Chapter 1
Spock gazed into the distance as Eridani slipped below the sand-swept Vulcan horizon. Activity could be heard from the Baruk dining hall, and the evening breeze carried a scent of food. Dinner soon, but Spock's mind was elsewhere. Alone, he walked down the temple steps and followed a path that led away from the main grounds, to the gnarled orchard trees he had climbed as a young boy. He sat down on a bench that offered a view of the school entrance. T'Naisa had taken James with her into town where she was picking up Simon from the travel depot, and they would be returning momentarily.
It was not far from this very spot that Spock had been abducted with Simon when the boy was only twelve. Those early days had been particularly dangerous for followers of Yanash, but the past seven years had held their own share of difficulties. There was an inevitable backlash from the vrekatras' destruction at Gol, and even Spock's association with Earth's Vatican was looked upon with suspicion. Yanashites were called "subversives" by high-ranking government officials, harassed and persecuted in many small ways. And just last year, Vulcan's High Council attempted to redefine a Vulcan citizen as "one loyal to the code of Surak and no other". Those who refused to sign such an oath would have been stripped of citizenship and sent into exile.
The Yanashites lobbied hard against such a decree. Clearly, it had never been Surak's intent to define Vulcan by a philosophy. Vulcan citizenship was a birthright that must be honored in spite of differing beliefs, as long as those beliefs did not lead to criminal actions. In a legal argument they asked, "Do we harm others or their property? Do we take what does not belong to us? Do we perjure ourselves? No, nor do Yanashites condone such behavior. We wish only to honor the Shiav and live in peace among our neighbors."
Under intense pressure from the Federation, Vulcan's High Council had dropped the citizenship issue. Despite every difficulty, the Community continued to grow and prosper. And now, since Sorel had approved plans for the Plum Creek Sanctuary, there would soon be a Yanashite retreat house under Spock's management in the mountains of Earth. In a matter of months he would be back in Idaho to oversee its construction. It did not seem logical for Simon to abruptly leave Juilliard, set aside his musical education, and journey here when Spock would soon be leaving.
He heard the distant hum of a groundcar and in a matter of moments it glided through the entrance with T'Naisa at the controls. Steeling himself, he rose and walked toward the roadway. T'Naisa noticed him and grounded the car long enough for Simon to get out. The dark-haired fellow who approached Spock was a bit taller than his father and not quite as lean. At nineteen, Simon looked very much like a man. But as they drew closer, Spock discovered a sheepish, childlike look in his son's eyes.
"Hello Father," Simon began. He hesitated, then enclosed Spock in a clumsy hug as he said, "I hope you're not too upset with me."
Spock returned the embrace, then they drew apart and studied one another. Though Spock was less than pleased, unlike his own father, he would allow Simon to choose his own path and learn from the journey. "I am somewhat…surprised," he acknowledged. "There is no school of music here comparable to Juilliard. What compelled you to leave?"
A chime sounded from the dining hall. Simon's head turned toward it, but not before Spock saw pain flicker in his blue eyes. Spock's question remained unanswered. As they walked toward the hall, Simon changed the subject to Baruk.
oooo
Later that week, Spock left James in the care of Father Taguma and went with T'Naisa to Mount Seleya for the Holy Days. Simon chose to accompany them. It was a difficult time of year for Spock, difficult for any believer who had seen Yanash put to death or had actually participated in the savage killing. The first day dawned with a cool breeze that would soon give way to heat. All over Vulcan, the Traditionalists were preparing celebrations in honor of Surak, but on Seleya there would be strict fasting and recollection.
As on that other terrible Day, a gong sounded, but not in celebration. The bitter sound struck deep in Spock's soul as he joined the great procession of those multitudes that had journeyed here to mourn. Sorel led the way. As anointed leader of the Yanashites, he carried the sledgehammer and spikes used to impale the Shiav. Slowly they walked the narrow, winding path toward the ledge where Yanash had suffered a slow, terrible death. Mist began to swirl around them and there was a sound of gushing water. Though the day had already turned hot, Spock shivered.
