The Hidden Sin

The monk Thil'I sat on the low tripod stool, head bowed in ivki, the practice of unceasing prayer. Two oil lamps burned, shedding soft light in front of painted a'ino of saints of the Hram faith. Thil'I gazed at his stomach though his eyes were closed, and kept his attention, his mind, in his left breast. Breathing in with the simple ivki prayer, "Lord have mercy," brought his mind within his heart. Breathing out with the prayer kept it there.

Thil'I was not supposed to look at his stomach, nor even his heart. His Elder warned him of the dangers this advanced practice brought from the shaemon, and of the potential for madness, before Thil'I obtained control of his attention.

"Think of nothing but the words of the prayer" Elder Mion said, "and pray out loud, for if your attention is not harnessed to the words, like a wild horse it will run rampant down below, and excite your carnal nature, and that only if your mind is not stolen by the shaemon. Besides," the Elder said, "until you are gathered, your mind is too weak and susceptible to delusion."

After two years of the contemplation of words, Thil'I felt he had long passed the days of the formative steps of gathering. The beginning of actual gathering, where the Hramvi initiate would tense every muscle towards the breast, and put all of their effort and strength and thought into keeping the attention within, Thil'I knew through his reading. Now he was ready to advance, and it was nothing for Thil'I to sink his mind into his heart. He could do this even when not concentrating at prayer. It was time for the real art to begin.

Though the way of ivki, as Thil'I had learned from his Elder, had more to do with attentiveness to and feeling for the prayer, still Thil'I could not overlook the writings about posture, especially looking at the stomach. The saints, with one accord, spoke of this as the true way to pray. The posture and breathing were nothing compared with simple prayer, his Elder had said. Just repeating words like a dog that won't stop barking or like the oft repeated spells of sorcerers would do nothing.

Thil'I heard the slow, rhythmic beating of the wooden toac, used during the period of the Great Fast instead of bells to call the faithful to church services. He opened his eyes. Looking over the knots on his black wool prayer rope, he saw he had prayed over one hundred fifty prayers without distraction. The images had never left his mind after about the twelfth prayer, but he never paid them any attention, unless it was to rebuke them.

Wrapping his prayer rope around his left wrist, he grabbed its tassel as he blew out the oil lamps. Smoke from burnt oil and wick filled his nostrils.

"Pray for us, ye saints of the Light," he said.

Thil'I left his monastic cell. It was a small room on the third floor of the main building. With only space for a bed, desk, and prayer corner, Thil'I had no place to just sit and relax. But monks were not supposed to relax, so he did not complain.

He walked down the long hall to the stairs, and would have headed straight for the church, if Elder Mion did not materialize in front of him. The Elders where always doing this, their coarse flesh having become subtle and spiritualized, so that they could enter the Light at will, and travel where they wished in a heart beat. Thil'I had the impression the Elders thought it funny to startle monks with an unexpected visit.

"Father Thil'I, I need your help," Elder Mion said. He was always serious in a humoristic manner. Thil'I decided to joke back.

"What you desire is my obedience, Holy Elder."

"Stop with that 'Holy Elder' nonsense. This is serious."

"Forgive me, Elder, but I was not joking. Give me a penance so that I may..."

"Oh brother," the Elder sighed. "What am I going to do with the likes of you?"

"Since you called me brother, I accept with joy my lowered rank of novice. Thank you for humbling me."

The Elder looked at Thil'I with an arched eyebrow, then squinted his eyes.

"Ok, Elder, ok," Thil'I said, laughing. "No more nonsense."

"You had me worried there for a second. I thought you might have gone the way of one of our new converts, even after all these years in the monastery."

Elder Mion walked with Thil'I down the wooden steps made dark from time, holding the younger monk's shoulder for support. The monastery had stood since the Thousand Year War, when most of the Empire had been razed during horrendous slaughter. The care of the fathers for their home over the centuries was evident, and creaking steps were a blessing considering the ancient history of the monastic enclosure.

"It is good to see our monastery in persaon, though walking is painful," the Elder said.

"You are so used to the Light, you have forgotten what it's like to be human." Thil'I would have joked for Elder Mion to leave the Light, if he did not already know a slap to the face would greet him. Besides, the elder had been a monk longer than Thil'I had escaped his mother's womb, and any understanding given for Elder Mion's rest was a necessary virtue to practice.

"Now then," the Elder began, as they approached the bottom of the stairs, "There is a sorcerer, a Shadow Master in the city. He arrived just last night. He has begun to practice his arts, and within such a short time has pulled several followers to his evil ways."

"And how can I help with this?" Thil'I asked.

"You know as the providers of spiritual health to the faithful the city of Thresht, we are also their protectors. Someone must meet this man, who has issued a challenge, and defeat him."

"Elder, I have just been tonsured. I have yet to obtain self activated prayer in my heart, and with all my sins, the shaemon he summons are sure to delude my weak will and over active imagination."

