The Proverb of Po'I'Itan

He came to the village with a mouth full of dirt, legs dragging behind him. The villagers watched, mouths gaping, in awe at the inhuman sight. Not a single person rushed to offer help. Birds fluttered over head, as if they too were entranced by the spectacle.

He could not be called a man. The only remaining human traits were the dark blue eyes seen between his matted beard and hair draped around his neck and face.

He looked forward with determination, ignoring the gathered crowd. Right arm forward, then the left, and the silence was filled with the sound of bare flesh on bare earth. He moved only inches farther from the starting point. As he went on, he contorted his hips to help, and the writhing showed the outline of his spine and shoulders glaring at the villagers through a torn tunic. He had no pants, and his ghastly looking hips with open puss-filled sores on mere bone made on-lookers queasy.

"Why are you just standing there?" a voice demanded.

The villagers looked. Fr. Merh, in priest robe and stole, stern gaze catching every eye, stood before them. Missing the expressions of guilt, he looked down to the skeletal remains of the man, still moving, and his eyes opened slightly as his brow un-furrowed and he blessed the man with a wide, slow gesture. The man, as if sensing grace, finally stopped. He looked at Fr. Merh, then reached out his hands to grab hold of the priest.

Fr. Merh crouched. His hands sped to the crawling man, caressing him, blessing him. The man watered the earth with his tears, and the first sound from his mouth was a bitter shriek.

"Help me," he cried.

"My child, my child, my child," was all Fr. Merh could say. His tears also fed the ground as he picked the man up and carried him to the church.

Two months passed. Fr. Merh knew now the man was named Giral, for this name with the word "MURDERER " had been branded into the man's chest. Giral was conscious several times, only to sob himself back to sleep. Fr. Merh attended to the man, bandaging the wounds from the damaging crawl and putting cool herbs on his sores. Fr. Merh did his best to feed Giral. He was most successful when Giral was awake, but often Fr. Merh propped Giral's head, and dripped small amounts of simple broth into his mouth.

After Giral was alive to the world more than he was dead to it, Fr. Merh began simple conversations, though Giral listened more than he spoke. Fr. Merh always asked how Giral was feeling and if he needed anything, and rushed to bring what was needed as if to the Emperor himself.

Fr. Merh talked about the goings on in the village of Po'I'Itan in the Protectorate of Ulan, of recent marriages and newborn children, of homes being built and crops harvested, and of the latest news of the Empire from abroad. This last always caused Giral to close his eyes, turn his head to the side, and ask to be left to sleep.

It was obvious from the branding Giral had committed a crime, and by the exhausted frame housing his soul, Giral had paid dearly for it. Giral now needed love and forgiveness. Fr. Merh made every attempt to smile, always brought some small sweet candy as a consolation, and listened attentively those few times Giral spoke. Fr. Merh never mentioned the brand, and would suddenly rub his eyes and hasten off to do something when a conversation began to approach the subject.

It was early at the beginning of his third month when Giral opened up, pushing away his breakfast of boiled wheat berries and honey.

"Father Merh," Giral said.

"Yes, my friend?"

"Tell me, what is the greater evil, to sin yet repent, or to not sin but never repent?"

"Dear me," Fr. Merh said. He exhaled a long breath. "It seems to me on the one hand there is defiled humility, and on the other delusional purity."

"Is it possible to never sin?"

"This is impossible for the race of mankind."

"If a man repented enough, could he be as one who never sinned?"

Fr. Merh was silent, biting his lower lip as he gazed pensively toward the painted portrait, the a'ino, of one of the saints. He turned to Giral.

"My friend, in all my life I have never been able to live past the lingering effects of sin, whether from people or my memory and conscience. But the saints, when they repented, worked miracles, and not a single person would dare accuse them of any sin."

Giral was silent, eyes closed. Then he spoke again.

"Help me to repent, Father."

Fr. Merh walked over to the a'ino corner of the room, pulling down a black wool prayer rope, a hundred knots for praying, and divided every ten knots with ebony wood beads.

"I do not know much, my friend. I am simple minded and weak in my spirit. But I do know this should never leave your hand, unless for some necessary reason. Pray unceasingly, repent with every breath, with every heartbeat, and Tirdan Seir, the Quiet Light, will illumine you. Thus do all the Hram saints teach."

"Bless me to begin, Father."

"May Tirdan Seir open your eyes to His supernal Light."

Months passed in succession. Giral gained strength, starting off with small walks, and then took to helping Fr. Merh with keeping up the church. Giral began to put on weight. Gone were the protrusions of bone and in their place healthy flesh. But his body, being once so thin and weak, left him with a slight limp when he walked.

The two worked side by side in silence, never ceasing their prayer. Fr. Merh started the practice of their praying out loud when alone together. They cleaned the church daily, tended to the little garden from which they gathered their daily meals, and performed the daily offices required of all priests. On the special days of celebration, Giral assisted Fr. Merh with services, making sure every pious soul attending left church at the end with reverent emotion and joy. More than once Giral was commended for his beautiful high voice and ability to maintain the flow of prayer.

Fr. Merh took every opportunity to guide Giral into the proper way of sober Hram by his own example. He emphasized compassion, patience, and constant gratitude to Tirdan Seir, steering Giral away from the outbursts of frustrated pride and bitter complaining. Once, Giral threw down a garden hoe after prolonged and strained effort to prepare new ground for planting. Rocks lay everywhere, protecting the earth from his hoe and frustrating his efforts to turn the ground. He cursed. Fr. Merh walked over, blessed himself then the rocky dirt, and steadily began to turn the earth. Giral watched Fr. Merh toil, and heard the clanking of the hoe meeting stone. Before long the soil was turned, and the rocks cleared with a rake. After this, Giral would unfailing bless himself and his work, and would sigh a prayer when faced with obstacles.

