"Let not the sun go down upon your wrath."
--Ephesians 4:26

urprises: I have never liked them.

There was a day, many years back.... I walked home from the docks, blowing on a small wooden whistle that I had gotten from old Captain Jaglom. The Captain was an endless source of fascination for me. I loved to watch him spit, for he could send great wads of phlegm hurling far out over the waters, and sometimes fish would jump at the floating masses, and he would give a consumptive chuckle. I had whiled away the morning with him, listening to stories of his many adventures. Undoubtedly most of it was lies, but that mattered little to me. The tale was what was important, not the truth of it.

The sun was shining, the air was warm, and all the world's birds seemed to sing along with me and my whistle. The day seemed perfect, most of all because I had just heard that one of my father's ships, the one that he had embarked in six weeks ago, had returned. That meant gifts and more exotic tales (with more truth to them than Captain Jaglom's), and most of all my father's presence.

I daydreamed shamelessly about the praise he would heap on me, for taking such good care of my mother --though it always seemed to me that it was more the other way around, I enjoyed the game and never said anything-- for how much I had grown, how much of a man I had become.

This was the essence of my fancy: that he would decide that I had grown enough to do what he had always promised I could. I would sail upon the great ships at his side, like my older brother Agnon had for the last three years. The longing I felt for the adventurous life that they led, sailing to India and Africa, Portugal and Spain, was the all-consuming passion of my life. I could think of nothing else that day, and so it was that I ran up the long path to our door and burst through it into the hall beyond, to collide with my father's great stomach and go sprawling. My father hardly moved at all, being a man of great size, but merely let out a whuff of air and then helped me to my feet.

Something was wrong, I could sense that right away. My father should have been laughing, for he was always given to laughter at the slightest prodding. Instead, he looked me up and down as I dusted myself off and said quietly, "My son. You have grown in just these few weeks. You may some day be as big as I."

"Father." I stood there uncertainly and waited for him to say some of the old familiar words, and hoped against hope that he would say the ones I most wanted to hear.

"Come, my young man, I have something to discuss with you. Let us speak over some wine, in my office."

He steered me to the room which held the huge oak desk and the many bills of lading and other papers that kept track of his shipping business. I was rarely allowed to visit this place, and thus treasured the times when I could. The musty smell of the parchment mingled pleasantly with the salt smell of my father's clothing. He was dressed in the long coat and high boots, wide belt and plumed hat that he always wore to sea. He had just arrived, then.

He lowered himself slowly into the big chair behind the desk and motioned me to one opposite him. All the while his eyes followed me. I tried to remain calm under that gaze, tried to seem mature, but so many things were spinning through my mind that I felt as if I would explode in a mass of questions. Was this it? Was he going to tell me now? What was this air of mystery? I remembered when he had invited Agnon to be a sailor aboard one of his ships, an apprentice pilot. My father had announced it over the evening meal, smiling. Two of his Captains had been there, and they had congratulated the stunned Agnon, clapping him on the back and toasting him.

But this, this was not right.

He smiled a little for me now, but I could tell it was to reassure me, not out of any gladness of the heart. I smiled back, weakly.

"Where have you been on such a fine morning, my tall son?"

"I was down to the docks, Sir. I was with Captain Jaglom. He was telling me all about Africa. He said that there is a beast there that is as big as a mountain, with iron plate for skin."

It was a mistake to repeat one of the Captain's stories to my father. He was a great lover of truth, my father, and had little toleration for men like Captain Jaglom. "This is some education that you're getting here. Beasts as big as mountains... And what of Latin and geometry? Have you given them up in favor of dreams?"

