Read Online Tree of Truth (Book of Pilgrimage 1) by James Huss - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Huss
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on the spot. After a brief pause I summoned my courage and overcame my apprehension, rising to my feet just as Elder Spencer raised his gavel with the intention of dropping it again.
“Elders and citizens,” I announced myself in the traditional way. “I have a Citizen Appeal.” I followed our parliamentary procedure closely. I wanted them to take me seriously from the very beginning.
Elder Spencer spoke, “Approach the podium.” Blake leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Spencer dismissed it with a wave of his hand. Blake did not look happy. As I walked toward the front, I scanned the crowd of elders, not one a day older than twenty-five. The elders were men of tradition. When the time came to don their Shrouds and leave on their Pilgrimages, they did. Only once, many years ago, did an elder forgo the custom—he was immediately and unanimously voted off the Board. That’s how important our traditions are, even though we know not whence they came, nor their true origins. Life was already difficult without the Pilgrimage, which meant that even the elders left our village prematurely, serving but a brief time before their candles were extinguished by the Light. Yet we still maintained those troublesome ways.
The elder died not long after. Maybe that was legend. Nonetheless, these elder statesmen, young by the standards of the Ancients, took their positions and their traditions seriously, and upon their faces hung an air of solemnity. It was intimidating.
I stepped up to the podium, took a deep breath, and then addressed the assembly. “Elders and citizens, I stand before you with an appeal to action. This Great Disease our people have suffered for so many generations has soiled the very fabric of our existence: it binds us to this life of toil and hardship; it divides us into sects of wanderers and outcasts; it takes our lives before their times and snatches our love away in its infancy.” I paused for a moment—the elders all were listening closely, waiting patiently for my appeal. I imagine some were merely curious. But at least I had their attention.
“There are some who say there is no Cure. There are some who wander about the weal, searching for the so-called Tree of Truth, the unfulfilled prophecy still lingering in our legends. There are tribes of warriors, poets, and priests who believe the answer lies on their own privy paths. There are as many unsure answers as there are unanswered questions about this pestilence that plagues us.” The speech was going well, but I could tell by the looks on their faces that their patience was wearing thin.
“Everything we know we owe to the Ancients, and the Ancients knew, above all else, that science was the answer to the unexplained. There are scientists in the city, and they have been studying the Disease for years—the Pilgrim I found in the meadow wrote about them in his Book, and upon his path their laboratories lay. But like so many of us, he died too soon.
“Perhaps there is a Cure, or at least a medicine that may stay the effects. But we will never know, hidden away here in our country village, going about our lives oblivious to the work and progress of those men of science. The way to the city is fraught with peril—a lone traveler would be foolish to attempt the journey. If we wish to discover the secrets of the city scientists, we must travel as a team, a company of men who could well protect each other from the bandits and nomads who roam that path.
“I stand before you today with this appeal—that we assemble a troop of the strong and the wise, brave villagers who would spare a few days from their farms and their families to dare the dangers of the unknown, perchance to discover that those stories of the city ring true, or, if not, to bury them with the long-forgotten legends of the Ancients. Our loved ones are dying. It is our duty to try. This is my appeal.”
The elders sat motionless. The silence was deafening.
Elder Spencer
“Elders and citizens,” I announced myself in the traditional way. “I have a Citizen Appeal.” I followed our parliamentary procedure closely. I wanted them to take me seriously from the very beginning.
Elder Spencer spoke, “Approach the podium.” Blake leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Spencer dismissed it with a wave of his hand. Blake did not look happy. As I walked toward the front, I scanned the crowd of elders, not one a day older than twenty-five. The elders were men of tradition. When the time came to don their Shrouds and leave on their Pilgrimages, they did. Only once, many years ago, did an elder forgo the custom—he was immediately and unanimously voted off the Board. That’s how important our traditions are, even though we know not whence they came, nor their true origins. Life was already difficult without the Pilgrimage, which meant that even the elders left our village prematurely, serving but a brief time before their candles were extinguished by the Light. Yet we still maintained those troublesome ways.
The elder died not long after. Maybe that was legend. Nonetheless, these elder statesmen, young by the standards of the Ancients, took their positions and their traditions seriously, and upon their faces hung an air of solemnity. It was intimidating.
I stepped up to the podium, took a deep breath, and then addressed the assembly. “Elders and citizens, I stand before you with an appeal to action. This Great Disease our people have suffered for so many generations has soiled the very fabric of our existence: it binds us to this life of toil and hardship; it divides us into sects of wanderers and outcasts; it takes our lives before their times and snatches our love away in its infancy.” I paused for a moment—the elders all were listening closely, waiting patiently for my appeal. I imagine some were merely curious. But at least I had their attention.
“There are some who say there is no Cure. There are some who wander about the weal, searching for the so-called Tree of Truth, the unfulfilled prophecy still lingering in our legends. There are tribes of warriors, poets, and priests who believe the answer lies on their own privy paths. There are as many unsure answers as there are unanswered questions about this pestilence that plagues us.” The speech was going well, but I could tell by the looks on their faces that their patience was wearing thin.
“Everything we know we owe to the Ancients, and the Ancients knew, above all else, that science was the answer to the unexplained. There are scientists in the city, and they have been studying the Disease for years—the Pilgrim I found in the meadow wrote about them in his Book, and upon his path their laboratories lay. But like so many of us, he died too soon.
“Perhaps there is a Cure, or at least a medicine that may stay the effects. But we will never know, hidden away here in our country village, going about our lives oblivious to the work and progress of those men of science. The way to the city is fraught with peril—a lone traveler would be foolish to attempt the journey. If we wish to discover the secrets of the city scientists, we must travel as a team, a company of men who could well protect each other from the bandits and nomads who roam that path.
“I stand before you today with this appeal—that we assemble a troop of the strong and the wise, brave villagers who would spare a few days from their farms and their families to dare the dangers of the unknown, perchance to discover that those stories of the city ring true, or, if not, to bury them with the long-forgotten legends of the Ancients. Our loved ones are dying. It is our duty to try. This is my appeal.”
The elders sat motionless. The silence was deafening.
Elder Spencer
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