I may tell you what he told me at that time, for I have been released from my lock of confession. He said that he believed that he had been too harsh and hasty in his judgments of those under his care, and in particular of those who were brought to his judgment in the G.o.d"s court.
This being a serious matter, I placed Prosper under a discipline combining prayer, silence, and a set of instructions for behavior, the most pertinent instruction being that I required Prosper to delay three days after anyone was charged with breaking the G.o.d"s Law, before pa.s.sing sentence upon the prisoner.
Two years later, Prosper removed me from my duties as a tutor at his training house and made me sanctuarian at the nearby government house. I did not question at the time his motives for doing so, but the effect of this change of duties was that I could no longer directly supervise Prosper to see whether he was adhering to the discipline under which I had placed him. The only discipline, indeed, that I could now check was whether he waited three days between charges and sentences in the G.o.d"s court.
He maintained this discipline for eight years. Then he sentenced a man to burning for atheism two-and-a-half days after the charge was placed against him. Prosper promptly came to me and told me that he had broken the discipline. For that reason, I renewed the discipline but warned him that, if he violated his discipline again, I would have no choice but to place him under the G.o.d"s curse.
I took the opportunity of our conversation to ask whether he had been maintaining the remainder of the discipline I had placed him under. His answers did not fully satisfy me, so I began questioning the priest-pupils under his care at that time. I learned from them that the situation had worsened since my own time at the training school. Alarmed, I told Prosper that I wished to meet with him weekly thereafter, but he informed me that the High Priest was watching him closely on this matter. Since Prosper was officially under the care of the High Priest rather than myself, I could take no further steps to a.s.sist him.
Last night, my worst fears were realized when Prosper placed a charge against a man and then sought to make immediate sentence upon him. (The man has since been found innocent of his charge, so I will not name him here.) I was brought into the matter as a witness, since I was the man"s confessor. Hoping to find evidence against the man, Prosper lifted the lock of confession upon me, requiring me to give witness as to whether any person who had made confession to me was believed by me to have broken the G.o.d"s Law recently. I immediately appealed this lifting of the lock to the High Priest, who was visiting the training school at the time. The High Priest, however, upheld Prosper"s lifting. I was therefore forced to charge Prosper with having broken his discipline and thereby the G.o.d"s Law.
Prosper"s reaction was consternation, followed by an attempt to make light of the matter, followed by anger. At last, I am glad to report, he came to realize the truth of the charge made against him and to acknowledge that he had placed himself under the G.o.d"s curse. For this reason, I recommended that Prosper be sentenced to exile rather than burning. It is my hope that he may thereby drive away the demons within him rather than undergo purification through fire.
I should add that Prosper has expressed the desire that, if he is unable to release himself from the demons" hold, he be burned at the end of the year of exile. In that way, whether or not purification of his spirit is thereby accomplished, he may at least spare those around him from the evils that his demon-filled spirit would cause.
I am sure that what I have told you does nothing to lessen your anxiety about having Prosper sent to your tribe. Indeed, I would be a dishonest witness if I did not add that, in all my years as a confessor, Prosper"s is the worst case I have encountered. I have served as confessor to murderers, rapists, atheists, oath-breakers, and other demon-filled people, and though many sought to justify what they did, all were at least aware that they had broken the G.o.d"s Law. By contrast, until last night, Prosper was convinced that he was one of the most G.o.d-loving men in the Northern Peninsula. He has yet to fully name the demons that have bound him: vainglory, arrogance, self-focus, greed, envy, cowardice, and above all, his native demon of judgment which makes it impossible for him to face the full magnitude of the cruel deeds that he has carried out.
By the time you read this letter, matters may have shifted somewhat, for Prosper is still stunned by what he has lost. Only gradually will he come to understand that the curse was not placed upon him by the High Priest last night; rather, he cursed himself many years ago, when he allowed the demons to do their evil work through him.
For a man such as Prosper, who has held the second-ranked t.i.tle in the spiritual realm of the Northern Peninsula, such a realization is all too likely to lead him to despair and perhaps even to the crime of self-slaying, unless he is given reason to hope for the future.
