ftp.ee.pdx.edu/2014.02.ftp.ee.pdx.edu.tar/ftp.ee.pdx.edu/pub/frp/ysgarth/story

Internet Message Format | 1992-12-03 | 9KB

From: David F. Nalle
Subject: Ysgarth -- Fiction Sample


MY PILGRIMAGES WITH FATHER UDAG
Copyright 1991, David F. Nalle

    Father Udag was always up before noon when we were on the road.  In
the three weeks I'd travelled with him as page and acolyte he hadn't missed
a brunch, lunch, dinner, buffet, or any other offering of food or drink.
The Father had many holy duties, and maintaining an imposing girth to
illustrate the substantial nature of his mission was first among them.
Noon was his hour, when the folk were gathered in the square of whatever
town was on our route that day.  The Father would waddle across the square,
hoist his considerable mass onto the sturdiestplatform available and begin
his sermon for the day
    By noon I'd already be well into the day.  At dawn I would head
into town and check out the churches and holy shrines, note their size,
endowment and popularity.  Over breakfast I'd usually ask a few locals
about the village bigwigs, subtly discovering their faiths and interests.
Then I'd buy up a good hot meal, rouse Father Udag, and brief him over
lunch.
    In most villages an enf*ergetic afternoon of preaching in the
square would yield rich donations and often an invitation to the home of
s?t=}me pious local mogul.  The Father was quite a speaker, hard to resist
and hard to forget.  His unique appearance was a surprising asset.  When a
seven foot anthropoid frog waddles through your morning shopping it tends
to grab your attention.  When this dread apparition stands up before you in
a white cassock the size of a tent, erects the blue crest on his head,
puffs out his purplish throat membrane, and speaks in melifluous tones
about morality, faith and damnation, you are going to listen.  When he
spoke of piety, charity and punishment, it made an image to restorefaith in
the most hardened.  He knew the litanies of scores and faiths, and just
what to say to get a crowd laughing, weeping, and dropping money in our
purse.
    Our tours on the road had their high times and hard times, and we'd
been onthe road quite a while when we hit the little town of Moctref on the
Marskian Coast.  It was mid-summer, and we should have been settled in
already working thebazaars of Ptolemeias, but an indescretion with a demon,
three slatterns and a Guildmaster's son had lost us our welcome in the
city.  Moctref was just like a hundred little towns crouched between the
coastal cliffs and the mine-riddled mountains of the Kerngan.  I was at the
gates at dawn, did my scouting, and we were set-up in the village green at
noon.
    Like most of its neighbors, Moctref followed the somewhat tedious
faith of Ankew, a local afterworld deity already quite familiar to us.  The
afternoon went well, and our purse was soon heavy with the bulky copper
coins from the old kingdom, still favored locally.
    After the lecture and collection, a small man in servant's livery
approached the Father as he chatted with a few devout fishwives.  I slipped
forward to intercept him, fending him off and collecting a message from the
owner of the local salting and packing house.  The letter contained a
crudely worded invitation to dinner, and after stashing our take in a
hollow stump near our camp we made our way down to the house of this local
worthy, never loath to enjoy a free meal.
    I recognized the fat fellow who greeted us at the door as one of
our audience, and an appraising glance around his small factory and house
promised a rewarding evening.  Father Udag, resplendant in robes of black
and silver, clearly awed the stout fellow, who stammeringly introduced
himself:
    "Welcome, holy sir.  I am Drus Catrenar.  Thank you for honoring
our humblehouse."
    We paraded in, had a brief tour, and were ushered on to the dining
room where the other guests were already assembled.  Standing around a
large table, clearly awaiting our arrival were a florid, large-pored woman,
clearly Mrs. Catrenar, a blurry-eyed antique fellow who was already seated,
presumably some older relative, a wispy but attractive girl of about my own
age(fourteen years by the Father's estimate, though I am an orphan), and a
slightly humped-backed fellow witha cast in one eye and a clerical look
about him.  Already quiet alarm bells were ringing in the back of my head,
but Father Udag was striding forcefully into the room, bent over to miss