"It is because of your awareness of your weak will and over active imagination that the Light will help you. Our prayers will be with you as well." Elder Mion pulled his prayer rope out of his robe pocket, worn and stretched after decades of use. He gave it to Thil'I with a blessing.

"Now you can say, when you need to pray, "Through the prayers of my Elder,' so that the Light will bless your humility."

Thil'I took another blessing from Elder Mion. He felt joy bubbling within.

"One more thing before I go. Are you still praying like I taught you, vocally while concentrating on the words?"

Thil'I swallowed. And then he lied.

"Yes, Elder."

"That's good. You will do well with this sorcerer then."

Elder Mion vanished, his form simply not being where it was a second ago. Thil'I had grown used to this, though as a novice it would be a cause of amazement for the rest of the day.

Now at the bottom of the steps, Thil'I walked to the hanging racks where all the outer garments of the monks were. He put his full monastic garb on, adding to his black robe the burial cloak he wore around his shoulders and burial shroud on his head covering. Monks were to always be prepared for death, and the clothing was a constant reminder of his calling.

Thil'I new immediately how to approach this Child of the Shadows. There were many, many, millennia worth of archived history showing how Shadow Masters, eager to prove themselves worthy of their own prophecies, became shamed by the Light. Humility and love were never held by Thil'I's enemies. Those Holy Fathers who came before Thil'I would help by their example.

Thil'I stepped back up the noisy stairs and into his cell. He shuffled to his prayer corner and sat down on the hard seat of his low tripod stool. He would listen to his heartbeat all night until the cock crew before the meeting, for only in true prayer would there be grace and victory.

The yellow sun had risen above the mountains of Prolan, and was shedding more light as it continued its ascent. The blue sky above embraced also the two moons of day, Yual and the smaller Nuam. Jays and sparrows flitted through the expanse of blue when not resting on the slender branches of the sparsely leafed trees. The birds also wanted to watch with the people of the city the challenge about to take place.

The entire city of Thresht had gathered. Within the walls surrounding the city every shop was closed. Those of bakers gave off no smell of fresh goods, the forges of the smiths were silent and cool, the tailors and cloth stores offered no colored silk or costly array for display. Even the thieves and pickpockets had agreed with each other to lay aside their trade out of respect for the ancient battle occurring this day.

In the plain that stood before the mountains, cutting the farm land off from the dangers of the rocky world where fierce barbarians and cruel, strange animals dwelled, the people had gathered. The families of sun beaten farmers, with their squirming children stayed close to each other, though they mingled with the softer looking land owners and merchants. Today everyone was equal. Today all were children of the Light.

Thil'I stood alone. His deep black, unadorned burial cloak fluttered behind him, and the burial shroud which hung behind his head moved to and fro, also keeping rhythm with the wind. His robe underneath was also black, and clean, and was his feast day garment, kept spotless for the sake of a pure appearance in church.

He watched a small group of the new disciples of the Shadow Master. They danced, if it could be called dancing. Swaying to a soft chant, these base converts moved as if ridden by shaemon, bodies abruptly contorting into awkward angles after fluid movements of arms and legs. Thil'I knew they would feel stupid after the Shadow Master was shamed.

Thil'I kept Elder Mions prayer rope in his hand, and kept it moving through his fingers. He prayed slowly, allowing the impressions from the world around him to remain in his mind, though he kept his mind in his heart. The words of prayer were more like a distant hum somewhere in back of his consciousness, but he knew the important thing was to keep the mind in the heart.

There was a shimmer in the air. In front of the possessed converts the Child of Shadows appeared, as if from nothingness. Thil'I heard a murmur grow through the assembled city. Everyone who had seen the sudden manifestation of the Shadow Master could not hold silent at the display of power. Thil'I was not impressed. The Elders did this also, but preferred to not make such a display of their grace filled abilities.

The Master was tall. His head was shaved, as was his face. He looked down, his red and blue robes accentuating the pensive on his face. Though the wind blew the robes did not move. Lips pursed downwards, eyes closed but squinting as if studying the ground through his eyelids, the only word Thil'I could describe him was humble. Thil'I was shocked at this, for all knew the Shadow Children were full of pride. He knew he had to act before the people were tricked.

"You are unwanted here," Thil'I said, "return to your dwelling and bother the faithful here no longer."

"I am only a student of the energies within me," came the reply. The Master's voice was raspy, dripping with sweetness. Thil'I fought the urge to see his enemy as someone to be liked.

"Your energies come from the shaemon, and you shall return with them to the Abyss today if you do not leave," Thil'I said.

"I must speak what I know," the Shadow Master replied, "and help all those who would obtain the transcendent mortality to become immortal in passion for life."

"You words make no sense, and they promise also corruption for those who listen to you and follow you. You're pride is a danger to those who see you."

"You are the one who has fooled the faithful, keeping the truth from able minds."

Thil'I felt his anger grow. This demonic plaything had the audacity to accuse Thil'I of tricking people.