And that is why I have sent him to you. It seems best to me that he should be cared for by someone who knew him when he was young, and I believe that returning to his native tribe may help him to recover the G.o.dly qualities he held as a child a for I do not believe that the High Priest would have named Prosper as City Priest if Prosper had not been a young man gifted with a love of the G.o.d.
Obviously, since Prosper has been exiled from the territory that is under my care, I cannot take official notice of where he goes or with whom he has contact during his year in exile, so please do not mistake this letter as a command. It is a request only, based on the debt that you and I, and every priest who pa.s.sed through the City Priest"s training school, owe to Prosper.
I have arranged to have Prosper sent back to your territory by escort; since he bears the mark of the G.o.d-cursed, the danger to his life during these first days of exile remains acute. You know better than I do whether your tribe"s chieftain is likely to welcome Prosper into his territory. I can only hope that, if the chieftain is inclined to drive him out of the territory, you will intervene on Prosper"s behalf. It is always sorrowful when a G.o.d-cursed man dies unpurified, and especially so when that man has been a priest.
I am grateful for the time you have taken to read this letter. I hope that all lies well with you and your tribe.
In the names of the unnameable G.o.d, Martin Formerly Sanctuarian of the government house in the Capital Territory, under the care of the City Priest; now City Priest, under the care of the High Priest *
The chieftain lifted his gaze from the scroll he had been reading. He was a short man, slight in build, which made the many battle scars upon his body all the more remarkable. He paused a moment to look around at the men and youths gathered in a cl.u.s.ter to stare at the man who had walked into their camp that afternoon.
"This man," said the chieftain, raising his voice to be heard even by the women and younger children listening from a safe distance, "was a play-companion to my father. My father often told me stories of their days together."
Prosper, covered with dust from the travel and sweating under the early spring sun, felt his body sag with relief. He had remembered clearly the previous chieftain, but he had not known whether the chieftain"s son, who had never met him, would acknowledge his link to the tribe. Prosper had once been so eager to rid himself of tribal ties that he had left his home without his father"s permission. Now those ties seemed all-important; they were the only protection left to him.
Having been recognized by his tribe, Prosper felt a smile begin to form upon his lips. Behind him, he could hear the sound of water slapping against the crude bridge he had crossed a short while before. The water seemed like a protective wall, defending him from the danger that lay outside.
The chieftain glanced down at the scroll again. When he raised his eyes, they were cold. "My father never liked him, and he never trusted him," he said in the same clear voice. "I am not at all surprised that the High Priest has placed him under the G.o.d"s curse."
Prosper felt the words like a blow. He sensed at once the change in mood in the surrounding men and youths: the shifting of spear from left hand to right, the movement of hand to hilt, the tensing of muscles in preparation.
The rush of swiftly moving water continued. The border was only a few spear throws behind him. On the point of being seized by the demon once more, Prosper reminded himself that fleeing was the worst possible action he could take. He was thirty years older than the chieftain and many of his men; he could not hope to outrace them. Nor did safety lie on the other side of the border. The tribe there had seen his curse-mark as he rode past their camp.
When that had happened, he had been surrounded by soldiers who were under orders to protect him. But those soldiers had departed, ridding themselves of him as quickly as their orders permitted. Now he was amongst different soldiers, who might be given different orders.
Prosper felt sweat trickle down his chest, under the temporal man"s tunic that still seemed so unfamiliar to him. He remembered in time that prayer would avail him little. He tried to still his mind into silence, but failed.
The chieftain, still cold in gaze, addressed Prosper directly for the first time. "Remain here," he instructed tersely, then turned and disappeared into the crowd of men behind him.