"No sir! In fact, teacher tells me that I am doing very well. They're just stories. I..." and then I blurted it out. "Father, how am I to learn of the world if I don't go out into it? I am as old as Agnon was when first he sailed with you. Not a day passes that I don't long to go to sea--"

He grimaced and fluttered his hand in the air as if swatting flies. "Enough! That is not what we are here to discuss." There it was, then. My heart sank into my stomach and sloshed around there. I felt sick. "I know, indeed, that you have been doing well in your lessons. In fact, your mother tells me that your instructor has nothing but praise for you." He sighed. "If only Agnon had your flair for book-learning. The lad could pilot a ship across the Styx and back, but numbers, reading... he will have none of them. How will he run things here when I am gone? How will he keep the books, write the letters?" His wandering gaze came back to me. "That is why I have decided to do what is best for you, and for my business. Alix, I have written to the Abbot Perrer. Do you remember him?" I shook my head. "I suppose you would be too young. He was a priest here at our local church. He christened you. Now, he is the Abbot of a monastery, near Garronne. He has agreed to accept you, as a brother."

I did not walk into the laboratory at once. I had that feeling again, that uncertainty that went along with too many questions. It would be so easy to take this man's life from this position. Even if he expected it, there would be nothing he could do once I got my hands around his neck. Riothamus had taught me the exact amount of pressure needed and the correct angle to snap a man's neck like a twig. One quick movement and Nicolas avenged, the God appeased, the Cathars out of danger. One sharp snapping sound could signal freedom for Isa and I, to leave this place and carry on a life together.

Yet I stood there. I could not do this thing, not yet. That I had given my word to Aguilar didn't stop me. That never even entered my mind. It was the fact that I knew my life was somehow tied up with this one, and there was something to be learned, yet. And the learning of things must be held above concerns like revenge and love. For me there had never been anything else I could rely on.

One thing I had to do. Whatever I had told Aguilar, I knew that I could not hide what I knew from Gascon. One look into my eyes and he would see it. So, "You killed him. I know it. You killed him and some day I'll kill you."

He set down his quill carefully and turned casually in his seat. "Will you come in? I need no ghosts lurking in the shadows. Come into the light, boy. That's better.

I moved very slowly, but with no hesitation in my steps. I stopped when I had moved halfway across the floor. We stared at each other for a while. With a sort of macabre fascination, I examined the lines of his face, the sharp nose, the cold eyes; and he watched me for some sort of clue as to the depth of my hatred, sizing me up, testing my resolve.

"Has that frightened rodent of a man, Aguilar, been talking to you?" I said nothing. "I thought he would get to you some time. I won't ask you to repeat any of it. No doubt what he told you was true. And how is Isa? And I am not referring to her health." His face cracked suddenly into a wide, evil grin.

I started. I had not been too surprised by his knowledge of Aguilar, but how had he known about Isa and me? A nasty gleam came into his eye.

"That was a guess, but you have answered my question. Had you denied it with a straight face, I may have believed you. Who would think that cold little fish would have any passion in her?"

He said this a little too sharply, and I recognized jealousy. With this my mental balance, briefly lost, returned. I forced a smile. "More than you will ever know." His face lost its mirth and his eyes grew colder. "Do not make predictions, my boy, without first checking with the greater forces of the universe. You may get a nasty surprise." Lucien rose from his table and faced me. "But what do I do with you now? No one is to know of this place. Unless, of course..." He let his words trail off expectantly. I decided to play along.

"Unless what?"

"Unless it was my assistant who knew of it. Yes, I could let one person know, if he agreed to an apprenticeship --and complete secrecy." Perfect.

My answer came with no hesitation, if a bit sardonically. "I am yours to instruct and command, sir." I bowed slightly.

Lucien chuckled dryly. "Yes, you are. I like you, Alix. You are ambitious, and smart enough not to let your feelings get in the way. I trust a good mind. I do not trust a man with too much heart. Congratulations on a choice well made."

My mother laughed a lot. In times of peace, that is how I remember her. Other times, I remember her as she was the night my father gave her the news: pale, face drawn. Staring at her plate, silent. I shall never forgive my father for that. It was unnatural for her to be that way. For her, life had always been joy. She had no defense against such feelings.

