The Wolves of Gryning: Chapter 3
Chapter 3: The Order in Gryning
The little brown wolf, Irda, was bound by an endless series of routines, that wound him like clockwork in the morning and set him running till night. There was little in this world that Irda felt he could not do, so long as it fit into his routines, or accommodated them.
Though young, he'd left Himmel with the others, boarded a ship and set sail for a distant kingdom. The prospect of this should have terrified him. He had been worried at first, but it didn't take long for him to realize that his life had changed little. Even at sea he could keep up the same practices, the same morning grooming, the same daily study; he could wake and sleep at the same time he always had; and since he was young, and quite a bit smaller than the others, he had been assigned far fewer chores aboard the ship. Some of the older acolytes had been recruited to help the sailors, especially on the choppier seas. And choppy they'd been, those rough black waves. He was pleased to find, once they'd finally landed in Ilkja, that even traveling on foot affected his routine little. He typically woke before the others, waking before even dawn, and this afforded him all the time he needed to prep for the day. He couldn't study as much, when they walked, but he found little hours to catch up; the monotony of marching, in the two lines they'd maintained all the way to Gryning, didn't bother him. He actually enjoyed it, marching every day with first light and stopping for midday meals, the march resumed till dusk. The others had had difficult, especially some of the elders, but his young body didn't mind.
Now they were at the fabled fortress, and he trusted his ability to maintain structure in this new environment. He settled easily into the new life.
He still rose before dawn. When first he opened his eyes each day, it would still be dark. He would sweep his altar before the first rays of sun breached a paling sky. He didn't have a real altar for now, and made do with a shallow recession he'd dug into the loamy soil. The recessed earth was littered with fine grey ashes, and planted in the soil was the base of his firetree.
The firetree was a standard implement of prayer for any devotee, whether they be acolyte, valent, high priest... the al-Valenth carried a firetree, and so did the Shaid, who were not wolves, but rather foxes, otters, bats, and all manner of other creatures who had become followers of the Flame. The only devotees who didn't carry them were the scribes, for the fire was inherently dangerous to their work; their libraries were dry, and the brittle parchments of their scriptures were wont to catch. A firetree looked like a metal stave, topped with a tangle of metal branches and leaves. The branches were woven together into a circular grate, and inside would be placed kindling and flint. A small catch could be pressed to light the kindling, and the flames would penetrate glowing through the little metal leaves. Devotees throughout the kingdoms fashioned their firetrees in the shape of whatever tree was most prominent to their region. Some had thin and wispy willows, while others had the stout beech; still others had delicate and foreign cherry tree staves. In Gryning, the oak was a symbol of strength and unity. The wolves there had adopted it as their sign, wore it emblazoned on their cloaks and shields, and stitched into their flags. So Irda had taken it upon himself to fashion a new firetree. The hastily constructed stave bore the shape of the oak, and though it was only a temporary solution, it had been met with nods and murmurs of approval from the wolves that dwelt there.
Before sleeping, he would write a prayer of safety, the long scribble of his handwriting covering a parchment scrap. Then he would stuff it between the branches of his firetree and press the catch, setting it ablaze. Every morning he would sweep the remnants up.
This morning was no different, and he kept a broom and dustpan ready with his things. Irda set to work sweeping up the makeshift altar, then took his firetree up and opened the grate, stuffing it with new kindling.
Living quarters for the devotees had not yet been constructed. Molokhn had had the cathedral torn down, and the chapterhouses, as well as an enormous and life-sized firetree that had blazed every night in the courtyard. He had left the throne untouched, the huge seat carved into the side of a real oak tree; Molokhn had enjoyed the air of power it lent him, though he didn't believe Valenthi himself had carved it, as the scriptures taught.
Without proper beds or altars, the devotees had squirrelled themselves into any place they could find; they took up residence in empty storehouses; some slept in empty barracks; the good beasts of Gryning sometimes had room in their closets, or perhaps an extra mattress of straw. Irda had no doubt he'd have been able to acquire a bed if he so chose, but he preferred to be alone.