They arrived at the site. One by one, the priests, staff, and pilgrims stepped up to the geyser-torn rock and paid homage in their own way. Simon took a turn. Then Spock watched T'Naisa sink to the ground, weeping. Soaked to the skin, he moved in by her side, remembering Yanash lying there, mutilated beyond recognition, dying in full view yet utterly alone. Overcome with remorse, he dropped to his knees and offered the only thing he had to give: himself.
Afterward they returned to their respective chambers and changed into dry clothes for a penitential rite at the temple. Following a brief ceremony of preparation, the priests took their seats and offered the Forgiving Touch to any Yanashite who desired it. Each year there were more who came. All day the penitents approached, their faces damp from the fountain and sometimes their own tears. Far into the night, the temple remained a center of prayer and meditation.
It was nearly three in the morning before Spock headed back to his room, ready for a few precious hours of rest before daybreak. Inside, a light was shining. Simon sprang from his cot, smiling, his eyes aglow with youthful exuberance.
"Father! I thought you'd never get here! We have to talk. I want to tell you why I came to Vulcan."
Spock could not quite squelch the irritated twitch of an eyebrow. Talk now? These were the most solemn hours of the Community's year, a time set aside for silent reflection. As a Yanashite, Simon knew that. Yet, out of all the times he could have spoken up, he expected to talk now…at his own convenience.
Simon's smile began to fade. And suddenly Spock was reminded of other occasions when he had failed to show his son patience, failed to listen, only to regret it later. Today of all days he should do his best to offer Simon a father's understanding.
Spock sat and gave Simon his full attention. "So," he said in as warm and pleasant a tone as Yanash would have used, as if there was nothing in all of Vulcan that he would rather be doing, "tell me what is on your mind."
Simon heaved a sigh of relief. For a terrible moment it had seemed to him that his father was annoyed and would put him off with some sharp word until morning. Simon felt like he would burst if he had to wait even that long.
In an apologetic tone he said, "I know it's awfully late…"
"I am Vulcan," Father said in the old way, as if even a young full-blooded Vulcan was immune to fatigue.
But Spock was neither young nor full-blooded. Though to a human he might seem forty, he would soon be eighty, with decades of experience that made Simon pace nervously and wonder how his revelation would be received. Spock always had an answer for everything. Would it be the answer Simon was hoping to hear?
Simon was used to expressing himself through music, not words. How should he begin? How could he describe the deep, mystical yearning that had been building up inside him for years?
Utterly frustrated, he came to a stop and said, "I don't know how to make you understand what I'm feeling. I know what you're going to think when I tell you—that it's too sudden, but it's not really sudden at all."
"You cannot possibly know what I am going to think," Father objected in his most logical manner. "Even I cannot know until you reveal what it is that you want me to understand."
Simon sighed again. "I know. I just want you to realize what I've been thinking about this since I was the same age as Jamie—thirteen. And today, at the ledge…and at the temple when I watched the priests…" His voice trailed off. He stood gazing at his father, the finest thoughts of all locked hopelessly inside him, for he could not say them without causing pain. There was a time when I was ashamed of your religious faith. I didn't understand your humility. I thought of it as a weakness. I didn't know that it took a real man, a great man, to go down on his knees before God. But I know different now. I've known different for a long time. I want to grow into that kind of man…
Aloud he said, "Father, I want to devote my life to the Shiav. I want to become a priest."
Father's left eyebrow rose sharply. He settled his body into a new position. Finally he said, "One can devote his life to the Shiav without becoming a priest."
Simon's heart sank. "I know that. But don't you understand? I want to be a priest."
"I am attempting to understand," Father replied, "but you have told me very little."
Simon had hoped this would be easy. He had pictured his father reacting with gladness and offering his full support. That was how it had been when Simon decided to become a Yanashite. Why was this so different?
Once more Simon struggled to express himself, then gave up. Lifting his hands in defeat, he walked out the door.
Spock rose and almost went after his son, but perhaps it was best that they have time alone to think.
So Simon wanted to be priest. It was a stunning admission. Spock had always encouraged the boy to pursue his love of music. Yanash would be well served in that way. It had been difficult enough convincing Sorel and the other members of the Council to admit Simon into the Yanashite Community, but Spock doubted they would ever confer the priesthood on a one-quarter Vulcan. He could have told Simon so immediately, but if the boy's dream must be destroyed, Spock did not want to be the one to do it. Simon had already suffered enough loss.