The next day I left. Three months later, I got the letter from my father, saying she had died.

No, I do not like surprises.

I will not go into detail regarding the ritual of bonding that Lucien and I performed. It mostly involved the iron pentagram in the floor and lots of black candles. I thought a lot of it was very silly, although he performed it with an energy and seriousness lacking in most of the high masses I had attended over the years. He wore a long black robe with crescent moons and stars sewn onto it, and spoke a weird mixture of Greek, Latin, French and Arabic.

When it was over, I was dismissed to my room, with instructions to return at midnight tomorrow. It was with great relief that I fell into my bed, only to be awakened two hours later, after a dreamless sleep, by cockcrow and the start of another day.

I did not see Isa that day. I stumbled through my lessons in a daze, not thinking much and occasionally dozing off. In sleep Isa's face would appear, then melt into that of Nicolas, then invariably into the coldly grinning visage of Lucien. Whenever this happened I would awaken and try to return to my Latin. The text was one Nicolas had written himself, a theoretical discussion between two scholars, one a prelate of the Church, the other a lay noble. The prelate was arguing for the careful dissemination of knowledge by the Church, including the suppression of classical writings, even books of the Bible. His arguments were mostly based on Ecclesiastes, Chapter I: "Eo quod in multa sapientia multa sit indignatio, et qui addit scientiam addit et laborem --For much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow." Since it is the purpose of the Church to give man strength to bear his sorrow, to improve the lot of man and at the same time ensure his place at the side of our saviour, to allow knowledge (sorrow) to exist freely would be a sin.

The noble, a man of great learning and vast wealth, retorted with a phrase from Plato's Republic: "Most people affirm pleasure to be the good, but the finer sort of wits say it is knowledge." He said that, given a choice, he would give up all of his possessions and lands to keep all that he had ever learned, for the greater wealth was learning, and for the Church to hold onto any of its knowledge was an abuse of its authority.

Here, Nicolas' writing took an odd but, if you knew Nicolas, entirely characteristic turn. The prelate, in a fit of rage, jumped up and called for his guards to take the noble away and put him in chains, to await his trial as a heretic. "You take too many liberties in your words, noble. Dare you to take from me my authority? Your lands are seized by the Church, until such time you are found guilty or innocent of heresy. You shall have your wish. Take him away."

The noble replied, quoting Nicolas' favorite philosopher, Diogenes: "The great thieves lead away the little thief."

It was at this point, not long before the evening meal, that I drifted once again and finally into sleep. Once again, the faces of my friends and enemies floated through my mind, and after that came a blessed blackness.

...which did not last long enough.

At first, I thought I was in the cemetery. I had not been there in some time, spending most of my sleeping hours in the castle in the forest; but there were no stones here, not even the ancient standing ones. I could not see far in the thick grey fog that pearled about me. Leafless trees rose here and there around me, stabbing tortured fingers into the darkened sky.

I felt apprehensive, so I walked aimlessly, looking around me and glancing perhaps too often behind; I nearly collided with someone. It was a man in a white robe that did not remind me of a monk so much as a druid. I stopped and watched him for a while. He was tall, but stooped. He stood staring at the ground, unmoving. Something about his stance... I moved closer and put my hand on his shoulder. He did not seem to notice. I bent and looked up into the cowl. Yes, I knew this man. Captain Jaglom.

His eyes did not seem to see me at first. I said his name, once, then again. Upon hearing it the second time, a slight scowl crossed his features. Then the eyes focused on me.

"Should I know ye, lad? I... Alix, is it? Yes..." His voice had a weak, dreamy quality to it. "Yes, it would be a tale ye'd be wantin'." His face clouded. "But there is no more tales, boy. No more. But there was somethin'... Yes, yes, I remember now. I have a message for ye."

He paused for a long time. His expression grew pained, as if with concentration. "I don't understand it, but here it is... Ye are to kill the devil. Your father said it, I think... Seemed like your father, sort of... Seems like a lot to ask of just a boy, if ye ask me..." Then he became as a statue again, staring glassily at the ground.

