13 Mink Street

Chapter 77: For The Rest Of Your Life, Live Without Grievance

An old man supported another old man walking down the street. They moved slowly, yet the scenery on both sides seemed to zoom past them.

“So you’re going to sleep, just like that?” Rasma asked, looking at Tiz, whom he was helping along.

“Yes.”

“And you can bear to do it?” Rasma shook his head, unable to understand.

“When you have something that truly matters, everything else stops being something you can’t part with.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Rasma sighed. “People are selfish. Even if something is a lie, once you’ve believed it for most of your life, whether it’s true or false no longer really matters. Denying the lie is easy. What’s hard is denying yourself.”

Rasma pointed at himself. “For example, if I discovered I was wrong, I’d probably choose to keep pretending to be stupid. Wrong is wrong, so what? It’s not that big a deal.”

“I once thought the same.”

“And then?”

“And then I condensed a second godhead fragment.”

“...”

“It’s painful. Whether you believe or don’t believe, or even if you choose to avoid it and sink into passivity, it won’t let you go.”

“When you say ‘it,’ what are you referring to?”

“Order.”

“Oh. Oh.” Rasma nodded twice. “So is this what you call joyful suffering?”

“Happiness is only a surface appearance that easily fades while the pain at its core endures. Look at those three today. If it had been any other opponent provoking them, they would never have allowed such insolence to continue. The more indulgence they showed to me today, the more it proves how important godhead fragments are to the Temple of Order right now.”

“I’m not qualified to enter, so I don’t know,” Rasma said. “You understand that the Church and the Temple look like one entity, though they are really two completely different worlds.”

At this moment, Tiz gently pressed on Rasma’s arm. The man slowed, and the surrounding scenery seemed to slow with them.

A small truck loaded with pigs passed by the two of men.

Tiz spoke, “What do those look like to you?”

Rasma answered almost without thinking. “Believers.”

After answering, Rasma even laughed at himself. It was hard to imagine that the High Priest of the Church of Order would say something like that.

“And the driver?”

“Me,” Rasma replied.

Tiz shook his head. “You’re not worthy.”

“I really hate talking to you, Tiz!”

“It’s the Temple elders.”

“And the butcher shop owner is...” Rasma pointed upward.

“Yes.”

“So what’s the situation now?” Rasma asked, puzzled. “Which part went wrong, exactly?”

“You already know which part went wrong.”

“I’m not like you. You spend most of your time in Roja City. I spend most of my time in the church, and my authority allows me to read almost all internal records.”

“This isn’t exactly a secret, but when compared to the previous epoch, when the gods appeared one after another in a dazzling fashion, the records of such things happening during this epoch are pitifully few. No, it’s almost fair to say there are none.”

“That’s why a single grand divine descent ritual can alarm all sides now, like the one in Belwyn City a few months ago. Heh. In the previous epoch, that time when true gods, savage gods, and heretical gods ran rampant, what would a grand divine descent ritual even count for?”

“What do you think?” Tiz asked. “What caused the change?”

“The mainstream theory among the major churches is that the rules of the world have changed, and that prevents gods from descending as frequently as they did in the previous epoch. But whether that’s really the case, and if so, what caused it, there’s no convincing explanation.”

“That’s why our God of Order has become more anxious,” Tiz said. “When even true gods are living difficult lives, someone who isn’t a true god will have it even worse.”

“But that doesn’t quite line up with your earlier analogy,” Rasma said. “The pigs, the driver, and the butcher?”

“It’s because of the truck that happens to be carrying pigs.”

“Oh, I see. That’s a very convincing explanation. So all we need to do is assume the owner needs more goods? No, that’s not right. It should be that the owner needs more drivers?”

“Every Temple elder who condenses a godhead fragment is essentially a driver who brings their own truck to help deliver goods.”

“So the godhead fragment is like the truck?”

“Yes.”

“So the problem now is that drivers aren’t lacking, but trucks are?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are trucks lacking?” Rasma asked.

“I thought you’d ask me why I don’t just go to a factory to buy more trucks.”

“Do you think I’m that stupid, Tiz? I know this is just an analogy, and a bad one at that. How could I ask such a brainless question?”

Rasma paused, then asked in a quieter voice, “Can the trucks really not be bought?”

“All along, godhead fragments were what he truly wanted. The drivers were just delivering the goods. It’s just that drivers and trucks only appear together, so we notice when there’s a decrease in drivers, overlooking the fact that what’s really decreasing is the trucks.”

“A driver is only a driver if he has a truck.”

“If he doesn’t even have a truck, then he can only be called...”