The two men, now in each others eyes brothers, continued to work and pray together day after day. Another year passed, and then another. They were constantly rejoicing with sobriety until the army came and surrounded the village.

For one small, insignificant village, ten thousand soldiers of the Empire had come, and were ready to kill. Their ranks closed off the village from all sides, a walled mass of green on white uniforms, plate mail and chain gleaming in the sun. The banner of the Empire, white phoenix displayed on a green field, loomed high above the heads of the soldiers standing across Cruk's Stream where the main road was.

The villagers, clustered together after running to the meeting hall from their homes, eyed the soldiers and flinched every time trumpet and drum barked the signal of an officer's orders. Some of the people held farming tools with white knuckled grips, scythes, sickles, and woodsman axe preparing for war. There was even to be found among the older men swords, rusted over from time, but still deadly in the memories of the veterans. The women held the children close, while the little ones were given a'ino to hold, holy banners for the believers. The people knew had it not been for the Protectorate of Ulan they would already be dead and their ancestors' memory obliterated. But they also knew with the wrong step Ulan would arrive only to find corpses.

Fr. Merh, Giral standing close, studied a parchment given in person by the scarred and sneering army commander.

"It's an official decree from the Emperor himself. It says they want you. Lord Prince Giral Am Nar must be handed over or they will raze the village."

He handed the parchment to Giral, who looked at it, frowning. Giral rolled the parchment, and handed it over to Fr. Merh.

"It also states there is a reward. They will give one thousand gold pieces for turning me over. No doubt they want to avoid conflict with Ulan."

"My friend, what do you think we should do?"

"I have no choice but to go and claim the reward, " Giral said with a chuckle, "Maybe then I can buy my freedom."

"Now is not the time for jokes, brother."

"Each man faces death in his own way. Forgive me, father, but it is time for me to finish my repentance."

Giral stepped towards the Imperial banner. Fr. Merh put a hand on Giral's shoulder, stopping him.

"Let us pray," Fr. Merh said.

Fr. Merh and Giral walked slowly to the village entrance, boots scraping on the dirt road. The entire village watched, whispering prayers and blessings for mercy. In the distance could be seen the large imperial banner. Fr. Merh knelt, and Giral did as well, and neither of them paid attention to the patch of mud beneath them.

They had their prayer ropes in hand. Giral moved his fast, while Fr. Merh stayed at his normal, slow pace. Fr. Merh pulled his rope for the first hundred, then the second hundred, then the third. Sighing, Fr. Merh stopped and stretched out his arms, looking to the sky.

"Tirdan Seir," he said, "look down upon us with Thy love. We have sinned, O Lord, we have sinned, but we have also suffered in repentance. Spare thy people here, and let we who kneel before thee finish our sorrow. We beg thee, have mercy. May we always abide in Thy Light."

They knelt there, silent. Giral had never ceased to use his prayer rope, and now Fr. Merh continued once again to use his. The army grew still. Not a sound could be heard, either from the soldiers or the village, except the sporadic singing of birds in the fields which lay between the two.

A command bellowed forth. The sound of ten thousand bowstrings being drawn back resounded. One more command. The whistling of arrows going forth reached the villagers' ears. Mothers pulled children close, as if to shield them from death. Fathers pulled the mothers close for their last embrace.

But then birds flew up from the fields. Everywhere there were birds. Sparrows, crows, pigeons, steppe jays, doves, blue birds, and other kinds uknown. The sun was blotted out and the sky was darkened from so many, and their collective song was deafening.

One bird fell, plummeting to the ground pierced by an arrow. Another fell, then another, all in rapid succession, then in a mass of feathered martyrdom, all slain by arrows.

The sky was empty. There were no arrows. There were no birds. They had met each other and joined together, a marriage of death and sacrifice from heaven on the earth.

Only one arrow made it through.

When the volley of missiles went forth, Giral moved in front of Fr. Merh to protect his spiritual father, but the Light chose to perfect their repentance with the sacrifice on behalf of righteousness, one for repentance and the other for love.

The one arrow that made it through pierced through both of their hearts.

The wind blew, soft and cool. It was all anyone could hear.

The banner began to move. It came towards the village, though the rest of the soldiers remained in place. The bluster of the horses of the soldiers carrying the banner called the village to come forth. When the banner reached Fr. Merh and Giral, the army commander ordered the banner turned around and the poles driven into the ground. He spoke to the villagers, using his commanding voice so that even his soldiers would hear.

"Since the Immortal Light protects you, so does the Empire. The Emperor shall know how the Light sheds its grace upon you, and so shall the Imperial Patriarch."

A tear wound its way down his scarred face. He turned to the two brothers of the Light as they lay in the stillness of death.

"These two men have been sacrificed, and they shall be held in honor by all Hramvi, this I vow."

And with these words, the commander returned to his ranks, and the army to the Emperor.

To this day the banner can be seen in the village of Po'I'Itan, white phoenix displayed. And underneath are two graves, with one headstone, for the priest and the penitent died together that day. They lived as one in this life, and were one in death. Their graves are a place of pilgrimage, for commanders seeking help in making difficult decisions, and sinful people seeking divine help in repentance. And all who come receive answers and consolation.

And it is spoken of as proverbs to this day, when one suffers to aid another's attempt to make amends: The priest and penitent become saints.