Disclaimer: I do not own His Dark Materials, nor do I own the words of Vergil, Pascal, and T.S. Eliot. Thank you.
vertitur interea caelum et ruit Oceano nox
involvens umbra magna terramque polumque
Myrmidonumque dolos; fusi per moenia Teucri
conticuere; sopor fessos complectitur artus.
Meanwhile the sky is turned and night rushes from the ocean, wrapping in a great shadow the earth and the heavens and the treachery of the Greeks; spread out through the city the Trojans become silent; sleep enfolds tired limbs.
–Vergil
Elemi's brother was sick again. Their mother had sent Elemi out to collect the ingredients for the medicine she would make to bring the fever down. Elemi enjoyed this errand, because it was an escape from the usual tedium of working in the fields with the rest of his village, but his very joy made him feel guilty, because after all, it was God's will that he work in the the field. But then it was also God's will that as many able-bodied shudras as possible were put to work; and so by missing a few days of work now and then he was ensuring that his brother would be capable of putting in a lifetime of labor.
Today, like every other day, he shoved all his other thoughts to one side and instead thought about how different the shade of the trees was from the implacable glare of the sunlight on the open fields where the rest of his family, the rest of his village, and, so far as he knew, the rest of his country was working that day. He appreciated the shade, and the greenery of his surroundings.
He didn't know how long he had been hearing the voices. They had become simply part of the background noise of the forest, but they were getting louder. Elemi stopped moving and listened. He felt curious and slightly uneasy; he had never met anyone in the forest before. Everyone worked in the fields. Except the harijan. Elemi shivered, but he cautiously edged forward toward the sounds, ready to turn around and run if he needed to.
He couldn't see where they were coming from yet, but as he drew closer he could hear that there were two voices and they seemed to be arguing, but he did not know what their words meant. Nevertheless he approached them, curious now to see who the speakers could possibly be.
The voices fell silent, because, he supposed, they had sensed his approach. After a moment, he heard some noises like hisses or whispers, but he could make nothing out. Then one voice, still some distance away, spoke to him at length in the words that Elemi did not understand. Elemi stood there, wavering and uncertain, until at last the voice began to speak normally.
"Who are you, boy?
Elemi hesitated, but the tone of voice was arrogant, so like a kshatriya, that he responded almost automatically. "Elemi. Of the village Yeshlan."
"And do you serve God?"
That was a strange question. Elemi wondered if they were harijan after all, and they would kill him if he answered truthfully. Well then, he would die as a martyr, defending God. "Yes. With all my heart," he said fervently.
"Good boy," said the voice approvingly. "What of your village, and the rest of the world? Do they serve God as faithfully as you?"
This was even stranger, but at least it did not seem that he would be killed. He was ashamed that he felt relieved at this. He should be glad to die gloriously in the service of God. "I––yes, they do. All except the harijan." He spat the word distastefully.
There was an exclamation from the other voice, and the two conferred in low voices. Then he saw a flicker of something behind the trees, and two figures stepped out. Elemi's mouth fell open and he stood speechless, staring.
He had heard stories of creatures like these. Angels, with the naked glowing bodies and folded wings, tall and beautiful and elegant. Servants of God, they flew through the world doing His bidding, rewarding the righteous and punishing the wicked. What could they possibly be doing here, in the forest near his small village?
"We are special emissaries from God," said the first angel as both walked closer to Elemi, "sent here because your people serve Him so faithfully. He is greatly pleased with the work you have done in His name, and you will all be gloriously rewarded when you ascend into Heaven. But," continued the angel, "there is an abomination here, an abomination that He refuses to tolerate any longer. These unbelievers, these harijan, they are unworthy to breathe the same air and walk upon the same earth as the faithful. They must be stamped out, killed, every one of them, by those who serve God. Only then will He be truly pleased with the world."
Elemi felt a rush of pleasure at the angel's words, and stumbled over his reply in his excitement. "Yes––yes, I will serve––what shall I do––to begin?"
The angel smiled. "You will tell us where to find the nearest brahmans, that we may begin an organized campaign against the harijan. You will tell all you meet that you have seen us and what we have said. And when the time comes, you and the rest of your village will take up arms and fight in God's name to create a world of devoted believers, singing the praises of the Almighty!"
Elemi thrilled to hear those words, and he trembled with anticipation. "I will. I––I will," he said.
"So that your words will not be doubted, I shall give you a token of our meeting." And the angel reached behind him, and pulled a feather from his wing.
He handed it to Elemi, and it shone as water shines when light from the sunset falls on it. Elemi took it reverently, and watched as the angels lifted their powerful wings, beat them once, twice, and lifted from the ground. Soon they had passed above the treetops, and he could see them no longer. He stood motionless for a moment, clutching the feather to his chest, and then he turned and fled back towards the village, feeling electrified in every limb of his body. He had seen these angels, had heard the grand destiny of a world united in belief. And God was pleased with him!
In the trees where the angels had stood, there was a strange patch of air. From one side it was invisible, and from the other it was exactly like a window hanging above the ground.
It had been a week since Will's trip to Southampton. He had ridden the bus back home and torn up the note he had left. When Mary and his mother returned, he had said nothing of his trip or the knife. He had hidden the knife inside his mattress and done his best to forget it was there.