“Called what?”

“You.”

“Damn, this analogy is leaping all over!”

“So, in an epoch where the gods no longer descend, why is it that only our Church of Order shows such an obvious decline?”

“What kind of decline are you talking about? The Church of Order has always been very powerful.”

“The Church of Order is a faith barely more than one epoch old. Compared to churches with legacies spanning two or more epochs, we became powerful because the Temple of Order preserves the remains of successive Temple elders and beings of your level. The Church’s original doctrinal power is the ability to awaken powerful beings from the past; not unconscious manipulation, but true awakening. That allowed our accumulation to always move in a positive direction. We could build tremendous strength in a shorter time, because we didn’t let go of even the dead.”

“But since the beginning of this epoch, the number of people promoted to Temple elder has fallen off a cliff. This hasn’t occurred in the other churches, which is why I believe the problem lies in our operating rules themselves, in the rules of Order that we believe in.

“Other churches generate faith first, then give birth to a god. Faith and divinity circulate, forming a cycle.

“Our Church of Order, as seen from its mythological accounts, began with companions who followed the God of Order after being ‘awakened’ by him.

“Also, why do we believe the God of Order separated gods from humans and set rules for gods? Because his style was to use the Light of Order for punishment. In the previous epoch, our God of Order was the one who hunted the most gods. That even gave rise to the story of the purple bookmark.

“He was hungry. He was feeding.

“Have you noticed? The other major churches, once they grow strong, they develop subordinates. Figures from their earliest murals may go on to found their own smaller churches, yet if you read through the mythological records of the Church of Order, you’ll find that it has never produced any subordinates.

“Because if he couldn’t satiate even his own appetite, how could he allow food to be sent elsewhere?

“Since this epoch began, the gods have nearly stopped appearing, and with that, his prey have disappeared. Compared to other true gods, he would be affected even more. So now, instead of using the rules of Order to hunt other deities, he’s been forced to turn back and open his mouth, eating the flesh that this very rule continuously sends to him.

“Other churches’ systems are like rain falling to the earth, evaporating under the sun, returning to the sky, then falling again. There may be droughts and floods, but most of the time the cycle holds.

“But since this epoch began, our cycle has already broken. He no longer absorbs and then returns. Instead, he turns his blade upon his former hunting dogs and starts eating meat. The more he eats, the weaker the cycle becomes. From here on, the number of people who can condense godhead fragments along this rule will only decrease.

“Rasma, you’ve read the notes of many past High Priests. Haven’t you ever noticed...”

“Yes,” Rasma replied immediately. “When I read their notes and experiences, I often wondered why such foolish people were able to so easily advance and become Temple elders.”

“Exactly. In the previous epoch, you, Rasma, would have entered the Temple long ago and condensed a godhead fragment.”

“And yet you’ve already condensed three?” As soon as he asked, Rasma regretted it. “Forget it. Pretend I didn’t ask. You’re Tiz.”

Because you are Tiz, the proper reaction isn’t to ask how you could condense three, but to express astonishment that you only

condensed three. “I condensed three,” Tiz agreed.

“Yes, yes, I know. I saw it. You left Elder Sithe staring like a village woman who’s never seen the world.”

“I condensed three.”

“I know, I know!”

“But each one is small,” Tiz said.

Rasma froze, then asked, “So what you’re saying is?”

“In the previous epoch, many churches produced subordinates in their mythologies. The god worshipped by that subordinate church should be someone from the original church’s upper ranks who gave birth to a complete godhead from faith in the original god. It might be small, since it’s a subordinate god, but it should be complete.

“In the previous epoch, you would already be a Temple elder, while I would be a subordinate god.”

Rasma frowned. “Are you praising me or praising yourself?”

“What’s the point of praise now?”

“True. But why are you telling me all this?”

“Because you asked first.”

“...Then let’s say you told me first, alright?”

“Alright.”

“Then why tell me this? You’re a defector, and I’m the High Priest.”

“Because you were once my rival.”

Rasma inhaled sharply. “Is that true?”

“I would suggest you don’t ask that.”

“Alright. I won’t.”

“We’re here.” The two had arrived at the door of 13 Mink Street.

“Want to come in and sit?” Tiz asked.

“No. I’m afraid you’ll hang me on a cross too.”

“Heh.”

“Do you need me to keep an eye on your family?”

“I’d rather you tell your people to take their eyes off my house.”

“Understood.”

Tiz pushed open the gate, about to step inside, but Rasma then asked, “Tiz, do you think it’s possible to change it? I mean... our Order and our Church.”

