I will tell you what I have learned."
"Find the way to this place again?" A voice behind his back; he did not even know who it was. "Do you think one can find the way again who does not believe in the Mother?"
Dominick sighed. "I already found it once. And I never said I did not believe in your Mother. I simply do not trust her in the least."
Chapter 2: Ber
A letter to Ber Adept Catechist Endarion from Eliss Librarian, Year of the Master 397:
There are easy paths. Those are the paths of the ignorant, the common folk who drift through their lives with no sense of purpose, with no responsibility but fulfilling their small, insignificant needs. Then there are harder paths—those of Mentors and Militia, whose task and burden is to care for both the individual and society by prodding people into wholesomeness; and the paths of nobles, who care for the land and kept the Aetarx safe.
I know some of these paths intimately.
But Bers tread the hardest path of all. It is the path that brings Mierenthia warmth and light, the path to keep the world whole and protected from the terrors that lurk beyond the Edges. It is a path that winds along the sharp, slippery Edge between coldness and burning; the path where the tiniest misstep might swing you into an icy abyss or an inferno. At least, this is what I gather from your scarce words, Endarion.
Please, Endarion, don't lose your balance.
Galina Songmaker, future Ber Adept Sagacitor Galina, to a trusted friend, Mierber, Year of the Master 650:
You know why Bers dislike songs and music? Because they fear them. Because the Powers That Be, the Bessove, love songs and music and will come to listen to songs that come straight from the heart. This is how you summon Bessove, with songs and music. And this is how you banish them if you know the right melodies and words. Bers don't. What they do know is that the Bessove hate and fear metal, and so the Bers have enclosed the whole world in it.
Are Bessove the reason why the Bers control all art, you ask? Are they the reason why not only songs and music are regulated and crippled but also stories, fairytales, pictures, sculptures, and anything that would have had a heart of its own if you let it? Who knows. It might be that. Or it might be that the Bers are so trapped into stiff old habits and stiff old ways that they cannot truly see and feel the world any more. So, they would not let us see and feel it, either.
Merley
Morning 13 of the First Quarter, Year of the Master 706
"What do you see?"
Merley jumped at the old man's voice, although it was a kind voice, deep and melodic, a voice that, if trees or buildings could speak, would belong to a forest oak and never to a gray, cold Ber tower. Then again, perhaps even Ber towers did not like being gray and cold. Perhaps in their dreams they were sunny and bright, or cold only with the special warm and kind coldness of snow sprinkling their flaming roofs with an array of fine crystals.
Had the old man ever seen a forest oak?
"I see many things," she replied as she faced him, emotion barely discernible in her voice.
"Oh, I see." His nose twitched as he pushed his pince-nez up, murmuring something like, "I'll tighten the clip one of these days, I shall." The accused clip wasted no time in slipping back, and Merley almost smiled as Darius issued a more vehement murmur, rummaging through the pockets of his red robe.
Ber Adept, the red color signified. Black for the novices to remind them of the highest honor bestowed upon them by the Master: that but for the power he gifted to few, they would have been smoldered to black, charred flesh and ashes. White robes like Merley's for the acolytes, who for a year had been training to shed the blackness of their hearts, and were now clean and ready for the Master's wisdom. Yellow for the generalists, who shone with borrowed light, who for ten white-robed years had gathered knowledge of many paths but had no deep mastery of any path. Red for the adepts—the
"Find the way to this place again?" A voice behind his back; he did not even know who it was. "Do you think one can find the way again who does not believe in the Mother?"
Dominick sighed. "I already found it once. And I never said I did not believe in your Mother. I simply do not trust her in the least."
Chapter 2: Ber
A letter to Ber Adept Catechist Endarion from Eliss Librarian, Year of the Master 397:
There are easy paths. Those are the paths of the ignorant, the common folk who drift through their lives with no sense of purpose, with no responsibility but fulfilling their small, insignificant needs. Then there are harder paths—those of Mentors and Militia, whose task and burden is to care for both the individual and society by prodding people into wholesomeness; and the paths of nobles, who care for the land and kept the Aetarx safe.
I know some of these paths intimately.
But Bers tread the hardest path of all. It is the path that brings Mierenthia warmth and light, the path to keep the world whole and protected from the terrors that lurk beyond the Edges. It is a path that winds along the sharp, slippery Edge between coldness and burning; the path where the tiniest misstep might swing you into an icy abyss or an inferno. At least, this is what I gather from your scarce words, Endarion.
Please, Endarion, don't lose your balance.
Galina Songmaker, future Ber Adept Sagacitor Galina, to a trusted friend, Mierber, Year of the Master 650:
You know why Bers dislike songs and music? Because they fear them. Because the Powers That Be, the Bessove, love songs and music and will come to listen to songs that come straight from the heart. This is how you summon Bessove, with songs and music. And this is how you banish them if you know the right melodies and words. Bers don't. What they do know is that the Bessove hate and fear metal, and so the Bers have enclosed the whole world in it.
Are Bessove the reason why the Bers control all art, you ask? Are they the reason why not only songs and music are regulated and crippled but also stories, fairytales, pictures, sculptures, and anything that would have had a heart of its own if you let it? Who knows. It might be that. Or it might be that the Bers are so trapped into stiff old habits and stiff old ways that they cannot truly see and feel the world any more. So, they would not let us see and feel it, either.
Merley
Morning 13 of the First Quarter, Year of the Master 706
"What do you see?"
Merley jumped at the old man's voice, although it was a kind voice, deep and melodic, a voice that, if trees or buildings could speak, would belong to a forest oak and never to a gray, cold Ber tower. Then again, perhaps even Ber towers did not like being gray and cold. Perhaps in their dreams they were sunny and bright, or cold only with the special warm and kind coldness of snow sprinkling their flaming roofs with an array of fine crystals.
Had the old man ever seen a forest oak?
"I see many things," she replied as she faced him, emotion barely discernible in her voice.
"Oh, I see." His nose twitched as he pushed his pince-nez up, murmuring something like, "I'll tighten the clip one of these days, I shall." The accused clip wasted no time in slipping back, and Merley almost smiled as Darius issued a more vehement murmur, rummaging through the pockets of his red robe.
Ber Adept, the red color signified. Black for the novices to remind them of the highest honor bestowed upon them by the Master: that but for the power he gifted to few, they would have been smoldered to black, charred flesh and ashes. White robes like Merley's for the acolytes, who for a year had been training to shed the blackness of their hearts, and were now clean and ready for the Master's wisdom. Yellow for the generalists, who shone with borrowed light, who for ten white-robed years had gathered knowledge of many paths but had no deep mastery of any path. Red for the adepts—the
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