Shortly before dawn Simon returned to their room and lay down, fully clothed, on his cot.
Spock had not slept at all. In the darkness he turned his face toward Simon and asked, "Are you alright?"
A pause. Then, "I'm sorry I walked out on you. It's just that this means so damn much to me. I thought you would understand."
"I think I do understand," Spock assured him.
"You do?" The voice was hopeful. "Then you'll help me?"
Now it was Spock's turn to hesitate. "I…will do what I can," he promised, knowing that it would amount to very little.
oooo
Shortly after dawn, Spock approached Sorel and asked if Simon might be granted the privilege of carrying Yanash's burial cloth to the temple for the Day of Veneration. Spock knew that the honor would cheer his son while also serving to remind the leader how Yanash had once used that same blanket in a miracle that led to Simon's conversion.
Sorel gave his permission.
It was a simple ceremony. Priests and pilgrims gathered in the courtyard while Sorel took Simon to the hidden repository and removed the cloth from its locked receptacle. There, Simon received the blanket in which the Shiav's bones had been carelessly wrapped by old T'Lar's Seleyan priests. With Sorel in the lead carrying a fragrant censor, they came out chanting, crossed the land bridge, and entered the temple. Simon draped the sacred blanket over the altar, where it would remain exposed throughout the day for the faithful to venerate.
Spock looked upon his son and found himself wondering. Might it be, after all? Might the same God of miracles who once covered a shivering boy with this very blanket, now also favor him with the cloak of priesthood?
The following morning a small tremor awoke Spock and his son—a minor aftershock compared to that first Resurrection morning, yet it felt as if Yanash Himself had set foot on Mount Seleya again.
Simon could barely contain his excitement. As they dressed he said, "It's a sign. This is the day. I'm going to talk to Sorel. Will you go with me?"
Spock stopped what he was doing and turned to his son. Simon had not once complained about the prolonged period of fasting. He was clearly committed to his faith, but the priesthood was another matter. He was sure to meet opposition and there was no use in delaying it.
"Very well," Spock agreed. "This afternoon."
Simon smiled broadly, took up his violin case, and went out the door.
Spock closed his eyes and made a silent appeal to the Shiav. Then he, too, headed out into the courtyard. Some young children who had traveled from Baruk School recognized him and rushed up, smiling. At times Spock envied their emotional freedom. Yanashite discipline involved only the mental training necessary for touch telepaths. It did not restrict the good and reasonable display of emotions; rather, it encouraged their appropriate use. Yanashite children of ten and under sometimes even broke into laughter.
Spock slowly made his way across the land bridge and entered the crowded temple. A scent of incense mingled with that of the many flowers brought in for the celebration. Though he caught sight of T'Naisa, he did not join her. Their civil marriage was now common knowledge, due to the publicity surrounding James' custody hearing on Earth. The Community accepted their unorthodox relationship, but Spock was very careful to conduct himself in such a way as to avoid scandal.
From the back of the temple, a pure note rose from Simon's violin, then melded with traditional Vulcan instruments in one of his most beautiful compositions. Every priest present filed up to the front where a large rectangular meditation stone served as an altar beneath the icon-portrait of Yanash. The traditional slab of polished granite had been bored with four holes in remembrance of the spikes that had impaled the Shiav. The idea for the altar had come to Sorel, an inspired connection between the old ways and the new. Spock hoped to secure such a stone for the temple planned at his Plum Creek property in Idaho.
Spock turned his attention to the sacred ritual that was about to begin. Midway through the Kuru, the healer T'Mira came forward and gave her eyewitness account of the day Yanash rose from his tomb. She had been the first to see him. Tears ran unchecked down her face as she described the Master's kindness toward her—she whose injection had made him as vulnerable as a human to T'Lar's torture.
Sorel then went to the podium and began to speak on the significance of the Shiav's death and resurrection. He had barely started when a distant, all-too-familiar drone grew into a roar that shook the temple to its foundation. Spock tensed as the aircraft circled the mountain in "practice maneuvers". This sort of harassment by the government had become commonplace.
Young children covered their ears and began to cry. Sorel raised his arms in a silent appeal for calm. Despite the din, the ritual proceeded. Back at the altar, Sorel pronounced the sacred words of consecration, and lines formed to receive the Living Water.
