Young Bleys - Childe Cycle 09 (12 page)

whoever the supplier was and cross-examining that person to make sure he was not getting hit as hard as he had got hit this last time—which seemed to him to be much more than was necessary.

By the fourth day, however, he was well enough to be up and about, although his strength did not allow him to do too much in the way of cleaning, and the other two boys took care of this.

The day after that he was fine, and Dahno who had left after delivering the white pills and having a very short talk with Henry, returned, bringing a reader, books, and a schedule of studies that Bleys was to concern himself with.

"You'll take over the inside work again," Henry instructed him, "and such light jobs outside as I myself set you to. But the last four hours of every afternoon you'll devote to these studies that Dahno has brought you to do. And this will take the place of your regular schooling, when school opens."

Looking around at the three faces of Henry, Joshua and Will, Bleys could see no expression on the faces of the boys that showed envy or any thought of favoritism, nor any expression on Henry himself other than that he normally wore.

CHAPTER
10

"Uncle," said Bleys
, "I thank God for your kindness and care of me, all that night when I was ill and you put cold cloths on my head and helped me."

It was two days after Dahno had shown up with the study materials and had a brief, private talk with Henry. This was the first chance that Bleys had had to be alone with his uncle in the house and speak to him. What he had to say would be more effective if the two were alone. He did not know exactly what Dahno had told Henry; but he did not need to know that precisely. Dahno would have stuck very closely to the story they had agreed on during their last visit to Ecumeny together.

At the moment, Henry was working at one end of the dining table, busy with accounts dealing with the goats; and at the other end Bleys was reading his calculus book. At Bleys' words, Henry looked up. His face had stiffened a little. It was close to, but not quite, a forbidding look.

"You need never thank God for that, boy," he said. "I did only my duty.
'Where there
are sick, you shall minister to
them'
—Teacher Gregg spoke a sermon on that topic not three months ago. But I need no sermon to remind me of my duty."

"Still," Bleys said, "I thank God for your kindness, Uncle. I've also thanked God, not once but more than once, for bringing me to live with you and Joshua and Will. Particularly, I'm thankful to know Joshua and Will. They've taught me all sorts of things that I needed to know. Things they probably learned from you; but I'd never had a chance to learn, before."

A faint shadow of difference disturbed the stiff look on Henry's face. After a moment it melted back to his ordinary expression.

"It's good of you to think well of your cousins," Henry said, dryly. "Perhaps it's prideful of me, but I think they're good boys, myself; and due to be good men in years to come. I'll be happy if it's so; and I'll be happy also if you grow to be like them."

He looked sharply back down at his slips of paper, arranged as usual in order before him.

"Now, back to your work, Bleys!" he said, "and I must get back to mine. Neither of us has time to chatter."

Bleys turned cheerfully to a book on wave-theory. As was his usual habit, he had first read through all his textbooks as if they were works of entertainment, merely letting himself be filled with the beauty of the things they proved and showed. Then he read through a second time, slowly, eager to stop and try his own hand at doing the things they explained.

But in this case, the lightheadedness inside him was for a different reason. He had just proved something he had suspected; and that was that Henry deeply loved his sons and was already becoming fond of Bleys himself—although he would never admit or show it. Bleys had never seen him hug, or even touch Will or Joshua. The most Bleys had seen any of the boys get from him had been a sparse word of approval; or that touch of a wintry smile which seemed the most Henry could do in showing an expression of pleasure.

But Bleys had also watched the boys, in those moments; and he knew they were not deceived. They read their father as clearly as Bleys was coming to do. They knew the affection was in him; and that the brief smile was the equivalent of exuberant praise from someone of a different nature.

Now Bleys felt he had finally broken through Henry's outer armor to his inner feelings.

It was a beginning. The fourth day after that was a church-day and they all went, Henry, Joshua, Will and Bleys, in the goat cart.

They were among the first few families to get there. Bleys noticed that Gregg stood at the entrance to the church, welcoming those who had come for the service. Bleys found, however, that the other families that were already there, and those that arrived after—for he, Henry and the boys stayed outside until the actual time for the services themselves— greeted Henry and the boys warmly, but were fairly cool to him, even after Henry had introduced him as his nephew.

Finally they all went into the church. Just inside the doorway, in a little anteroom with hooks on which to hang clothes—evidently a sort of cloakroom—Henry stopped Bleys while the boys went on down the center aisle of the church.

"We share the pew with the Howardson family," he explained to Bleys, "and there is room for no one else in it. I'm afraid you'll have to sit further back and by yourself, Bleys."

Bleys was not unhappy to do so. He preferred to be at the back where he could watch but not be watched by the rest of the congregation.

"That's quite all right, Uncle," he said, "anywhere in God's house is all the same, isn't it?"

"Yes," Henry said, looking at him keenly, "you're exactly right, Bleys."

The last few pews were completely vacant. Bleys sat down in the last one to the left of the aisle and watched the other families filing into the church and going to their pews farther up front. Finally, when the last of them seemed to have filed in, a middle-aged man with a gunbelt and empty power-pistol holster around his rather capacious belly came in and sat down beside him, giving Bleys a friendly smile.

