He snuck out again after evening meal. We stanched his wounds and he slept fitfully through the afternoon heat. He must have been dreaming of another time and place. He called out names in his sleep, ground his teeth. He drank nearly two pitchers of water at evening meal, but ate little. The Latins ignored him, except Master Silvus. Master never spoke to him, but his gaze was often on Ben.
Ben left the table first. As I hurried in to clear his bowls, I watched him stride at the stone. He circled it. I was drawn to my duties by Uncle Zebulun’s call.
The bellowing insults of my father fell on my brain again and again. His predictions of failure battered me from memory, as fresh as the moment he spat them at me. As I paced at the stone, his rage twisted face glared me down. I would not cry. I would not bleed again. I would conquer. I slowed my pace to cold-hearted study. I would find . . . there! A crack, no it was just a vein! I crept about the edge of the boulder with my nose just a fingers width from the surface. After a while my eyes began to water. I wiped them back. A drip fell square on it. A definite crack. I began with my littlest fingernail. Scratching back and forth, I worked at the chink in the stone. When I had ground my nail to the bed, the sun had set, so that I couldn’t see. Rebekah brought a lamp so I could see to go to bed.
“Master Benjamin, what is your fascination with Master Silvus’ test?”
“Don’t call me ‘Master.’ He has made it more than a test for me. I heard you singing your midday prayer, Rebekah.”
“Did my praying offend you, Ma . . ., Benjamin?” He looked away.
The next day I filed down all the nails on my left hand against the crack, but it was worth it. I could now get a grip. The next morning I felt my way around the rock in the dark. I swept as much dust as I could into the crack, then wedged the barest end of my longest fingers in as well. I pulled and tugged, allowing visions of my father and his friends full access to me. I focused so intently I forgot to breathe. This time I did not pass out, but gulped in fresh air and renewed my fight. For a week I strained and sawed and tried to peal the stone in two. My fingers had advanced to the depth of my nail bed into the rock.
Master Silvus met me as I headed into the pre-morning gloom once again. “You have done enough.”
“No!”
“I am your Master and I release you from the stone.”
“You are my Master, but I cannot let the stone be. You have turned it into my Father. I must beat him. I will not lose.”
“You cannot win.”
“I will not lose.” I turned back to my “Father.” CRACK! Silvus extended the lash past my face. I didn’t flinch or slow. Fire landed across my back and neck, and again. These blows only threw more fuel on the hate crackling to get out.
“I will beat you as senseless as you act. If you cannot learn to control the beast, you are worthless to me. Cage him and use his strength, but do not let your Father win your mind into foolish hatred.”
“Yes Master Silvus.” I stopped.
“Now that the stone and my words have unleashed your pain and anger, you need to build your cage. Blind anger against another makes you strong and banishes pain. Blind anger in the ring will leave you lifeless in two quick breaths. You are now outside your feelings thanks to the lash and my words. Never let yourself fall quite that senseless again. Instead learn to call up the images that bring on this rage and hold yourself on the edge of falling over to the beast. Then you will gain all the strength and toughness with control.”
“I will try.”
“You must do more than try, lad. The beast is always your greatest ally and opponent rolled up inside you. You cannot lose to the beast! Take this.” He unsheathed a broadsword about 5 cubits or forearm lengths. At the hilt, the blade was as wide as my hand. “You have earned a weapon to use with your hate on the stone.” I poured my memories and tears down my arms and into the blade.
When he took hold of the sword, I shivered. “Uncle Zebulun must need me somewhere else.” The first clang drove me to run.
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