He had been sleeping outside, sheltered against a shelf of stone. He'd removed his inner robes and pitched them like a tent or a lean-to, and kept his thicker outer robe wrapped around his shivering frame for warmth. The frost at night could bite hard, and it's wicked teeth could sink through the tent, the robe, and even his fur, chilling him.
It was worth it to watch the dawn. Sunrise reminded him of everything holy, and the unity of all things within the heat of the Flame. For that first morning hour he would sit alone and let the sun's warmth wash over him, cleansing him, and he would meditate on the oneness of everything.
There were a few others who shared his vision, waking with the sun, and he could see them on their own private stretches of the cliffs, burning prayers of their own. Some of the older acolytes and priests slept late.
"Let it wait," they said. "The sun will still be in the sky, whether we see it rise or not."
But when the elders finally woke, the day's work would begin in earnest. They were in charge of overseeing the reconstruction of the chapel, and the chapterhouses. They even had a plan for a new firetree, though they'd yet to begin work on it. And though the elders were in charge of planning the construction, it was the younger acolytes -- along with a rotating shift of Besegrare's guard -- who'd been tasked with the heavy lifting, the cutting and staining of wood, the carving and hoisting of stone. They worked long hours and stopped at midday for lunch and an hour of rest. The schedule was not so different from the marching schedule, and Irda was pleased to lend a hand. His small muscles had grown lean and strong and he felt the beginnings of bulk beneath his fur. Their diet consisted mostly of small fishes caught off the coast in the Hatskav, little oily things that had been packed in salt and passed around with crusty bread. After eating, some of the braver souls would dive in the open-air bath. The Hatskav's waves teemed with all manner of angry things, full of sharp teeth, but the wolves believed that the waters were good for the health. They'd walled off a portion of the sea and fashioned a bath, where Gryning's denizens could come for a bracing dip, protected from the hazards of the deep. It was a ritual for the guards to relax their muscles in the water after many hours of difficult labor.
Irda didn't always join them, but he did this morning. He went in slowly, first standing on the shore and letting the tide rush past his feet. It burned him, so cold it felt like fire. Irda squeezed shut his eyes and let the oncoming wall of water break against his torso, as he inched further and further in. Then he held his nose and sank like a stone, the shock of it hitting him hard and all at once. He felt like he'd been enveloped by a piece of glacial ice; the darkness of the water made him feel like he had died and been swallowed by shadow. When he emerged, he breathed huge gulping breaths of the fresh air, and suddenly felt life like never before. It was true what they said about the saltwater and its invigorating properties. He felt stronger than ever as he swam to the bath wall and clambered up. Then the cold air hit him like another glacier, and he ran along the wall's length back to shore. There they kept a big bonfire burning to dry the bathers before their fur frosted over, and he fell chattering before it, letting the heat roll over him.
He looked to the sky and saw the sun shining through the clouds. A circle had parted to let the light through, and it shone down upon them like a halo, illuminating the bath and all the laughing, swimming beasts.
Their first month had rewarded them well, and they'd constructed a makeshift chapel, as well as three threadbare chapterhouses. The chapel was small and only fit them all if they squeezed shoulder to shoulder. But by the end of the second month they had constructed a bigger chapterhouse, that sheltered more of the devotees, and a bigger chapel. It would be over a year before the chapel proper was finished, and another year still before the huge metal oak they were building could be erected again in the courts.
"All in time," Irda told himself, as he'd taken to telling the others. He was young but he was perhaps the most patient of the batch. Daily he followed the lessons of his elder acolytes, studying scripture and languages with a patient eye, practicing medicine and perfecting his stitching. The elders saw this, and they took a special interest in young Irda, and word of his dedication spread.
"Little acolyte, follower of the Flame, how much of healing do you know?"
The question had been asked by Telina, who was high priest of Gryning's chapel. She was older and taller than he, looking down upon him, but her eyes were kind and she bore a smile.
