Emissary by Uvatha the Horseman

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The Seminary

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Chapter 16 - The Seminary

Work at the shipyard had ended in mid-afternoon. If he were still in school, Urzahil would be in the fourth class of the day, with one more to go.

Class Standings had been posted that morning. Urzahil was tempted to go to the office of the Head of the University to see how he'd done, but the University was a long way from the waterfront. He had more immediate concerns. He needed to find a place to sleep in an alehouse before they were all taken for the night, He wanted to do it before the sun set; it wasn't safe to wander the alleys near the waterfront after dark.

He wasn't returning to school after the Yule break, it didn't matter if he'd done well or badly. But still, he'd worked hard all term. Even though he'd struggled in the last weeks, he still wanted to know how he'd done.

At the corner of the quay, he stopped. The waterfront was to the right, supper and a bed for the night lay in that direction. The path up the bluff was left. He paused, then turned left and retraced his steps up the steep bluff, circling outside the city walls to the Main Gate.

Ten minutes later, he reached the main hall of the University. The front door were unlocked, and the empty classrooms smelled of chalk and wet wool. The halls were empty, the echo of his own footfalls sounded unnaturally loud.

Urzahil stopped in front of the office of the Head of the University. The door was flanked by a pair of corkboards. Five pieces of paper were pinned to each, titled in large block printing. The pages on the left bore the names of the first year courses: Diplomacy, Sindarin, Coastal Geography, Astronomy, and Númenorian History.

Other students said that the lists contained the names of all the students in class, rank-ordered according to how well they'd done. The best students were on top. A red line drawn through the bottom of each list separated those who had passed from those who had not.

It was ironic, given that his first choice of profession was to teach at the University after graduation, he was leaving school after one term, afraid to look at his grades. Some scholar he turned out to be.

Urzahil looked at Númenorian History first. Caran was at the top of the list and Gaerna was second, but Urzahil was in the group right behind them. Diplomacy was the same.

He considered leaving without looking at his place in Astronomy or Coastal Geography. Had his father lived, Urzahil would have been safely in the middle of the pack. As it was, he wasn't at all sure he'd passed at all. It didn't matter, he wasn't in school anymore. He took a deep breath and looked. His name was two or three places above the red line in Astronomy. Coastal Geography was the same. Not bad.

He might as well know the worst. Sindarin. Just get it over with. He looked at the list. His name was last. However, the red line had been drawn below his name. Everyone in the class had passed. He was the worst Sindarin student in the school, but he had passed. He strolled towards the front entrance, singing the only Elvish song he knew that wasn't sad.

-o-o-o-o-o-

It was past time to go back to the waterfront and find a place to sleep tonight. He couldn't afford a bed, but a straw pallet on the floor would be fine. It would be indoors out of the cold, and right now, that was good enough.

He still couldn't believe he'd passed Sindarin. His Sindarin teacher had been one of those standing in the hall after class when Urzahil finally translated, "O Menel Aglar Elenath" as "From the Firmament, the Glorious Stars". Chaered must have heard. Maybe he'd been looking for an excuse to pass Urzahil, and that had been enough.

Urzahil paused in front of the Philosopher's Stone out of habit, before remembering his wages had been docked. He couldn't spend money on coffee when he had barely enough for a place to sleep that night.

Something on the cobblestones caught his eye, a copper coin. He picked it up. It would easily cover the price of a cup of coffee. He wouldn't have spent the money in his purse, but this was found money, and he wanted to celebrate how well he'd done.

Flames crackled in the fireplace against the back wall. He crossed the room and sank down onto the hearthstone, dropping his satchel by his feet. The fire felt warm against his back. He felt himself starting to relax.

The serving maid came to his table with a tray resting against one hip. She took his order and came back with a tiny cup of thick coffee, which she set on the low table in front of him. She was pretty, and she smiled at him. He gave her his found-money copper and told her to keep the change.

The coffee was strong and sweet, he couldn't remember when he'd enjoyed it more. He stretched out his legs in front of him, and his eyes started to close. The towers rang eight bells. If this were a school day, he'd just be settling into Númenorian History, with an hour of lecture in front of him, but today, between lining up for work in the dark and doing physical labor all day, he could fall asleep at any time.

"Look who's here! I thought you'd be gone for Yule by now." Caldûr sat down on the hearth next to him.

The serving maid came back to their table, and Caldûr ordered coffee and a pastry. She asked Urzahil if he'd like another coffee, but he said he was fine. She came back a few minutes later with the tiny cup and the pastry, which Caldûr split with Urzahil.

After she left, Caldûr asked, "You're all set for next term? They forgave your tuition?"

Urzahil lifted a shoulder and let it drop. "It didn't work out."

Caldûr's face went still. "You didn't apply. Perhaps you thought accepting charity was beneath you."

"I did apply, but there's no money for charity students right now."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could help," Caldûr said softly.

They ate in silence. The serving maid brought a tray to another table, and an ember popped in the fireplace.