After the service, Spock and Simon headed for the staff dining room set deep in the mountain. With a sense of relief, they sat near T'Naisa and Sparn at one of the long tables laden with food. Here, a thick layer of rock muffled the unrelenting noise outside. They could break their long fast in peace. But Simon soon made it plain that he was not in a peaceable mood.
Leaning forward, he spoke in a low but heated tone. "How can everyone just sit here? Those stupid people spoiled everything!"
T'Naisa and Sparn just looked at him and continued eating.
Spock swallowed a bite of food. Then he said, "Their foolish behavior could not keep Yanash away. He came to us in the Living Water. No harm was done."
"But the music…"
"Ah." Spock nodded. "Could that be what is really bothering you? The noise prevented you from playing all of your music."
Simon's handsome face reddened. He toyed with his food. "Well…I suppose," he admitted in a subdued voice, "but it's more than that. It's disrespectful, it's…intolerant. I thought things were different now on Vulcan. I thought the situation was getting better."
"Better?" Spock mused. "Yes, to some degree…but you must understand. There are some things I have not told you and your sister T'Beth. It would only have worried you to know how inhospitable a climate we still live in. The government repeatedly examines our financial records and even our personal behavior for any hint of a misstep. Business owners cannot secure loans. Homes and vehicles get vandalized. Outside our community, we are frequently denied service. In person, most adult Vulcans merely shun us, but their children are not as subtle. When no one is looking, the children sometimes spit on our clothes or hurl stones."
Simon gaped in disbelief. "Vulcans do that?"
"Vulcans," T'Naisa confirmed.
Spock said, "You need to know what to expect, but as for your sister…"
Simon nodded dazedly. "I won't say anything." He finished his meal in silence and walked out of the dining hall.
Watching him leave, Spock wondered if the harsh reality of ongoing persecution would turn Simon away from his dream of the priesthood. Simon knew what it was like to be in danger. At twelve, he was left in a desert to die by those who opposed Yanashite beliefs. Spock would not fault him now if he turned around and went back to Earth. He found himself hoping that Simon would.
Later in the day Spock went to Seleya's learning center, sat before a screen, and ordered up an astrophysics journal. He had scarcely begun reading when someone walked up behind him. Even without looking, he knew it was his son.
"I'm going," Simon said at his back, and for one hopeful moment Spock thought the boy truly had changed his mind and was heading to Earth.
Then Spock turned and saw the determined set of Simon's jaw, and there was no mistaking the young man's intent.
"Sorel is in his office," Simon informed him. "I sent word ahead and he's expecting me."
Wordlessly Spock rose and went with him.
Sorel personally ushered them into his modest office, and they all sat down.
After the initial greetings, Sorel turned kindly eyes upon Simon and asked in Standard, "How then can I help you?"
Simon leaned forward intently and Spock held his breath, waiting.
Then Simon answered in Vulcan, "I want to become a Yanashite priest."
Sorel's left eyebrow gave a slight upward quirk. He looked at Spock, the briefest glance of displeasure, before refocussing his polite attention on Simon. Sorel began by reminding him, as delicately as possible, of what he already knew.
"Simon, that is a laudable ambition, but you are not fully Vulcan. You are not even half Vulcan like your father." And he added, "This fact has not prevented your being a good Yanashite, but the priesthood is quite another matter. A Yanashite priest must possess telepathic skills. Even if you had such a skill, the fact remains that you appear human. Would Vulcans accept a human as their priest?"
Simon went stiff and reverted to Standard. "I can't help looking human, but there's a Vulcan part of me, too. My telepathic scores are nearly as high as my father's. All I need is more training."
"That may be so," conceded Sorel in the same language, "but there is something that no amount of training can change. Tell me. Do you think like a Vulcan or like a human?"
"I think like a Yanashite," Simon declared with a mental alacrity that made Spock proud.
Sorel rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and brought his fingertips together. Once more his eyes found Spock and cooled perceptively. "Spock, I will ask you to step outside so I can speak privately with your son. Then I will have words with you."
Simon watched his father retreat into the hall. He could tell that Sorel was getting angry, and felt that it was unjustly centered on Spock.
The door closed.