"I'm Adrian Wiseman," he said in a whisper, offering his

hand. "I'm church constable. You'll be Bleys Ahrens, Henry MacLean's nephew who's just come to live with him."

"Yes," whispered Bleys back, taking the hand gratefully. "Why are you wearing a gunbelt—and where's the pistol that goes with it?"

"Shh," said Adrian, "service's starting. I'll explain it all to you afterwards."

After the church service, which lasted a little over two hours, Bleys got up and followed Adrian out to the cloakroom in time to see him lift a power pistol off a shelf and put it in the holster at his side. He turned, saw Bleys and took him by the sleeve, pulling him back into the church out of the way of the other church members who were filing out. He sat down, pulling Bleys down to join him in the pew they had both just left.

"The church constable," said Adrian, in a low voice, if no longer in a whisper, "has the duty of protecting the service from outside interruption."

"Who'd interrupt?" asked Bleys, fascinated.

"Members of other churches who don't like ours," explained Adrian. "It can be an actual attack by members of another church. But usually, it's just teen-age youngsters who might want to show off their bravery by disrupting our service. Even trouble like that doesn't happen often. But when it does I need to get to the gun quickly; probably not to use, but as a threat, to drive them off."

"Why don't you wear it all the time then?" asked Bleys, fascinated. "—Oh, I know—it's because you're not supposed to bring a gun into church."

Adrian smiled approvingly at him.

"You're right," he said, "for my purposes, the cloakroom is considered outside the church. At the same time I want to be able to get at the weapon quickly in case I need it."

"And that's why you don't take off the gunbelt itself?" Bleys asked.

"Yes," said Adrian.

At that moment, Henry and the boys came down the aisle and collected Bleys, after a few friendly words between Henry and Adrian. It was not until they were in the goat-cart on the way home, that Bleys had a chance to ask further questions of Henry.

"Uncle?" he said, "how often does one church actually ever attack another? I mean—with all the people in the church doing the attacking."

"Rarely, nowadays," said Henry. His mouth was suddenly a straight line in his face. "I've seen it and I hope none of you ever do. It's a cruel thing to see brothers and sisters in the Lord killing each other over the interpretation of a single line of scripture."

Bleys had not been so chilled by Henry's manner or tone of voice since he had first met him at the spaceport. As soon as possible, in the afternoon of the next day, he asked Joshua why his father was so grim on the subject of wars between churches.

Joshua hesitated.

"If he wants you to know, he'll tell you himself," Joshua said.

Bleys had never had Joshua evade a question of his before. "You know he won't," Bleys said. "He never tells me anything."

Joshua still hesitated. Finally, with an effort he spoke.

"He told me to tell Will when Will was old enough. I guess he'd be agreeable to me telling you. You're family, too." Joshua hesitated again. "Bleys—he's been a Soldier of God!"

"A Soldier of God? You mean he was drafted on one of the levies you have here every so often, for young men to fight off-planet, so as to improve Association's interstellar income?"

"No, no," said Joshua, "—though he's been that, too. He ean tell you about that when he wants. He's never really told me. No, a Soldier of God is—well, sometimes, Bleys, when a church gets attacked by some other church, the church that's attacked gets help from members of those fellow churches that're on friendly terms with it. I mean, it's up to the members. Father has fought for other churches than his own."

"Oh, I see," said Bleys. "He made money that way—"

"Money! Of course not!" Joshua was outraged. "Not even a

Fanatic would fight for money alone! No, he fought for the people of the church that was attacked—at first."

"But I don't understand," said Bleys. "You say 'at first.' What did he fight for after that?"

"No, you don't understand, Bleys," said Joshua, patiently. "To fight for God's people is all right. Most of those who offer their help this way, do it for the people of the church they're helping. But . . . sometimes, after a while they come to like, it. The fighting, itself. The fighting, and—God help us—the killing. In the end they just go from church war to church war. Father found one day he . . . well, he didn't trust himself to fight with a pure heart any longer. The militia were finally called in on a war he was part of, and
...
but he'll have to tell you that part himself, Bleys. I can't."

Joshua was upset; and Bleys had never seen him upset before.

"Even when we need to shoot some rabbits for the evening stew," Joshua went on in an emotion-filled voice, "he has me do it. You've seen me take the gun and go out and bring the rabbits back, but you've never seen him, have you? That's because he doesn't like touching any kind of weapon, even today. I don't think he's laid hands on the needle gun more than two or three times that I can remember in my life; and then it was only to clean it in some special way or fix it for me."

"It's all right, Josh," Bleys said, hastily. "Never mind. You're right. He'll tell me himself when the time comes."

In the days and weeks and months that followed, Bleys worked to fit himself into the pattern of life that was Henry's, and that of the other members of his-church. From time to time, understandings would come to him, even without conscious searching. He would suddenly realize that an action, one attitude, or a word by one of the other three had held a meaning he had not suspected before.