He knew he should break it. He should break it, and throw the pieces into the deepest hole he could find. But he couldn't do it. Each time he decided he should break the knife, he knelt down and felt under his bed for the vertical slash he had made, hidden in the shadows near the metal frame. He would get as far as pulling out the sheath before his fortitude failed him, and he shoved it back.
While he couldn't break the knife, neither could he use it. He did not have strength enough for any decisive course of action, and frequently he would imagine the rest of his life torn with indecision, and he knew his life would have been much better had he never fixed the knife at all. And yet…he could not destroy it.
He went down that evening to join Mary and his mother for dinner. It was nearly eight o'clock, but they always ate late because Mary taught an evening class at the nearby university where she worked. Will and his mother no longer lived in their shabby old house in Winchester; they had moved to the city's outskirts, into a three-story house with a separate apartment on the ground floor. Mary could live there independently of the upper stories, which had their own balcony entrance, but she joined them for dinner nearly every night.
Will and his mother liked the new house, because it was not the old house. The memories there were too unpleasant, especially for Will, who could not pass the stairs without remembering the way the man had tripped over Moxie and pitched down them. He did not exactly blame himself for the man's death, though he knew he would have killed them both if it had come to that. It had only been an accident after all, and he had been defending himself and his home against intruders. At least, that was what the courts had decided. Mary, too, had been able to escape any serious trouble, although she had been faced with some heavy fines for the destruction of private property.
Their dinner conversation that night revolved around the same topics they had been discussing for the last few days.
"They're all talking about it at the college," said Mary. "No one's really worried yet, but everyone's puzzled about it. I don't know what to say to them." She put down her fork and sighed.
Will's mother looked anxious. "They've got to understand that this is serious. It might not be just a passing thing, and by the time they realize that, it might be too late to do anything about it."
"But it's difficult, because there's no reason for it." Mary shrugged helplessly. "No one can see any reason, so they don't know what's causing this sudden change. And that's really the part that should worry them. Goodness knows it worries me." She picked up her fork again, held it over her plate for a moment, set it down again. "Of course the worst part is that we sit here discussing this but we don't do anything about it." She gave a short, bitter laugh. "We're just as bad as they are. Worse."
Will looked up then. "So why don't we do anything about it? This would be the right time, wouldn't it, before it's too late? You said that, didn't you Mum?"
"Well, yes…"
"We're the ones with the responsibility," persisted Will. "Who else knows the truth about the Authority?"
"We can't exactly broadcast that around," said Mary. "The way the churches are acting now, they'd probably throw us in jail for heresy, or blasphemy, or high crimes against the state, or whatever they happen to be calling it when someone says something they don't like."
Will's mother looked alarmed. "They won't ever go that far, I hope."
Mary only raised her eyebrows and resumed eating.
"I don't like it," said Will. "It's strange. It's just…strange. Metatron is destroyed, isn't he? And there isn't any reason in this world for the churches to start getting more powerful like this."
"No," said Mary suddenly. Will looked at her questioningly. "I mean, yes, Metatron is dead, but… I told you this, didn't I? I must've told you. Serafina Pekkala, she told me that the Kingdom had always tried to oppress people and keep them from truth and wisdom…and maybe it had suffered a defeat, but it would regroup under a different leader."
Will blinked. "Of course. Yes. I hadn't thought."
But Mary was frowning and biting her lip, and she spoke slowly. "And she said…we must be ready to fight against it."
"Well then," said Will, "that's clear enough, isn't it? It's the same thing the angel told us." He did not need to say who "us" was. "She said we must teach people to be kind and curious and open-minded, because that's how we make Dust."
"And so we must fight against opression and intolerance," murmured his mother.
"Yes," said Will.
AN: And so…the plot thickens. Well, more like "the plot actually begins." I know it was kind of a long wait for that somewhat wimpy little chapter, sorry about that. My teachers think it's fun to assign a bunch of projects/papers all at the end of the year, all at the same time, in addition to our usual amount of homework and IB tests in two weeks.
You won't find those Vergil lines at the beginning in any translation of The Aeneid, because they were done by yours truly for her Latin class and I thought they were somewhat appropriate. Also, you will notice I have borrowed the Hindu caste system, slightly modified, for use in Elemi's world. Brahmans are the priests who tell everyone what God's will is; kshatriyas are the religious police who enforce the brahmans' proclamations; vaishyas are the merchants, shopowners, whatever, who carry out the day-to-day business; shudras are the farmers and artisans who do all the real work; and harijan are the untouchables who reject God.
Okay, I have only one more thing to say. Actually, it's really more of a cry for help. If anyone wants to e-mail me and GIVE ME SUGGESTIONS FOR THIS STORY, it would make me very happy. I know what's going on generally and what's going on specifically in the next couple chapters, but after that I get a little hazy. Please! Help!
Oh! One more thing! Reviewers! They're so great! Aren't reviewers great?
reubenae – (hands first-reviewer award to reubenae) Thank you! Read more! And don't forget to review! About the second chapter, whenever I get around to doing second drafts, I'll clarify and add "Cittágazze, ca. 300 years previously" or something like that.
Zarroc – I didn't realize that chapter was confusing, but since you asked about it too, I guess it was.
Danny Barefoot – Thank you. Have you ever actually felt like your heart was beating out of your chest? It doesn't feel very pleasant.
Trojan Horse – Many thanks to you too. I'm definitely reading your sequel, and if you have any ideas for my story they would be greatly! appreciated! And hey! My Vergil quote is about the Trojan horse! Nifty!