Several of the men and youths turned their heads to watch their chieftain leave, but otherwise the crowd did not move. A blue-eyed boy, still young enough to be among the children, peered out at him from behind a stone pillar; a gangling youth, seemingly just past his coming-of-age rite at sixteen, stared with unshielded horror at Prosper; a senior warrior, nearly as old as Prosper himself, checked in a matter-of-course manner to see that his spear-head was properly bound for battle; and a honey-colored man, with the dark eyes sometimes found in Prosper"s native tribe, drew his sword and stroked it lovingly, like a priest caressing a quill before beginning the hard work of copying a ma.n.u.script.
Prosper, watching the hand fondle the sword-flat, with the blade"s killing edge turned toward him, found himself doing battle with no less than three demon-fears.
The first demon had appeared to him three days before, at the moment when he realized, like a pupil having overslept his lesson, that he had committed the grave crime of breaking the discipline placed upon him by his confessor a not for the first time, but for the second. This demon was bewilderment; after three days of searching the depths of his spirit, Prosper still could not imagine how he had made so simple an error, like a boy neglecting a vowel change in his study of the G.o.d"s Language.
The second demon had appeared at the moment of the cursing, when Prosper had grasped for the first time a as he had not fully grasped even when the robe of his priesthood was stripped from him a that he was now exiled from the G.o.d"s presence. Exiled, and marked forever as one of the G.o.d"s enemies. Even when he was returned to the priesthood a for Martin would surely permit this after Prosper"s year of exile a the mark of his cursing would always remain on his forehead, a sign to all who met him that he had undergone this period of shame. Shame was not a demon, but despair was, and he had felt despair touch him lightly, like a feather.
And now the worst demon arose, which had begun to show itself during the past day, but which Prosper had been able to thrust away until now. He had never truly believed that it would happen, though he himself had sent scores of men into exile and therefore knew how many had died during the first few weeks after their cursing. To die by fire a yes, Prosper had prepared himself to accept such a death, should it become necessary. But to die unpurified, to remain forever exiled from the G.o.d"s presence ... The demon of fear was tugging at him now, urging him to run from the beweaponed men before him.
Whether Prosper would have heeded the demon"s temptation he never knew, for at that moment the crowd parted, and a portly older man strode up to Prosper and enfolded him in his plump embrace.
"Prosper!" he cried, his voice ringing out over the camp. The crowd shifted again as the tribal folk exchanged looks.
"Huard." His voice unsteady, Prosper sought to free himself from the priest"s embrace. "I am under the G.o.d"s curse-"
"Yes, I know," said the priest with matter-of-fact cheerfulness, as though they were discussing which meat to serve at a quarter-day. "I am saddened that our meeting should come on such an occasion, but by the G.o.d! it is good to see you again after all these years. Come; you must be tired from your journey."
Prosper hesitated, looking over at the chieftain, who had been contemplating the reunion with a sour expression. The chieftain spat on the ground and said, "You are welcome in this territory," in a voice that held no welcome. Then the chieftain turned away to join the other men, who were now in murmured conversation with each other.
Prosper had no opportunity to learn what they were saying, for Huard had taken him by the arm and was pulling him as rapidly away as any priest could hope to move in his ground-length robe. "Just over this way," said the priest. "I have a hut of my own here a had you heard?"
Prosper had not. His last meeting with Huard had been when the priest completed his training at Prosper"s newly opened training school, thirty years before. Nor had Prosper maintained any ties with his native tribe; looking about, he saw that much had changed in the camp since he had last been there. In his boyhood, Prosper had lived in the long hall that served as living quarters for all of the families of the tribe. Now the camp was dotted with dozens of separate living quarters, in addition to a newer long hall that lay at the edge of the camp, next to the rapidly running river where Huard"s predecessor had once warned the tribal boys not to swim, lest they be drowned by the rapid current.
Near the river was an unmistakable windowless hall. The door of this hut was painted with a black mask; Prosper found himself dragging back upon Huard"s grip. The priest did not take him into the sanctuary, however. Instead he pulled Prosper round to the far end of the hut and swung open there the wicker door that already lay half open.
Prosper hesitated a some sanctuaries had doors leading directly into the altar area, where Prosper could a.s.suredly not enter without his priesthood. To his relief, he found instead that the sanctuary was backed by the priest"s living quarters.
