Vintar had taught him to recognise the herb Lorassium, and eat of its leaves. At first they had made him drowsy and filled his mind with colours. But as the days passed his powerful young mind mastered the visions and the green-juices had strengthened his weak blood. Even his eyes changed colour to reflect the power of the plant.
And he learned to run again, savouring the joy of the wind in his face, to climb and wrestle, to laugh and live.
And he had learned to speak without speaking, move without moving and see without seeing.
Through all these blissful years Serbitar’s rose had blossomed and grown.
A white rose . . .
And now it had all come to this! One glimpse into the future had destroyed thirteen years of training and belief. One speeding shaft, viewed through the mists of time, had changed his destiny.
Serbitar had stared horror-struck at the scene below him, on the battle-scarred walls of the Dros. His mind had recoiled from the violence he saw there and he had fled, comet-swift, to a far corner of a distant universe, losing himself and his sanity among exploding stars and new suns’ birthing.
And still Vintar had found him.
‘You must return.’
‘I cannot. I have seen.’
‘As have I.’
‘Then you know that I would rather die than see it again.’
‘But you must, for it is your destiny.’
‘Then I refuse my destiny.’
‘And your friends? Do you refuse them also?’
‘I cannot watch you die again, Vintar.’
‘Why not? I myself have seen the scene a hundred times. I have even written a poem about it.’
‘As we are now – shall we be again, after death? Free souls?’
‘I do not know, but I would have it so. Now return to your duty. I have pulsed The Thirty. They will keep your body alive for as long as they can.’
‘They always have. Why should I be the last to die?’
‘Because we would have it so. We love you, Serbitar. And always have. A shy child you were, who had never tasted friendship. Suspicious you were, of the slightest touch or embrace – a soul crying alone in a cosmic wilderness. Even now you are alone.’
‘But I love you all.’
‘Because you need our love.’
‘Not so, Vintar!’
‘Do you love Rek and Virae?’
‘They are not of The Thirty.’
‘Neither were you, until we made it so.’
*
And Serbitar had returned to the fortress and felt ashamed. But the shame he had felt earlier was as nothing compared with the feeling he now experienced.
Was it but an hour since that he had walked the ramparts with Vintar, and complained of many things, and confessed to many sins?
‘You are wrong, Serbitar. So wrong. I also feel blood-lust in battle. Who does not? Ask Arbedark or Menahem. While we are still men, we will feel as other men do.’
‘Then is it for nothing that we are priests?’ cried Serbitar. ‘We have spent years of our lives studying the insanity of war, of man’s lust for power, his need for bloodshed. We raise ourselves above the common man with powers that are almost god-like. Yet in the final analysis we come to this; lusting after battle and death. It is for nothing!’
‘Your conceit is colossal, Serbitar,’ said Vintar, an edge to his voice and the suggestion of anger showing in his eyes. ‘You speak of “god-like”. You speak of the “common man”. Where in your words is the humility we strive for?
‘When you first came to the Temple you were weak and lonely, and several years the youngest. But you learned the more swiftly. And you were chosen as the Voice. Did you only acquire the disciplines and forego the philosophy?’
‘It would appear so,’ answered Serbitar.
‘You are wrong again. For in wisdom there is suffering. You are pained not because you disbelieve, but because you believe. Let us return to basics. Why do we travel to a distant war?’
To die.’
‘Why do we choose this method? Why not simply allow ourselves to starve?’
‘Because in war a man’s will to live is strongest. He will fight hard to stay alive. He will learn again to love life.’