I shook my head as if to clear it, but I couldn't. This fog polluted my mind, so that I could not think. On impulse, I turned my back on the Captain and headed off in a new direction. I passed other figures like the Captain's, each one standing or sitting in much the same way, eyes on the ground and motionless. Then a movement of white caught my eye, off to the left, beyond another stand of trees. I thought it had a sharp edge, so I did not think it was a wisp of fog. This fog stood immobile, static; it seemed as if it were trying to still my mind as well.

It was a woman, moving haphazardly this way then that, looking about her as if confused. She crossed my path then stopped, turned, looked at me. She seemed uncertain, as if trying to decide whether to run or speak. I gestured with my hand and said, "Wait... I will not hurt you."

"Alix?" she murmured.

I froze. I knew this voice. "My God."

She was stumbling toward me. I opened my arms, and then she was in them. She seemed smaller than I remembered.

"Mother." She looked up into my face and there were tears in her eyes. My mind was starting to work again, only a little. I let my hands drop from her and stumbled away. I leaned my shoulder against a tree and slid to the ground.

This was cruel. I was being toyed with. I could feel a sob welling in my chest, and my throat began to ache. Hands came to rest on my back, hands rubbing softly, to and fro. Just as she had always comforted me.

"Alix? It is you, isn't it? You have changed... I... I think I have been here a very long time. It is hard to tell." Her voice had a sleepy, dreamy quality to it, but it was hers. All of the inflections were in place, and the soft, wistful quality that I always remembered. "It was so strange to awaken like that... I was confused at first. I didn't remember where I was. It's so-- quiet-- here...."

I lifted my head but did not look at her. Tears were freezing on my face and I was shaking.

"This is what it is like, then? This is where you go when you die?"

She did not answer me. I waited, then I looked at her. She was smiling. It was the smile I recognized, the one I loved. It meant, "foolish little boy, how I love you, but you are wrong."

"No, this is not all. That is, I know there is more, much more. I cannot remember what it's like, only that I have been there, and it's beautiful. I think it's a blessing that I do not remember. But we are here for a purpose. There is someone, a kind of savior I think, who is going to come here. Only he doesn't know it. We are waiting for him, to give him a message." She sighed and looked away. "I wish he would come."

She shook herself, seemed to awaken a little more. When she spoke again, some of the sleepy quality had left her voice. "But this is strange. You are here, and I am talking to you. That does not happen. There is only silence. You are so young, my son. I had such hope for you. What has happened to you?"

I wanted to tell her. I wanted explain about the God, the dreams, Nicolas, Lucien, the Cathars. All I could say was, "Don't worry, Mother. I'm not dead."

Her eyes flashed to mine and locked there. There was a moment of terror in them, then new awareness replaced it. As I watched the transformation, I could feel the thoughts forming in her mind, and I knew she was right.

These people were all here for me.

Then they were all there, surrounding me, staring at me dully, the souls of the dead, vacant except for one thing--need. The faces were familiar, half-remembered portraits from my town by the sea. Miller, cooper, fishwife, thief. Their eyes implored me, pleaded with me, asked the impossible.

I dared not refuse. "So He has found a way to get to me at last." I stood, took a few steps, lifted my face to the sky. "So you have awakened," I shouted. "Did you enjoy your sleep?" My words died in the wet gloom. I turned back to my mother. "So give me the message. Let's have it and be done."

She watched me reprovingly, but I stood undaunted.

"Such anger," she said, shaking her head. "I do not remember ever seeing this in you before. What has become of my son?"

"He has happened to me!" I said hotly. "I was happy before. I had you, and I had father. It was He who put the idea in Father's head, He who brought me to Toulouse! He stopped me from saving my best and only friend from death! And now here you are, with a message from Him." I fell into speechless sobbing and my mother came forward and took me in her arms. My mother's arms. If only in some other place...