Simon turned in his seat and boldly faced down the leader of the Yanashites. "Get mad at me, not him. This wasn't his idea. He only came because I asked him."
Sorel's expression softened. "It is obvious that you are quite close to your father. But what do you have in common with these others? Vulcan culture is unlike that of Earth."
Simon worked to calm himself. "In my stays on Vulcan, I've found peace here. I've grown to love these people like brothers and sisters. You ask me what we have in common. A need for the Shiav."
A hint of a smile stirred Sorel's lips and he nodded. Without a word he rose and beckoned to Simon. Hopefully Simon went forward and Sorel touched his head in the Yanashite blessing.
Gazing into his eyes, Sorel said, "You are very young. Since God has blessed you with great musical talent, it is only logical that you channel your energy there."
Simon's heart plummeted. "But I can do both!"
There was a moment of silence.
Very firmly Sorel said, "There will be no further discussion." His right hand moved in a curt gesture of dismissal.
Simon's throat ached. He felt tears welling in his eyes. Turning, he hurried out the door and turned his face aside so his father would not see the agony of his disappointment.
Spock did not need to see his son's face to conclude what had happened. In the wake of Simon's abrupt departure, he waited in a chair by the door, knowing that the full force of Sorel's censure what about to descend upon him. It would not be their first clash, and perhaps in this case Spock was not entirely innocent, but even so he felt justified in preparing an argument.
Precisely ten minutes passed before Sorel opened the office door and summoned him inside. They both remained on their feet. Sorel was slightly built, but the flame in his eyes gave him a formidable appearance.
"Spock, there was no need for this to happen. You could easily have prevented it."
Spock released a pent sigh. "So you have turned him away."
"You are his father!" Sorel snapped. "You should have dissuaded him from this absurd notion."
"Absurd?" The word grated on Spock's ears. "I beg your pardon, but I do not consider any desire to serve the Shiav absurd."
"Surely you realize that no Vulcan would accept Simon as a priest."
Spock considered. "He is well-liked by the children, and children grow into adults."
Sorel's temper was clearly on the rise. "Enough! Stop troubling me about this matter. You will return to Baruk immediately and take your son along."
With an effort Spock inclined his head respectfully. "I will do as you wish, sir, but my son is a grown man. I cannot order him to accompany me."
"Then you will exercise your powers of persuasion," Sorel finished.
oooo
Spock entered their chamber and found Simon slumped dejectedly on his cot.
Simon's jaw worked with anger. His gaze remained fixed on the floor as he declared, "Sorel would say 'yes' in a minute if I looked like Jamie."
"In that case, Sorel might well give your request more consideration," Spock agreed, "but while your brother James outwardly appears Vulcan, he lacks your telepathic ability."
Simon's head came up. The anguish in his eyes made them appear almost violet. "Father, what am I going to do? I can't just give up!"
Spock pondered for a moment. Here was an opportunity to gently dissuade him from so unrealistic a goal, but some inner urging stopped him. "Simon," he said, "in your conversation with Sorel, did he specifically forbid you to train for the priesthood?"
Simon frowned. "No…come to think of it, he didn't."
Spock nodded. "So I suspected. Contrary to what some people believe, Sorel does not directly oversee every aspect of the Community. A Vocations Committee screens applicants for the priesthood. Any priest can recommend a candidate or advise against him, as long as the priest presents a logical argument. That rule applies for Sorel, as well as our newest priests. But," he added, "in view of Sorel's influence, I advise you to try and win him over. Those candidates who receive even a single negative vote from the committee are denied another hearing for a year."
Simon rose, his face aglow with fresh hope. "Then there's still a chance."
Spock reached for his valise and began packing his few belongings.
"What are you doing?" Simon asked.
"I am returning to Baruk," Spock replied. "I suggest that you accompany me there and pray for further guidance. Meanwhile, if you so wish, I can work at refining your telepathic ability."
Simon stared at him. "But the Holy Days aren't over! Sorel is sending you away, isn't he? Because of me!"
Spock snapped his valise shut and looked at him. "Simon, have you noticed those blood-green capes that the priests have begun to wear?"
"Of course."