Caldûr sat bolt upright and smacked his forehead. "I'm an idiot! Why didn't I think of it before?

"A friend of mine teaches at the Seminary. He came to me in a panic this morning because one of his students left suddenly to work in the family business. The Seminary wanted to fill the slot right away. Did I know of anyone who might be interested?

"I told him I couldn't help him. My charity students were already taken care of, and I didn't think any of the others would be interested. After he left, I didn't give it another thought. Had I known, I'd have given him your name right away."

Urzahil wasn't sure he'd have been interested. Even though the acolytes' school fees were covered by the Temple's endowment, a Seminary education wasn't free. Acolytes owed the Temple a year of service for each year of training they received.

"I don't know. I've never considered entering the priesthood." Urzahil didn't add that he wasn't religious at all.

"Did I mention that, in addition to free tuition, it includes room and board, plus a small stipend for pocket money?" said his teacher.

The priesthood was a prestigious profession. The Temple was an impressive building reflecting the wealth of the community that built it, and unlike the University, the Temple grounds were lush and well maintained.

"Would they even take me? I'm not very observant."

"They don't care what you think. They only care what you do, and how you look doing it. Look, we're wasting time. They want to fill the position right away. Today, if possible."

"Why today? The next term doesn't begin until next week," said Urzahil.

"They want to give the new acolyte time to catch up. You'll have to spend the entire Yule holiday in the library studying History of the First Age, Black Speech, and Sorcery. But you're a hard worker, I think you can manage."

Urzahil imagined himself at a table with books piled around him, reading by the glow of lamplight, his only duty to study. At regular intervals, the bell would call him to the refectory for meals he didn't have to cook himself, or wash up afterwards.

But what chance did he have of being chosen? Slim to naught. If he went to the Seminary this afternoon, he wouldn't get back to the waterfront before dark. At the very least, the Seminary interview would cost him supper at the lodgings house. And since the lodgings houses filled up quickly, it might even cost him the chance to sleep indoors tonight since he couldn't afford a bed at an inn. Going on the interview wasn't smart.

"Do you want it? I'll write you a letter of recommendation right now." Caldûr flagged down the serving maid and asked her for writing tools. She came back with a steel-nibbed pen, a small bottle of ink, and a sheet of paper. Caldûr spread them out on the small table. Urzahil watched while he wrote. The letter said Urzahil was intelligent and a hard worker. It said nothing about Urzahil's marks.

"Take this to the Hall of Acolytes and give it to Tarcundo. Don't entrust it to a clerk, put it into Tarcundo's hand."

"I'll go right away. I just need to change clothes." Urzahil was still wearing his oldest clothes, the ones he'd worn to the shipyard. He lifted his arm and was offended by his own smell.

The Boiling Frog wasn't that far from the Temple. Both were within the old city walls, although on opposite sides of the main road. He could stop by the Frog and change into something of his father's. It wouldn't cost him more than half an hour.

Caldûr jumped to his feet and started waving his arms. "You don't have time to change, they may have filled the position already. Go to the Hall of Acolytes right now, with no stops along the way. It's already late afternoon, and I don't know when they're going to stop accepting candidates."

-o-o-o-o-o-

Five minutes later, Urzahil was hurrying along the street, hugging himself for warmth. This morning, there had been frost on the ground and a thin skin of ice on the water in the horse trough. He entered the gate through the old city walls. He neared the street along the inside of the wall that led to the Boiling Frog, and kept going.

The Temple of Melkor sat inside a walled compound that included living quarters for the priests, school buildings, and the acolytes' dormitory. It was a self-contained world with courtyards, walkways, and gardens.

It was late in the afternoon and people were already starting to go home, but Urzahil was still able to find someone to give him directions to the acolytes' hall.

Inside, a bored-looking clerk sitting behind a table was interviewing a young man who stammered his answers. The clerk repeatedly asked the next question before the applicant could finish answering the previous one. After a minute or so, the official put down his stylus.

"Very good, we'll let you know." He bent down and wrote a few notes on a wax tablet. "That will be all."

The youth smiled too brightly and thanked him over and over. After he left, Urzahil squared his shoulders and stepped up to the table.

He wasn't going to leave his precious letter of recommendation with an indifferent clerk.

"I'm looking for Tarcundo." He held the letter, but didn't offer it to the clerk.

"I'm Tarcundo, and you might be?"

"Urzahil of the House of Lintoron. I'm here about the acolyte vacancy. Caldûr, the History instructor at the University, personally recommended me for the position." He gave Tarcundo his letter. Tarcundo broke the seal and read it, then looked Urzahil over.

"This says you're from a good family. Perhaps you do live in a great house, as a servant. We're not looking for candidates who are only here for a warm bed and free meals."

"I'm a member of a good family, but a poor relation." Urzahil drew himself to his full height.

Tarcundo tossed the letter on top of a pile on the table. "We'll let you know." He didn't ask Urzahil where he could be reached.

"I'm an excellent student and a hard worker. I learn quickly," said Urzahil. Tarcundo gave no sign that he'd heard.