"He is good and wise. There is no more darkness because of Him." She pushed me away gently and looked at me. "He has hurt you. I can see that. This I do not understand... There is much that I do not understand... but it must be for the best."

Something was jabbing me inside. What she had just said... "You said that there was no more darkness because of Him. Don't you see it? He is the darkness. He is the bringer of pain. I used to think that there were two, but there is only Him, the God, somewhere in our minds or in our souls. We belong to him. And I think he belongs to us. Either we are His folly, or He is ours. It does not really matter. Do you see? There will always be pain, because there will always be Him. Within us or without us, it doesn't matter... Mother!"

She was fading, slowly dissipating into the mist. On her face was a smile, and her eyes were turned to the sky as she nodded slighlty and said, "Yes. Yes." Then she was gone.

I wiped my eyes and thought of the place I needed to be and willed myself there.

The castle was empty. Riothamus did not meet me. The horses were gone. Even the ghosts which sometimes haunted the place did not appear. And I knew that if I were to take a walk through the forest, no Sortii would dog my steps or peer from the shadows. The silence was absolute. I bumped and stubbed my way through the moonless gloom to the library, where I lit all of the candles I could find. I sat in the window, musing. A shuffle from across the room startled me.

A boy stood there, not much younger than me... I looked again. It was me, or my image, which regarded me. But the eyes... those were not my eyes.

No.

"I thought," I said casually, "you had given up on me."

"Not nearly as quickly as you gave up on me." At least the voice was not mine. It was bad enough that I was talking to myself.

"You expected loyalty, then? Mine is a mind that worships reason. You have never given me cause for any of the things you asked of me."

"I know that what I want from you is very much. What I don't know is whether you will give it to me."

"Go to Hell."

He grinned. "Hell. Yes. Let me explain a few things." I stared out over the tree tops. A giant orange harvest moon was rising rapidly over the panorama.

"That was a very good speech you made. The one to your mother, I mean." He paused, as if waiting for an answer. I did not accommodate Him. "And, it was very correct. You see, I am not what everyone says I am. I am more and I am less."

"You are not God!" I spat.

He laughed. "You say that so accusingly... well, no matter. No, I am not God in the sense that you have come to think of God. I did not create the universe. But I am, in some ways, its master. This isn't a responsibility I relish. After all, I'm only human." He chuckled dryly. "At least, I am given, sometimes, to human frailties. One of them is the Sleep."

Now he had me hooked. I turned from the window and regarded him. His face had lost some of its boyishness. He was solemn, even grim. This must be how I had come to look, most of the time. "There is little that I do not understand. I am as old as age. But this thing I have never comprehended, this sleep. It comes over me slowly, but there is little that I can do about it. First I sleep, sometimes for centuries, sometimes only for years. Then, when I awaken, either I am myself, or... or another. That is, I am still me, but as if I were... well, mad."

That chilled me to the marrow. The idea of a god gone mad was terrifying.

He was standing across the room, with a sort of supplicating look on his face. Part of me wanted to laugh. "Are you asking me to forgive you? That's what you're saying, isn't it? That you were not yourself, that you were not responsible for the things you did, to me, to Nicolas?"

He shook his head before I had finished. "Forgiveness is not mine to ask for. I do not require it, I do not need it. But damage has been done. There is a man... you know him. His name is Lucien."

"Wait. I thought things were different now. You still want me to kill for you? How have you changed?"

He stared at the floor, shoulders hunched.

"And what have you done with Riothamus? Do you fear him too?"

His eyes flashed up. "No. I have done nothing with him. He left here because he wanted to. He left this place open to me so that I could come to you. It is true that I wanted you to kill Lucien then, and that I want you to kill him now. The reason is the same, too. I may have been mad, Alix, but not that mad. The death of mankind is my death as well.

"I cannot undo my mistakes without help. Will you destroy him? Answer me now. Yes or no?"


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