"The people wanted some way to identify their clergy. On the cape's front, the fourfold arrangement of rods signify the manner of the Shiav's sacrificial death. It has become known as the Yanashite Cross. Outside the Community, that emblem invites persecution, but priests wear it without complaint. If you look closely, you will discover that all the fine white trim is actually sewn in the form of a chain—the symbol of the basest form of servitude—that of a slave." Coming to his point, he said, "Simon, to be a priest is to serve. Among other things, it involves submitting yourself to the decisions of your superiors. That does not mean that you cannot speak your mind, but ultimately there must be obedience. Do you understand?"
Simon gave a silent nod. As he was gathering up his things, Spock found T'Naisa in the women's section and explained his abrupt departure.
"Of course," he told her, "you are free to remain here."
"I wouldn't consider it," she said firmly. "Poor Simon. I think he'd make a good priest."
The three of them left Mount Seleya together.
oooo
At Baruk, Simon was assigned the pleasant task of educating the young students in classical Earth music. Before long, an idea came to him. With his father's permission, he asked the children to participate in something even more foreign to Vulcan culture. A choir.
He enlisted his brother's help and at first Simon and James did most of the singing, but they made it seem so enjoyable that eventually even the most reticent youngsters joined in. By that time, Simon had written Vulcan words to accompany his sacred compositions and soon the choir was performing at some Baruk Temple rituals. The Yanashites received them with praise, but outside the Community, news commentaries criticized the choir for "humanizing the culture".
One day, the choir was invited to Mount Seleya. Simon traveled with the children and nervously led the group in a private audition before Sorel and Marek, the former High Master of Kolinahr. He fully expected Sorel to issue his own condemnation for "humanizing" the children. Instead, Sorel gave a cool nod of approval and offered Simon a small salary if would create a similar choir at Seleya.
It was just the opportunity Simon had been praying for. Twice a week he traveled alone to Seleya and set to work teaching their children. After finishing for the day, he would wait outside Sorel's office until the leader emerged. There, in front of anyone who might be watching, he would courteously request an audience regarding his suitability for the priesthood.
The first time he did this, Sorel came to a halt and stared at him with some astonishment before moving on. After that, Sorel chose to ignore him completely, but other priests sometimes stopped and showed a kindly interest in Simon. Some were clearly sympathetic to his cause, and those men began questioning among themselves why Sorel was opposed to Spock's son. Two of them took it upon themselves to test Simon's telepathic ability and found that he was capable of initiating a respectable meld. Spock's lessons were having an effect and when the priests offered Simon additional mental training, he gratefully accepted.
After that, he was too busy to wait for Sorel, but one scorching afternoon the leader summoned Simon to his office.
Simon's heart pounded as Sorel opened the door and escorted him inside. There, Simon impulsively dropped to one knee before him.
"No!" Sorel commanded. "I am only a man—do not kneel to me. Do not ever kneel to me again."
Simon obediently rose. Speaking in flawless Vulcan he said, "As you wish, sir. I did not mean to offend you. I knelt only out of respect for your position."
"Respect?" Sorel's dark eyes narrowed. "I rather think you were trying to ingratiate yourself to me."
Though Simon would never have used that word, there was some truth in what Sorel had said. "If so, was that so very wrong?" Simon asked him. "Sir, I still want to become a priest. Please do not oppose me."
Sorel's manner did not soften a bit. "You are very determined to have your own way. Though I commend you for the work you have been doing with the children, your success only proves that music is your true calling."
"It is Yanash who calls me," Simon insisted. "Music is only one of the ways that I show my devotion to him." Brashly he said, "If I had to give up music to become a priest, I would not have a single regret."
"Yanash calls you," Sorel repeated dryly. "If it is Yanash calling, he will be calling you to obedience." Studying Simon's face, he said, "Go back to Baruk and deliver this message to your father. Ask him, do you think that donating land for a temple school entitles your family to special privileges?"
Outrage slowly seared its way through Simon's veins. How dare this arrogant Vulcan stand there and insult his father? This chosen man—this defender of the faith. All Yanashites looked upon him as their spiritual leader. How could he be so vile?
Simon bit down so hard on his tongue that he tasted blood. If he allowed himself even one word, he would be shouting. And he shuddered to think what might happen next. Frightened by the direction of his own thoughts, he turned on his heel and strode out the door.
