'Well?' Maram called out from next lo me. 'What does it say? Read it out loud.'
I nodded my head and look another sip of brandy. I began reading again from the letter's beginning, for Maram's sake and everyone else's. As I intoned the words that Morjin had set to paper, I had to fight to keep my voice from becoming his voice: smooth, suasive, seductive and strong. An image of Morjin as I had first seen him came into my mind: his fine, intelligent face that was radiant with an almost unearthly beauty; his hair like spun gold and his golden eyes. They were the eyes of an angel, and they seemed to know all things. They looked at me out of the black ink of his words as I continued to read:
I know that you keep the Cup of Heaven locked and guarded in your castle as in ancient times. It is a beautiful thing, is it not? The most beautiful in all the world. And so I know that you will see in its golden depths the most beautiful of all temptations: to believe that you are its master, the Lord of Light — the Maitreya. How could it be otherwise? For you, Valashu Elahad, who feels so keenly the suffering of others, must long quite terribly for the suffering to etui. This is a noble impulse. But it is misguided, and for the sake of the world, and your own, I must try to make you understand why.
All beings yearn for one thing above all else: the light and love of the One. For this is our source and substance, and we long to return there. But this ecstasy of completion and deep peace is denied to us, and the proof of this is our suffering. Men suffer many things: dread of death and wounds and dashed dreams, but nothing so terrible as the desire that burns our beings to feel ourselves at one with our source. We suffer most of all because we do not understand why we must suffer: why the One, which is said to be all goodness itself, would wish all the agonies of the body and soul upon us. Have you not, Valashu, as you listened to the cries of the children being torn apart at Khaisham, as you cursed life itself, asked yourself the simple question, 'Why?'
The answer, I must tell you, is as simple as it is terrible: because of the One's nature, which is the nature of all things. Can you not yet see that good and evil are the two sides of the One's face, and his two hands, right and left? In one hand he holds the golden gelstei and makes the cosmos and all its creatures from the substance of his own being; with the other he casts them from the light and torments them. He builds walls of flesh around our souls to separate us from our source and from each other; he makes us rot with age, and crucifies us to the cross of life in the most hideous of anguish. He makes us to die. And so, at the end of all things, we must suffer the greatest ignominy: that of being erased. And then, forever, there is only nothingness and the darkness of night.
Who has not raged that the One should make things so! Do you think that I, Valashu, have not wept bitter tears like any other man! Have not known love and loss! To fear that the beautiful light that is my soul will simply die like a candle flame snuffed out by cold wind — do you think I haven't, ten thousand times, shaken my fist at the heavens over the cruelty of such a fate! Should I not, then, hate the One and all the works of his hand? Shouldn't we all?
Indeed, we should, for this too is the nature and design of the One.
Hate, Valashu, is that singular force that separates. We are born as separate selves, and it is our right and duty to strengthen ourselves so that we might live our lives. But since life lives off life, whether beasts or men, we must strengthen ourselves against others, even as they would strengthen themselves against us. Hate gives us great courage in this war of all against all; it breathes fire into our will to become greater beings, and so to succeed in the quest for greater life itself. And so, like dragons, we might stride the earth in our power and pride, rather than cowering behind a rock and wailing at the injustice of life. And it is indeed cruel, as it must always be: for if you do not have the courage to become a predator, you must have the resignation to be prey. As night will follow day, the strong will devour the weak, on and on through all of eternity.
It is just this success that gives us joy. It is measured by the degree of our dominion over others. In many individuals seeking their advantage, the world gains its greatest advantage as the hidden hand of the One raises up the strongest and bestows upon them the only true wealth. Then the accumulation of the riches of power gained, if invested in our bodies and beings, leads to ever greater riches. Thus does a man, training at arms, become a knight; thus do knights go on to become lords and kings. And the greatest kings of men use the great gelstei to turn their sight to the heavens for new conquests, and so learn to walk the stars. Then comes the greatest conquest of all as mortal men strengthen the flame of life so that it cannot be blown out. And so are born the immortal Elijin, and the strongest of these angels gain the power of the quenchless Galadin: they who can not be harmed in any way.
And yet, still they do suffer: terribly, terribly, terribly. For our journey toward the ultimate becomes more, not less, painful at every step. Man is a very small vessel that contains only a small amount of life's bitter poison; the great Galadin hold inside entire oceans. And as their suffering increases without measure, so must their means to bear it.
You know in your heart, Valashu, what this must be: that one's own pain can only be ended by inflicting equal pain upon another. For the power of life and death over the weak is ultimately the power of life over death itself. Can you deny that this is so! Doesn't the scream of another make you give thanks that you are healthy and whole! Doesn't the flesh of animals quicken your own! Do you not feel, like a lion, exalted at the moment when you kill!
This is the secret of the valarda, the secret of life itself. The deepest part of the Law of the One is this: that there is an affinity of opposites. We hate most those we love most deeply. We love: terribly, terribly, terribly. In our love and longing for the One, we feel too keenly the longing of others. If we are not to be overwhelmed by it, what are we to do? Strike fire into their souls! Rend them with our claws! Devour their entrails and lake joy in the agony of their eyes! Then they will cry out to be relieved of their suffering. But since it is our hand, the One acting through us, which creates this torment, it is to its they cry for relief. And so, for a moment, we are reminded of our divine nature and why we were created. We touch upon the One's true purpose, and the One itself, and in that light of ecstasy, how should any suffering remain?
Do you not see the terrible beauty oj the One's design? As the One is infinite, so is the One's pain — and so must be lite means to end it. In the torment of innocents, infinite in number, the One realizes his invulnerability. And the tormented innocents, the strongest of them, raise themselves up as angels to grasp the divine light itself. And so the true magnificence of the One is revealed: for the One's two faces are also love and hate. Our little of the One for making us suffer leads, in the end, to love of the One for impelling us back; to our source. And so the One uses evil to work the greatest possible good. And isn't this, Valashu, true compassion?
I paused for a moment in reading Morjin's letter. Because my mouth was dry, I look a drink of brandy. My hands were sweating inside their casings of slick leather. My eyes burned. The whoosh of Marain breathing heavily beside me merged with the other sounds of the room: the crackle of the fire, the rustle of paper, the grinding of my brother's jaws. Asaru's anger was no greater than mine. True compassion, Morjin had spoken of! But it was a twisted compassion. Another image of Morjin, the true image that he did not wish men to see, appeared in my mind: The once-lovely Elijin lord whose very body had rolled as if from the inside out. His ghoulish- gray flesh hung in folds from the sharp bones of his face. His gray hair, stringy and limp, grew in patches as if he had once suffered terrible burns. His eyes, his ancient eyes, were as cold and cruel as iron, rusted red and filled with blood. In them raged a terrible will to suck the life out of others. And they cried out with a terrible hunger. For he spent much of his vital force trying to maintain the illusion of his beauty in order to deceive men — and perhaps himself.
'Read on!' Maram called out beside me. 'Let's finish this, Val!' I noticed my lather studying my face, as my grandmother turned toward me and my mother watched me intently. Even Master Juwain, now caught in his curiosity to hear what Morjin had written next, nodded for me to continue. And so I read on:
The Maitreya is called the Compassionate One. He is said to be a healer of the world's suffering and the anguish that all men know. If this be true,
then how could you be he? You, who have killed and maimed so many and caused so much agony? Do you truly wish the ending of war and the forgiving of your foes? Then ask yourself this question, Valashu: if you were this Shining One who bears the light of the divine, would you hold out your healing hand to me?