"I have been a faithful son of the Light since birth, and have lived uprightly in the monastic life since my passage into manhood. You have not begun to be so pious, and you dare judge me, and my monastic brothers? You are a sinner!"

The Shadow Master looked up for the first time. He smiled, the corners of his mouth taking a cruel figure.

"You have not mastered humility," the Master said, "and for this now you will pay."

Thil'I wondered what the Shadow Master meant. Thil'I had said nothing wrong, merely put the Child of Shadows in his place. Humility? Thil'I had read much in the writings of the Hram saints about the subject and knew what true humility was.

He saw his enemy begin to wave his arms and heard guttural words whisper across the field. Thil'I began to pray. He sought his heart and put his mind there. Nothing the Shadow Master would do could harm him now.

Thil'I waited. Everything was still. No singing or flying of birds, no exclamations or children's cries from the crowd. All life waited with held breath.

Then the wind stopped moving, allowing heat to wash over Thil'I. He felt fear overtake him. He pushed his mind into his heart to combat it, but the fear was taking over. He pushed against it, slamming his attention into his left breast. Then he went blind.

He groped in darkness, then shuddered when a dark light illumined his eyes. He saw nothing save a field of corpses before him. Mangled bodies with rotting and decaying limbs surrounded on all sides. A moan. The wind had become a moan and that is why it stopped, moaning faint words into Thil'I's brain. The sun was no longer shining light, but shining darkness, and the sky was the color of flesh after the wasting plague: grey, ashen, and decomposed.

His prayer changed. He had kept, "Lord have mercy," in his mind, but then it changed.

Blight have mercy.

Thil'I shrunk from the words, terrified at such blasphemy.

Blight have mercy. The Light is a blight.

Thil'I shook his head. His heart was somewhere among the rotting corpses, or in the wasting sky. The sun. That is where his heart was. Then Thil'I realized he should not be looking for his heart, but for his mind.

The Light is a blight.

He wanted to turn, to flee, but he was frozen. The moan turned into a chant, slow and steady, getting louder with each phrase until his head was nothing but an echo of the voice of the corpses.

The Light is a blight! The Light is a blight!

A voice, strong and loud, came from the sky, filled everything.

"Tell us about the Light, monk!"

Thil'I fought, but could not stop from becoming the moan.

"Tell us about the light monk! What is the light?"

"The light is..." Thil'I stopped himself. He could not say such a terrible thing. He would not.

"Speak to us, monk! Tell us about the Light!"

Thil'I felt tears come from somewhere. He could not resist.

"The Light is...The Light is a blight."

Thil'I felt himself fall, falling for eternity into darkness. He hit the coldness of the Abyss, a chill sinking into his bones, freezing his soul.

Then he saw the real world. His sight returned and he saw everything, the open field dotted by trees, the faithful people of the Light, the sneering Shadow Master and his followers, as it all should have been.

Thil'I tried to pick himself up. He could not move. He tried to force himself, tried to swing his body over but his arms would not move. It was as if he was tied with invisible ropes, or held in place by an unseen, giant hand. He heard the voice of Elder Mion.

"My child, why did you stop praying as I taught you? Why did you seek your heart before you were ready?" The pain and scolding tone of the Elders voice hurt Thil'I more than being paralyzed.

Thil'I tried to beg forgiveness, but his mouth would not move. All he had was tears.

"You are possessed by a shaemon. The providence of the Light has revealed to me you will stay this way until enough tears have been shed to cleanse your soul from disobedience. Your lies did not help matters any."

Thil'I wept. He knew he was crying, but could not feel the warmth of tears on his face. His sobs came out like the choking of an imbecile or one born mute. The sounds made him cry harder in shame. He had been disobedient, had reached for the Light before he was ready to hold it, and had lied to hide his sin. He did not lie to the Elder, but to the divine energy of life. He did not disobey the Elder, but Tirdan Seir, the Quiet Light itself. Now he was a living corpse. Now he could not even take care of his bodily necessities without help.

From where his head was turned, he saw the Shadow Master become engulfed by a soft blue light, an uncreated fire summoned at the prayers of Elder Mion. The Master's disciples fled, and were chased with yells and stones by many from the city.

"Repent, my child," Elder Mion said. "Repent and patiently wait."

It took a full generation of new monks until Thil'I arose from his bed. He wept in gratitude to the Light for being forgiven, as he had wept day and night for his sins while under the divine penance. It is said great basins were needed to catch the copious flood cascading from his eyes. Some even said his tears could heal sickness and disease.

If it had not been for his second meeting with the same Shadow Master, Thil'I never would have become a proverb but an object of pity. For you see, when the two met again in the manner of the ancient challenge, the earth opened and swallowed the Child of the Shadows after Thil'I fell to the ground, weeping in humble supplication to the Light.

So it is said to this day, in that land which meets the first steps of those who travel beyond the mountains of Prolan, The hidden sin is a shameful death, and One sin needs a thousand tears and a thousand tears makes a saint.