They were s.p.a.cious quarters, Prosper saw: a chamber with a trestle table and chairs, followed by a chamber with a low sitting table and two beds, one presumably for any sick men whom Huard might need to heal. Prosper frowned, wondering with disapproval whether this unpriestly s.p.a.ciousness of quarters had been Huard"s idea. This thought was cut short, however, by a scent arising from a pot hung over the central hearth. Liquid simmered in the pot, sending up smells that tickled at Prosper"s nose, though he frowned again as he recognized one of the scents.
Huard, following his gaze, said, "You caught me at my mid-afternoon meal, I fear. Have you eaten yet?" Then, looking more sharply at Prosper, he asked, "When did you eat last?"
It took a moment for Prosper to cast his mind back. "Three days ago, before my trial."
"Sacred Mystery!" Huard seemed as horrified as Prosper would have been had he found a priest-pupil reading a ma.n.u.script with dirtied hands. "By all the names, Prosper, fasting is good discipline- Don"t laugh; I know you never thought to hear such words from me. But fasting during travel comes perilously close to committing the crime of self-slaying."
"I was not thinking clearly on the day I left," Prosper explained, "and so I neglected to arrange for a food packet."
"And your escort did not share their food with you?" Huard"s voice was thoughtful. "Yes, I see. Well, sit you down. I think I can promise you that starvation is not a likely death for you during your stay here."
He gave a quick smile as he guided Prosper to the table. The priest had evidently just sat down to his meal, for the contents of the cup and plate and bowl were all untouched: the golden wine of wall-vine grapes, a slice of flat-bread, and a stew of spring lamb and herbs.
Only the bread was familiar fare to Prosper. He stared at the meal with distaste as he seated himself at the table. "The brightest purification of all is not fire, but a willing sacrifice." He had tried to teach that to his pupils, but so many, like Huard, had failed to heed the lesson. He found himself wondering briefly whether his exile counted as a sacrifice to the G.o.d, but he knew that it did not: he had been given no choice as to whether to be cursed. Still, at least he had the wisdom to understand that sacrifice might sometimes be necessary. He was beginning to wonder whether Huard had listened to any of his lessons.
Beside him, Huard said cheerfully, "Yes, I"m afraid that I still disagree with you about the degree of austerity required in a priest"s diet. You will be glad to know, however, that I have not eaten a sugar ball in over thirty years."
There was a note of mischief in his voice as he spoke. Prosper looked up sharply at the priest"s twinkling eyes and forced himself to remember that he was no longer in a position of spiritual supervision. He looked down at the meal once more. Wine and meat. Even at the quarter-days, when such indulgences were permitted to priests, Prosper had never allowed himself these luxuries, preferring to take the harder, priestly road of sacrifice.
"I am no longer a priest," he heard himself say.
"Then you need feel no guilt about eating a temporal man"s meal." Huard"s hand rested briefly upon Prosper"s shoulder before the priest turned back toward the stew.
Prosper forced himself to taste the wine. It seemed too rich after the water he had drunk for forty-four years. "But I will return to the priesthood in a year"s time, I hope," he said. "Surely it would be better for me to maintain a priest"s discipline-"
He stopped abruptly; he had seen on the table the letter from Martin, still bound closed by the ribbon. He put down the cup. "Huard, you ought to read that letter before you welcome me into your home-"
"Oh, I can guess what it contains," Huard said briskly, returning to the table with a second plate and cup and bowl in hand. "You"ve been disciplining someone too hard, have you? You know, I do recall telling you at our last meeting that the day would come when you would realize that starving a boy for a week"s time because you discovered him chewing a sugar ball is not the best way to impress upon him the nature of the Mercy of all mercies."
Frowning as he watched Huard bite into a piece of the tender lamb, Prosper said, "The discipline seems not to have worked in your case."
"You think not?" said Huard placidly. "Well, I"m sure that many of your priest-pupils must have turned out as disappointments to you. Tell me, do you remember Guiscard? He was a year younger than me, and I always wondered whether he was able to overcome that temptation to mischief, of which you tried so hard to break him. Have you heard from him since he took his vows?"