Tiz stopped. “In every epoch you know of, have you ever heard of a reform succeeding from the bottom up?”

“No. Not a single one.”

“Each church is the extension of their god into the mortal world. Without changing the god, the church cannot change.”

“So there’s no way?”

Tiz’s gaze deepened. “Not necessarily...

“In my view, the Church of Order has not yet seen its true god.”

***

The door to the study opened. Karon, seated behind the desk, shuddered slightly. He waited until he heard the familiar voice, “I’m back.”

Karon then removed the mask. His eyes were red.

“You cried,” Tiz said.

“No. I think I’m allergic to the material.” Karon stood and went to support Tiz. The paleness of the old man’s face was clear to see. The old man truly looked like an old man now.

“Grandpa, sit.”

“No. Let’s go to the bedroom. I want to lie down.”

“Okay, Grandpa.” Karon supported Tiz into his bedroom, where he sat on the bed, his back against on the headboard.

“I’ve taken care of everything.”

“I knew you’d be fine, Grandpa.”

“This house is fine. You’re fine too.”

“Was it my choice that put you in a difficult position? Or made you pay more?”

“Karon, do you know what the greatest pain is for an old man?”

“Tell me. I’m listening.”

“It’s realizing you’re old and can no longer help your children.”

“You don’t need to think that way. This home has always been warm because of you. Grandpa, I like this family, and I like the family atmosphere you created.”

Tiz smiled. He then looked down at Pu’er and the golden retriever who had followed them in. The cat had jumped onto the bed and was right in front of Tiz, tears in her eyes. She truly had watched Tiz grow old.

“I beat Sithe today.”

Pu’er froze, tried to smile, but instead pouted. “That bitch. I’d almost forgotten about her.”

Tiz placed his hand on his leg, and Pu’er placed her paw in his palm.

“I’ll take good care of Karon,” she stated.

Tiz looked up at Karon. “Promise Grandpa something. Take good care of Poelle... heh, take good care of Pu’er.”

“...”

“Okay, Grandpa.”

Tiz looked at the golden retriever sitting obediently on the floor, his gaze sinking. “A heretical god isn’t all that impressive.”

The large golden retriever stuck out its tongue and gave a foolish grin.

“I’ve always believed heretical gods aren’t true gods. A true god should be enshrined in a temple and openly worshipped by believers. What kind of god skulks around in secret?”

The dog’s smile slowly faded.

“You think that I imprisoned you, but I think that I gave you an opportunity.”

The golden retriever’s lips trembled, revealing a hint of white teeth.

“In an epoch when gods no longer descend, the fact that you can appear at all is your opportunity.”

“Woof!” The golden retriever barked angrily.

Tiz ignored the dog and stared ahead, his gaze growing unfocused. “I’ve arranged things at home, and I’ve arranged things outside as well. Of course, nothing can be arranged perfectly. There will always be oversights, but that’s life, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Grandpa. That is what makes life kind of interesting.”

“There will always be winds and waves you must face yourself, seas you must conquer on your own, and scenery that no matter how well others describe it, or even photograph it, can’t compare to seeing it with your own eyes. Karon, this world is worth it.”

“I understand, Grandpa.”

“To be irresponsible for a moment, if I’d met you earlier, if you’d become my family earlier, maybe everything could have changed. Maybe I would have chosen to enter the Temple of Order, and you could have entered the Church of Order under my guidance.

“I would have arranged connections for you, given you protection, given you resources, built you up slowly.

“But we met too late.”

“Grandpa, I once fantasized about that life too, but I later realized that it would have been quite boring. Sometimes, focusing too much on the result makes you lose the process. Many people think that a process without results has no meaning, but a result without a process... there’s no sweetness to bite into.”

Tiz nodded. “Your metaphor’s a bit winding, but I understand. It’s good.”

In Marcan, ‘result’ and ‘fruit’ are not related words.[1]

The sun was setting. The evening light filtered through the branches outside, scattering across the floor in mottled orange patches, giving the room a sense of age.

“Karon, my grandson.” Tiz held Karon’s hand. “Promise me one last thing.”

“Tell me.”

“In the days to come, don’t let yourself live with grievance.” Tiz patted the back of Karon’s hand gently. He slowly closed his eyes. “Grandpa is tired. I’m going to sleep for a while.

“If one day you face a grievance you cannot swallow, don’t be afraid. Come home. Wake Grandpa up.”

1. In the original language, the words for “result” and “fruit” share the same root. Tiz is dryly noting that the metaphor only works in that language, not in Marcan. ☜