was. Koscuisko would be expected to conform to those standards once he reached Scylla. It was up to Joslire to instruct him by example. Joslire laid a clean towel across Koscuisko’s lap and began to address the upper part of Koscuisko’s right knee, where yesterday’s training bruise was just beginning to mellow to a rich gold-and-purple blotch around the joint.
And after a moment Koscuisko spoke again.
“What is the manner in which an Emandisan frees himself from error, if he has sinned? Is there such a need in your birth-culture?”
It didn’t seem to be related to the issue Joslire had raised, but there was no telling. Chonis had commented on Koscuisko’s effective — but sometimes disconcerting — tendency to come at a question from an angle that was itself part of his answer to whatever problem.
He wasn’t eager to answer all the same; such issues weren’t widely discussed among free Emandisan, let alone enslaved ones. Of which latter category he was the only one he knew. He hadn’t wanted to tell Student Pefisct what his crime had been, either, since it wasn’t information he was required to surrender, on demand; but Student Pefisct had gotten it out of him at the last, when his enforced submission had come too late to do him any good. Joslire decided that he couldn’t face the memory of his last attempt at serious reticence. It would be easier to capitulate to Koscuisko’s casually phrased demand.
“If it please the officer, there is only . . . disrespect. Of steel.” He wasn’t sure how to say it and be faithful. It didn’t translate very well; he’d never tried to put it into Standard before. Perhaps he’d been lucky that his other Students hadn’t been curious about his five-knives. Joslire could imagine no worse torment than to be constrained to discuss what Emandisan steel meant to an Emandisan.
Koscuisko didn’t seem to be disturbed at the vagueness of Joslire’s response. Koscuisko stretched, yawning, and folded his wrists behind his head, staring up at the low gray ceiling of the cool room reflectively.
“You make it sound quite simple. Is something the matter, Joslire?”
Yes. He’d been thinking about Student Pefisct. Joslire ducked his head to obscure his confusion, following a line of muscle down the outside edge of Koscuisko’s shin with the hard knuckle of his thumb. “It never is as simple as it sounds. With the officer’s permission.”
“There is more truth than comfort there, however.” Koscuisko did not seem to suspect any hidden thought, apparently content to follow his own stream to the rock. “Where I am at home, there are three great sins, and all others relate to one or more of them in some way. But none are unforgivable except the three most grievous ones.”
What three great sins were those? Joslire wondered. He had done all he could with Koscuisko’s knee. Moving around to stand at the head of the rub-table, Joslire began to finish on Koscuisko’s shoulders, listening to his Student talk.
“And the first, perhaps the most difficult thing, is that you must confess yourself, or never hope to be forgiven. This is very annoying, Joslire. One would think that if the whole world knew that one had spoken with disrespect about one’s elder brother or one’s uncle that it would be enough to have one’s penance decided and made known to one, and be done with it.”
This was good. This was the sort of thing that he had been hoping for when he had asked the question. There was every reason to expect that Tutor Chonis would be able to explain what Koscuisko had been getting at, when the time came to give Chonis his report.
“But one would be mistaken. There can be no reconciliation without repentance, and there can be no repentance without acknowledgment of fault, and there can be no acknowledgment of fault without individual confession. I wonder how different it can be when all is said and sung, Joslire.”
Maybe it wasn’t all that different at that.
And after a moment Koscuisko spoke again.
“What is the manner in which an Emandisan frees himself from error, if he has sinned? Is there such a need in your birth-culture?”
It didn’t seem to be related to the issue Joslire had raised, but there was no telling. Chonis had commented on Koscuisko’s effective — but sometimes disconcerting — tendency to come at a question from an angle that was itself part of his answer to whatever problem.
He wasn’t eager to answer all the same; such issues weren’t widely discussed among free Emandisan, let alone enslaved ones. Of which latter category he was the only one he knew. He hadn’t wanted to tell Student Pefisct what his crime had been, either, since it wasn’t information he was required to surrender, on demand; but Student Pefisct had gotten it out of him at the last, when his enforced submission had come too late to do him any good. Joslire decided that he couldn’t face the memory of his last attempt at serious reticence. It would be easier to capitulate to Koscuisko’s casually phrased demand.
“If it please the officer, there is only . . . disrespect. Of steel.” He wasn’t sure how to say it and be faithful. It didn’t translate very well; he’d never tried to put it into Standard before. Perhaps he’d been lucky that his other Students hadn’t been curious about his five-knives. Joslire could imagine no worse torment than to be constrained to discuss what Emandisan steel meant to an Emandisan.
Koscuisko didn’t seem to be disturbed at the vagueness of Joslire’s response. Koscuisko stretched, yawning, and folded his wrists behind his head, staring up at the low gray ceiling of the cool room reflectively.
“You make it sound quite simple. Is something the matter, Joslire?”
Yes. He’d been thinking about Student Pefisct. Joslire ducked his head to obscure his confusion, following a line of muscle down the outside edge of Koscuisko’s shin with the hard knuckle of his thumb. “It never is as simple as it sounds. With the officer’s permission.”
“There is more truth than comfort there, however.” Koscuisko did not seem to suspect any hidden thought, apparently content to follow his own stream to the rock. “Where I am at home, there are three great sins, and all others relate to one or more of them in some way. But none are unforgivable except the three most grievous ones.”
What three great sins were those? Joslire wondered. He had done all he could with Koscuisko’s knee. Moving around to stand at the head of the rub-table, Joslire began to finish on Koscuisko’s shoulders, listening to his Student talk.
“And the first, perhaps the most difficult thing, is that you must confess yourself, or never hope to be forgiven. This is very annoying, Joslire. One would think that if the whole world knew that one had spoken with disrespect about one’s elder brother or one’s uncle that it would be enough to have one’s penance decided and made known to one, and be done with it.”
This was good. This was the sort of thing that he had been hoping for when he had asked the question. There was every reason to expect that Tutor Chonis would be able to explain what Koscuisko had been getting at, when the time came to give Chonis his report.
“But one would be mistaken. There can be no reconciliation without repentance, and there can be no repentance without acknowledgment of fault, and there can be no acknowledgment of fault without individual confession. I wonder how different it can be when all is said and sung, Joslire.”
Maybe it wasn’t all that different at that.
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