These bits of information he saved and fitted together. Little by little, he got to know each of them better. But particularly, he got to know Henry.

The brief fall came, followed by the long winter, a time of cold rains and blustery winds, here in these latitudes. He continued to study apart from those in the little school, that now daily took not only Joshua but Will from the farm. Aside from this one difference, however, he was part of their lives; and was beginning to find a peacefulness and a comfort in the regular patterns of them.

He went to the little church with them, and listened to Gregg preach. He joined with them in their hymns, that were sung, according to the conviction of their sect, without any musical accompaniment, and knelt also and prayed with them.

Struggle as he might, however, none of this brought him any closer to their belief in a God. But he began to feel a solidarity with them, that was like a warmth wrapping them all together in a single large blanket. There was a reassurance in being part of their small community; a stability that he had never felt with his mother and his mother's friends.

All this meant a great deal to Bleys, who had hungered for such stability. When he was with one of the other local people, he seemed to be liked and get along well. But little changes in the person's attitude, as he or she turned from him to give their attention to another member of the congregation, seemed to signal a lessening of this apparent liking for him. He feared that his old problem—that of being recognized as
different—
was affecting their attitudes, even if only unconsciously. It was as if they could smell his inability to believe in a God and be like them.

This was backed up one day when he was in the bedroom and he heard Will, who had just come in, speaking to Henry. "Father—" Will's voice asked. "Yes, Will," Henry's answered.

"Why don't the other church members like Bleys? He prays more than any of them; and he's always so good to everybody else. Joshua and I like him a lot!"

"Will," said Henry, "every person has a right to their own likes and dislikes. Pay no attention to how others feel toward your cousin. In time they may come to feel like you and Joshua toward him."

Here, the same things happened six days a week, all except the one church-day, and everyone was caught up in them together. The same rhythm of work and living possessed them all; and he was part of them in that. In a strange way, though it could never take the place of the love he had never had from his mother, it dulled the ache of that lack, which had never completely left him before this. But the source of their own comfort eluded him.

Yet, he came to understand how the effects of Henry's belief built a solid structure to the human race and the universe surrounding it. It was all ordered, planned, brought to a singleness and permanence for which Bleys found his inner self yearned. Surely, if there was a way to belief in God, it was through appreciating and understanding this single, orderly universe that centered around him.

He resolved to redouble his prayers and his efforts to find the deity.

If he could not have love, at least he could have this single, orderly universe. All he needed to do was accept the idea of an all-powerful, controlling God.

Meanwhile, his visits with Dahno had become more and more informative and interesting. Gradually, Dahno was introducing him to the life and structure of the city of Ecumeny.

He had begun taking Bleys about the city, showing him the various parts of it, and explaining how they worked, on this religiously-oriented New World. But he avoided any reference to, and stopped any questions about, his own goals in all this. Nor could Bleys find out from him what part he played, in the city and the world.

So it continued; until one weekend, when he talked Henry into letting him take Bleys for a four-day visit to Ecumeny, over Sunday.

"Of course," Henry frowned, "but the boy will miss church."

"No I won't, Uncle," said Bleys, "will I, Dahno?" Dahno smiled.

"I don't know if your church has a place in Ecumeny," he said to Henry.

"It does," said Henry. "I'll write the address down for you."

He did so on one of his slips of paper; and—interestingly enough—handed it not to Dahno, but to Bleys. Bleys folded it and put it in his shirt pocket.

"Well," said Dahno, "that's taken care of, then. Is there any other reason why Bleys shouldn't go?"

"None," said Henry. He looked directly at Dahno. "You'll take good care of him, of course."

"Of course," answered Dahno.

"You understand me," Henry said, still directly to Dahno, "the boy has lived with us for some time now and in the way of the Lord. You'll not lead him anywhere he shouldn't go?"

"I won't, Uncle," said Dahno warmly, "I promise you."

So, it was settled. But in the hovercar, once Dahno had turned on to the highway, he burst into a sudden bellow of laughter. He turned his head to look at Bleys, momentarily, a broad smile on his face.

"Good old Uncle Henry!" he said, "making sure I won't lead you astray!"

"I wouldn't be led astray, in any case," answered Bleys, levelly, meeting his brother's eyes.

The smile did not leave Dahno's face as he glanced at Bleys again, but it was diminished and the expression of the face around it had altered.

"Don't forget those milk-teeth, Little Brother," he said, gently. "Wait until you've got some real tusks."

Bleys fell silent; and nothing more was said on the ride in until they were almost into the city. Then Bleys spoke again.

"Why did you want me for four days?" Bleys asked.

"Because it's time for you to start school," answered Dahno without looking at him, "a different sort of school, Little Brother. My school. It's a place where you teach yourself; and it's most important in this case that you teach yourself rather than anyone else teaching you—including me."

Bleys' question had come because Dahno was heading the hovercar in toward a different section of Ecumeny than they had gone into before. He tucked Dahno's answer in the back of his mind, to let it ferment and wait for other small items of