the low beams, taking a seat between our host's wife and daughter.
    Unfortunatly long association with humans and separation from his
own kind have made the Father unusually aware of human nature, with an
associated gathering of human vices and interests.  I try to prompt
moderation where I can, but a 500 pound playboy is hard to restrain.
    Catrenar introduced his wife Temir, his uncle Uras, his daughter
Istur, andBrother Amtokin, the local priest.  I made an effort to sit next
to the Father,but a bit of jostling left me down at the foot of the table
between the remarkably relaxed uncle and the promisingly demure Istur.
    A sumptuous selection of fish and local vegetation was set before
us in quaint clay bowls which seemed to have been baked in the sun.  I'd
tasted better inPtolemeias, but never at a better price.  Conversation went
with dinner, so I stayed off the resiny local wine to keep my wits about
me.  Not so Father Udag, who downed several capacious bowls while
discoursing on his travels in the furtherance of Ankew, elaborating and
bowdlerizing his adventures and honors.  The consumptive little priest tore
heartily at his fish, keeping a wary eye on Father Udag.  The Father
shovelled it in at triple the rate, but his eyes were all on Istur.
    At this point, with the Father's eyes and mind wandering,
discretion prompted me to break into the conversation.  "So, Brother
Amtokin, perhaps you would tell us how you find service in your pleasant
little parish.  I'm sure Father Udag would love to hear."
    "Well," the priest brushed his greasy bangs back, "I realize that a
wide travelled being like the Father here has many opportunities to help
people of all areas to attain faith, but here in Moctref we have a strong
community of followers, and it seems redundent for outsiders to come in
bringing foreign ideas and dubious philosophies to upset our lives.  We may
be simple people, but we live close to Ankew, and we can see and learn all
we need of his mysteries in the life and nature around us.  Ankew is a god
of the Kernwyk and those who are not of Marsk and the Kerngan cannot really
know him.  They can only follow the corrupt rituals and perverted
philosophies of that great city of sin, Ptolemeias."
    Our host came near to choking on his food, but the Father just
leaned back in his chair, lowered his mottled lids and stared at the priest
for a dramatic moment.  "My dear fellow, noble brother in faith, even here
in this remote but devout village you must have heard the words of Vinassir
the Sage, one of your ownpeople, I believe.  Was it not Vinassir who wrote
'It is that the gods are worshiped, not the fashion of the worship which is
the eternal element of true religion.  Faith not form is the essence.'"
    "The words of Vinassir may be of value, but it is widely known that
at his death he turned from Ankew to the faith of the Three Mothers, which
surely damnshim as well as yourself."
    "A popular claim in these parts, but seemingly unfounded, and
certainly notsupported by his biographer Isbedrean of Kalmurik."
    "Corrupt east country propaganda.  Isbedrean was Osca in anycase,
and we all know they worship idols and spirits.  Besides, the Ankewites of
Oscala helped the Saesnan in Karystau and Iuria, and are no friends of our
faith or people."
    "So, politics not faith are the basis of your beliefs.  If you have
examined the Prophecies of Omdregar, surely you must be aware..."
    Theology, thank the gods for it.  The little priest was just the
self-righteous type Father Udag liked to browbeat into faith-shock, and
they would be at it for hours.  Long enough to tire the old bombast out,
and for me to get to knowIstur a bit better.  In anycase, our hosts
deserved some entertainment in exchange for their meal.
    The evening ended after much wine and talk, and I was able to lead
Father Udag out ot our little camp leaving our hosts awed and the little
priest cowed into numb silence.  Confrontations had been averted, and we
could move on about our business in the morning.
    We built a fire, gathered together our bedrolls, and I was just
drifting off to sleep when Father Udag wheezed, and rolled over to fix me
with a bulging, blood-shot stare.
    "Inval, there are things about this town which I find intriguing.
Let's put Trisrach off for a couple of days and see what we can scare up
here."
    I've learned not to argue with a tired Batrag, so I could only
shudder, trynot to think of tomorrow and fall asleep.