On and on they sailed, further and further from the lands he knew, and with each sea league, the place described by Emlyn's songs became more real to Murdo, slowly usurping the features of his native homeland in his memory. Whether by day or night, Murdo looked out at the all-encircling sea and dreamed of that enchanted realm, the Region of the Summer Stars, of which the round-faced Briton sang. Slowly, Murdo began to feel that he belonged there.
One night, despite the clamour of the Norsemen for a song, Emlyn professed himself to be out of voice. 'Singen! Singen!' they insisted. 'We are wanting to hear the Battle of the Trees?
'Ah, now that is a fine tale-a splendid tale indeed. Tomorrow maybe I will sing it,' he told them, and said he must rest himself for a tale so exuberant and profound.
They let it go at that and, as the sailors returned to their ale cups, Murdo crept close to Emlyn, who was sitting with his feet propped on the rail, staring out into the west as the last glimmer of a violet sunset faded into twilight. He settled himself beside the monk, but said nothing. After a time, Emlyn sighed.
'Is it the hiraeth?' Murdo asked. 'The home-yearning?'
'Oh, you know it is,' he replied. 'And it has taken the heart out of me this time.'
Murdo nodded sympathetically. He had begun to feel something of the same thing himself. They sat in silence, listening to the smooth-rippling waves against the hull, and staring into the gathering gloom as night deepened around them. After a time, Murdo said, 'The clear light – what is it?'
The monk turned his round face towards Murdo. 'However did you come to hear of that?'
'You told me,' Murdo replied. 'You said you were the keeper of the clear light, remember?'
'Sanctus Clams-the Holy Light,' the monk corrected. 'We are the Keepers of the Holy Light, and Guardians of the True Path.'
'Yes, that was it,' Murdo agreed. 'But what does it mean?'
'Ah, well now,' answered Emlyn, 'it is not a thing we tell just anyone.' He paused, and Murdo feared he would say no more, then added, 'Still, I see no harm in telling you a little.' He settled back, folding his hands across his paunch. 'Where to begin, that is the problem.'
He thought for a moment, and then said, 'Before the sainted Padraic established his hut among the wild tribes of Eire, before blessed Colm Cille took the rock of Hy for his abbey, the learned brotherhood of Britain and Gaul have held to the Holy Light: the inspired teaching of Jesu the Christ. This teaching was kept by the apostles themselves, and passed down and down through the years from one generation of priestly believers to the next.'
'The teaching of the church?' wondered Murdo, his heart sinking. He had hoped for a better explanation than this.
'No,' Emlyn allowed. 'At least, not as any would know it in this benighted day and age.'
'Then, what -'
'Just listen, boy. Listen, now, and learn.'
Composing himself once more, the monk began. 'Padraic was not the first to learn of the True Path, no-nor was he the last. Far from it. But he was a tireless servant of the Holy Light, and he -'
'Is the Holy Light the same as the True Path, then?' wondered Murdo.
'No, the Holy Light is the knowledge-the knowledge derived from the teaching. The True Path is the practise, see-the use of that knowledge day by day. The first -'
'Why did you say it was a secret?'
'What, and we are to have endless interruptions now?' Emlyn huffed. 'I did not say it was a secret. I said it was a thing we do not tell those who are not ready to hear it.'
'I was just-'
'If you will but hold your tongue between one breath and the next, we will reach an explanation.' He pursed his lips and closed his eyes. Murdo waited, itchy with expectation. After a moment, the monk said, 'This is the way of it: Padraic was not the first, and he was not alone. There were others before and after, as I say-men like the Champion Colm Cille, and the venerable Adamnan-men of courage and long obedience who kept the flame burning bright through many long and bitter years.
'But the Darkness is greedy. It is insatiable. Ever and always, it seeks to devour more and more, and the more it devours, the greater it grows, and the greater it grows, the more powerful it becomes, and the hungrier. There is but one thing strong enough to stand against this all-consuming darkness: the Holy Light. Indeed, it is the most mighty thing on earth, and therefore we guard it with our lives.'
Murdo could not let this assertion go unchallenged. 'If it is as powerful as you say, why does it have to be guarded at all?'
Emlyn clucked his tongue in disapproval. 'Teh! To even ask such a question shows how little you understand of the higher things. Still, I am not surprised. How could you know? For you have spent the whole of your young life in error and confusion. You, like all the rest, have been led astray, like those poor sheep wandering lost in the night.'
'Those were stolen,' Murdo pointed out.
'Yes,' agreed Emlyn absently, 'I suppose they were. But they were lost just the same. Tell me, are the sheep to blame if their shepherds are lazy, ignorant, and deceitful? If the sheep could keep from wandering, there would be no need for shepherds.'
'And if sheep could fly,' suggested Murdo, 'we would call them birds.'
'Scoff if you must,' Emlyn replied, 'I expect no less. We of the Cele De have grown accustomed to mockery. Derision is the refuge of threatened ignorance, after all.'
Murdo, chastened by this rebuke, apologized for his outburst. 'All this talk of sheep and shepherds-it seemed funny to me. Please, tell me about the True Path. Why do you call it that?'
'Because it is a path,' the fat cleric insisted, 'a path of truth and understanding, leading back and back to the beginning-to the very first day when Our Lord called the Twelve to be his faithful servants. From that day, the teaching of Our Lord has been passed from one servant to the next in a single, narrow, unbroken line of succession.
'As it is written: "O, my people, hear my teaching; listen to the words of my mouth. I will open my mouth in parables; I will utter hidden things, teachings from the creation of the world-what we have heard from our fathers." And also: "When Jesu was alone, the Twelve asked him about the parables. The Lord told them, 'The secret of the Kingdom of Heaven has been given to you. But to those on the outside everything is said in parables so that they may be ever seeing, but never perceiving, and ever hearing, but never understanding.' " Thus, it has been since the beginning. The path stretches back and back, unbroken to this day.'
'But what is this teaching?' asked Murdo; he was intrigued, but growing impatient with the monk's vague explanation. 'It does not sound much different from what the bishop says back home.'
'That is where you are wrong. For, unlike so many of our dear brothers and sisters in the faith, we do not wander in error and confusion. Yet, the teaching can only be given to one who is willing to hear, and I do not think you are ready to receive it yet.' Murdo opened his mouth to protest, but Emlyn said, 'Still, I will tell you something about it, and perhaps discernment will begin to grow. The darkness is greedy, as I have said, and it is insidious. Even in those first days it was seeking what it might devour, but the presence of Our Lord kept it at bay.
'When he ascended to Heaven to begin his eternal reign, the Great Darkness sought out the weak and unwary, those it would destroy, it first led astray. Thus, even as the faith itself began to blossom and grow, darkness sowed its own seeds of error and confusion as well. Many have been deceived, and many destroyed.
'Alas! The holy church, the great fortress of the faith, has been breached, and all its bulwarks desecrated. Those who shelter within its walls – whether sheep or shepherds,' Emlyn cast a sidelong glance at Murdo, 'leaders or followers, from the highest patriarch to the most lowly scribe-all have been tainted by the darkness, and all are bereft of the Holy Light. The eyes of their hearts have withered and they glimpse the truth but dimly if they even see it at all.