"May I speak to the Master of Acolytes?" Urzahil wasn't going to give up easily.

"He's already left for Yule. He has family in the provinces, he won't be back until the start of term." Tarcundo picked up his wax tablet and smudged out whatever he'd written.

A man about his father's age stuck his head in the door. He wore the silver-grey robes of a priest.

"Does someone need to see the Master of Acolytes? I'm filling in for him while he's gone." His face brightened when he saw Urzahil. "Urzahil! You're the very image of your father."

It was Súrion, one of his father's closest friends. He'd come to the house after Aranelaith's wedding, and spoke at Urzahil's father's funeral.

"You'd like to join us in the priesthood? Excellent, it's settled then. Let me give you the tour, and I'll show you where you'll be sleeping." Súrion led the way inside, looking over his shoulder and talking.

Tarcundo started to protest. "The day's not quite over, there may be other candidates. What shall I tell them?"

"Thank them for their interest, and invite them to apply again next year," said Súrion.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"This is the library."

The whitewashed walls contrasted against shelf after shelf of bookcases, and the barrel-vaulted ceiling rose at least two storeys above his head. A row of tall windows gave a view of the garden, the sculpted boxwood bushes just visible in the deepening twilight.

"This is the refectory. Not many people are around during the Yule break, but they'll still be serving a light supper to the few that are here."

"This is the dormitory. Traditionally, acolytes slept in rows of beds like a military barracks, but now there are fixed partition between the beds."

The partitions were higher than eye level and enclosed a space on three sides, creating an alcove for sleeping. There were no doors, but the doorway was behind a screen, such that someone walking by wouldn't be able to see in.

"This is where you'll be sleeping. Bring your things whenever you like, but sooner is better."

Súrion showed him into an empty alcove. The bedstead was plain wood, without finish or carving, but it was well made. The walls were whitewashed plaster, and there were some pegs in the wall for clothes. An oil lamp rested on a shelf.

"I'm afraid it's austere compared to what you're used to," he said.

"No, really, this is fine." Urzahil set his satchel on the bed.

"Let me introduce you to the night watchman, so you can come and go at will." Súrion led the way through a maze of corridors.

Urzahil wanted this so badly, but the priesthood was for the high-born and the pious. He wasn't either, and if he pretended to be, he was a fraud. Eventually he would be exposed, and when that happened, they would throw him out.

"Tarcundo said something that made me think the Temple only takes noblemen as acolytes. You do know I'm baseborn?"

"You mean illegitimate? Your father was one of my closest friends. I saw him with your mother when she was carrying you."

That was the least of it. How could he become a priest of the Temple when he didn't believe any of it?

If it were the Master of Acolytes showing him around, he would have lied without shame. But this was Súrion, his best remaining connection to his father. He couldn't lie to Súrion, not season after season, year after year.

"Um … I need to tell you something else. I'm not sure I deserve to be here. My family has never been observant."

"I know that. Your father wasn't religious, I used to tease him about it all the time."

"Well, it's just that, regarding myself, I'm not really sure that …"

Súrion put a finger to Urzahil's lips. "Your private thoughts are your own. You're not required to share them with anyone here."

-o-o-o-o-o-

An hour later, Urzahil sat at a table in the Boiling Frog with a basket at his feet. Three books and a sheath of school essays were piled on top of the folded clothes. He'd changed into a new shirt and leggings when he'd collected his things from the hayloft. It felt good to be wearing clean clothes again.

The sun had set, and there was a lantern on every table. He was sitting at a table near the fire. It had been built up high against the chill outside, and the draft sent sparks swirling up the chimney.

A youth with hair a narrow chin and hair the color of straw, a younger version of Allard, set a tankard in front of him. Urzahil pushed a couple of coppers across the table. "Keep the change." The boy grinned and thanked him.

Allard came out from behind the bar and stopped by Urzahil's table. "Urzahil, how are you getting on these days?" he asked.

"I've been invited to join the priesthood. I thought about it, and this afternoon, I decided to accept."

Allard let out a low whistle. "That's quite an offer. The Temple takes good care of its people. You ought to be set for life."

When he left the tavern, it was fully dark. The stars were like white jewels, even the fainter ones. He picked out a few of his favorite constellations, then began the short walk to the Seminary.

Inside the Temple grounds, the crushed shell paths were easy to follow in the dark. He made his way back to the acolytes' dormitory without stumbling or getting lost. He pulled the bell chain, and the night watchman let him in. Urzahil was the only student in residence during the holiday. The dormitory was deserted except for the servants.

He hoped he could remember which was his alcove, they all looked alike. It wasn't a problem, an oil lamp had been left burning in his, all the others were dark. A glint of light caught his eye. While he was out, a brass plaque had been installed by the doorway to his alcove. Lintoron.

He arranged his books in a row on the shelf, five in all including Sindarin. He set the painted crab on the shelf beside them, and stepped back to admire them.

- End of Book I -