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“What!” Marcan’s voice boomed across the bookstore in a subdued sort of bellow. “What do you mean there is no point in setting up a pilgrimage site here! It’s important to commemorate the most recent prophet and saint of the Lady. Even if you don’t want notoriety Jemis, your message of the mountains and the woods of refreshment should be properly recorded and honored! As a historian Mr. Dart should understand the durability of monuments for marking historical sites!”
“Marcan, there’s already at least a dozen sites around Ragnor Bella of the original Sir Perrigrine’s miracles and life that no one acknowledges anymore,” I explain calmly, thinking of the Lord Oak and the small chapel. “No one in the church hierarchy cares about the provincial church or its history. Even the local vicar doesn’t care about the “country practices”. They will care even less about the town eccentrics’ so called miracles. Adding a plaque or statue or what have you won’t do anything but waste church funds that can be better spent on the needy in the community.”
“Don’t care? They don’t care that you’re preforming miracles in their midst? And, what do you mean there’s a dozen sites of historic miracles here? What miracles are here besides yours?”
“Well,” I said trying to direct my thoughts away from the strangeness of Marcan’s desire to venerate ME for miracles, “the Lusa tree, the Lord’s Oak, is where Sir Perrigine was reunited with ballory to begin his final ride and the small chapel is at the site of his first Miracle where the Lady blessed the land with water.” Seeing Marcan’s disbelief, I hurry to reassure him, “The stone trough she filled to save the livestock and people is still there. The tree planted at the site of Sir Perregrine’s and his Ballory’s grave still flowers every spring. There’s also the line of old standing stones that are where the front line of the wild hunt was turned to stone for breaking the treaty and attempting to capture the Lady.”
“All of that is still here?” Marcan said very slowly.
“Of course, and a few other things whose providence is harder to prove. Nearly every crossroad or standing stone in the region has at least one story about it. I can show you the old chapel after I close for the day. Mr Dart and me take care of it and do the proper ceremonies during the correct holy days. And the trees are mostly on the Darts ancestral land. He’ll be able to show you where they all are. They’ve been governing their land since before Tarazel and kept track of it all. We’ve been corresponding with scholars of old Oriolan from before the coming of the Empire about the records they’ve been stewarding. It’s fascinating how many of the old stories we can corroborate now! Like the one about the standing stones that are part of the river bank about two miles from here.”
“Jemis.” Marcan paused to take a deep breath, his expression indecipherable to me. “Jemis, why, in the name of the Lady, does no one know about this?”
“What do you mean no one knows?Every new vicar assigned to the Barony is told all of this. They just dismiss it as silly superstition and old tales about trees, and condemn it all as stuff and nonsense.”
“Stuff and nonsense. Stuff and nonsense!” Marcan was definitely bellowing now. “Jemis, did you know that aside from the rainbow girt isle there are NO surviving holy sites from the time of Tarazel? There’s only two others in the entirety of Alinor from before the coming of the Empire!! Everyone should know about this! I’m going to write to the Archbishop at once!”
“I think you may need to speak with Hope before you write that letter. She knows of a number of other old sacred sites from where she’s from.”
“What?!”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Later that day
“Here Marcan, add some honey to that. It’ll help the headache,” I say, concerned about Marcan who currently has his head in his hands slumped over my table.
“Jemis. What is wrong with the people in this town. They have here a greater saint, a prophet, and a unicorn and they want to gossip about the new color of red dye at the haberdashers!”
“You have eleven recorded and documented historical sites from the time of Tarazel, and that’s just from the set of records that’s been translated by Dominus Geery so far. As well as the osteolyths that Hope insists are carved on non native stone from another world that are so old no one can translate them.”
“Yes,” I say placing some freshly made scones on his plate, hoping some food would help revive him.
“Jemis, I am primarily a theologian who is concerned with using the teachings of the church to help the people. History is largely incidental to that, but this! This is unacceptable! This is some of the oldest history in of the Lady! Of the whole country! And no one here cares! There should be a research center here!” He paused after gulping his tea, looking at his cup like it betrayed him. “While I appreciate you sharing your largesse, do you have anything stronger?”
“Finish the tea first. They honey will help,” I said pouring a glass of Marta’s pearjack that Roald had left behind last week.
“Help? Jemis, while I greatly admire your ability to remain collected during intense situations. I am deeply concerned by your priorities sometimes. How can you not want this history to be preserved.”
“As far as I can tell, it has been preserved. While I’m in favor of sharing our research with the university faculty that would benefit from it. I’m not sure what making the sites notorious to the wider public would do beyond bring more trouble.”
“At least allow me to send archivists from the church to document it also.”