The conversation took a turn for the normal after that: an old tutor pa.s.sing on news to his former pupil. Prosper began to feel the knots in his stomach unwind for the first time in three days. Sitting in the sunlight cast slantwise from the doorway, he almost began to feel his usual self. Huard, apparently intent on devoting his attention to sopping up every last bit of broth from his bowl, said little except to ask questions. Prosper, casting a look of disapproval at Huard"s unpriestly chubbiness, took care to avoid the meat in his stew and did not touch the wine again.
The river ran unending outside, droning like a bee. Prosper heard his own voice droning on, as it did late in the day when he must complete quickly a lesson.
"... . was much disappointed to hear the latest news concerning Radegund. I know that many of my former pupils do not share my belief that fire is the only way to purify a man or woman of twistedness, but I would hope that any priest worth his name would at least sentence the offender to exile. Yet I hear that, within the last year, Radegund was brought two men who had been found in the very act of lying in twisted l.u.s.t with each other, and Radegund actually refused to bring charges against the men, instead committing them to discipline. The news was a great disappointment for me, as I had high hopes for Radegund. He was most careful in his translations of the ancient tongue."
Huard, pushing back his bowl and plate, apparently felt his mind freed for higher matters than food, for he said, "What a sad tale you tell, Prosper. It seems that few of your pupils have lived up to the standards you set for them. And to top it all, here you sit with a priest who is as fond of food as he was when he was your pupil."
"But you have become a good priest." Warmed by the sun, Prosper felt cheered enough to pa.s.s on this praise.
"How kind of you to say so." Huard was staring down at the bottom of his cup, evidently disappointed that no more wine lay there.
Prosper felt suddenly angered. He did not pa.s.s out compliments lightly, as his former pupil ought to remember. "The evidence is all around me in this chamber: the prayer-lights that were burning when we entered here, the polish on that shelf for the sacred objects, the neatness of your quarters ... Though in terms of prayer, you have been neglectful, Huard. You ought to have started your preparations for the evening service by now."
"Oh, I gave those up years ago," said Huard in an easy manner. "I find that my spirit draws closer to the G.o.d if I instead spend an hour in silence after the service."
Prosper felt as much shock rend him as if a pupil had admitted tearing up his prepared lesson. He narrowed his eyes at Huard and said, "Prayer and silence are both necessary, Huard. If you have been neglecting your prayers, I would urge you to mention this to your confessor at your next meeting, so that he can purify you. Otherwise, you will answer to the High Judge above all judges when you meet him at your death."
Huard, like a pupil daydreaming during his lesson, seemed not to hear. Getting up, he collected his own empty bowl and plate and cup, asking, "Will you have more, Prosper?"
"Thank you, but no."
"Are you sure? There is plenty more stew left."
Prosper was in fact still hungry after his long fast, but he was irritated by Huard"s blatant attempt to use his guest as an excuse to break his own discipline. "No," said Prosper, shoving back the bowl angrily to show what he thought of Huard"s diet.
The remaining stew spilled on the table, narrowly missing the ribboned scroll. Huard said nothing, but took Prosper"s eating pottery away. Prosper did not bother to hide his sigh. Truly, the life of a teacher was one of disappointments. Even a promising pupil like Huard would prove, when put to the test, to be unable to uphold the hard discipline placed upon him long ago. And Huard had been promising, for all of his indulgence of the demon of gluttony. Prosper found himself thanking the G.o.d that he had been committed into divine service at an early age, at a time when it was easy to develop discipline in his own life.
He raised his hand to touch the G.o.d-mask brooch pinned above his heart, before remembering that it had been removed from him at the time of his stripping of priesthood. Suddenly sobered by thoughts of his present troubles, Prosper watched as Huard, returning to the table, used the meat-knife to cut the ribbon binding the scroll. The priest glanced briefly at the opening words of the letter, then said, "We need more light here," and disappeared into the back chamber.