"Only the basic arts," Irda said. Acolytes studied the scriptures and maintained the chapels, and they were taught the basics of medicine; true healing was an art saved for the valents, along with mastery of languages. An acolyte might study for years to become one of those traveling priests.
"What do you think of it?"
She didn't ask the question to know how he really felt. What she meant to say was, "You would make a good valent." But that would be too forthright. The life of a valent was often difficult, and lonely, and he must ask for that training himself. She would not propose it to him.
Irda knew this too. But loneliness suited him, and healing was his passion. So he said, "I would learn what I might, that I may never leave a beast unaided."
"You know that it is not easy. You will spend weeks and months alone, without the aid or company of others. Your work will be difficult, and will reap few rewards. You will speak many languages, but have no kin among the beasts of the world. And there will be those within the Order who resent you for your skill, and for your travels."
"That you speak the truth, I have no doubt. But my work will be its own reward, and my kin will be the moon and the sun, and all the world, bound by Flame. I have no friends within the Order; let them resent me if they will. My only wish is to be of some service to others."
"Very well," Telina said. "Young acolyte, come with me. No longer will you toil in the sun, rebuilding our chapel. You have a new task."
His new teacher was Grehn, an ancient valent who'd settled in Gryning after injuring his back. He could walk little, and mostly got about in a chair that had had wheels fixed to the sides. Grehn had a habit of hacking up phlegmy bits of spittle, which he sucked into his cheek and spat into a little tin cup. His voice was brittle and thin, and his eyes were glazed over with wiry grey lines; he claimed he could see well enough without help, but that didn't stop him from wheeling into tables and desks, knocking over scrolls and textbooks. The scribes in the libraries clung to their precious books when they saw Grehn wheeling through, and muttered prayers of thanks when he had passed safely by.
"What are the three major herbs used in healing?" was one of his favorite questions, along with "Why do you want to heal?" and "What are the lessons learned to us through Flame?" This last question was a particular favorite of his; he came from a persecuted generation of priests and did not wear the mantle lightly.
"So? What has the Flame taught you?"
Irda sat in the library, the old wolf across from him in his wheelchair. He had maintained his routine of rising early, but it had become harder now that he had new studies. His daily herbal training lasted three hours, first studying the names and shapes of various plants used in medicines, then exploring the gardens and even the nearby Kvalsdimm for samples. Finally Grehn would show him what to do with the things he'd found, how to grind them, how to make a poultice, which herbs to burn with what. He ate lightly, and slowly, relishing the time he had between lessons to focus on his food. But as soon as lunch had finished, he was shipped to the library and saddled with a hundred books on local languages. Valents were meant to travel, and that necessitated knowledge of different languages. The common tongues in both the Northern and Southern Kingdoms were much the same, but the Sonderian bats spoke an additional language, harsh and difficult to the mouths of wolves; the Untish tongue was only spoken in Tern and the surrounding deserts, but it was the only language there. Across the Wide Sea was a distant land with other languages, but books on those were scarce. He had his hands full with the study of Untish and Sonderian, and that didn't even account for his study of the Ancient Tongue, in which the scriptures had been written.
"The Flame taught me much, as it teaches me still," Irda said.
"Go on then"
"I have learned that all things burn slowly and steadily. My own lessons are no different. I may be having difficulty now, but..." he looked away from his teacher. "But I am burning all the while. Slowly but surely I will learn."
"And what lesson is that, exactly?" Grehn asked.
"Patience is key," Irda said. He shrugged, as though it were the most fleeting of statements.
"Hold on now, that's a powerful lesson. Don't shrug it off so easily."
"Shrug it off? No, no, I'm learning. I'm grateful to learn! But it's exhausting."
"No one said it would be easy. Now study -- I'll be back in a few hours to see how you're Sonderian's coming along."
"It's coming along okay. I can't make that cth sound yet."
"And what does that tell you?"
"That I'm not a bat?"
"But you are bound by the Flame. As are they. Know this, and the bond will run deep. Remember it and you will learn. By ashes, you will learn."