A tale once came to me of a University near a regular sort of town. It was a large University, that taught a good number of students. These students were from all across the Four Corners of Civilization. Some were from noble families, younger sons who had been sent away to learn their trades. Some were from more humble backgrounds, but clever beyond measure. Some were rich
and clever, though to be sure, these were very few.
The Masters, of course, were the same way. Some were Masters because they loved to learn, and loved to teach. These Masters were kind, for the most part, and taught their students many things. Some Masters were simply too smart to do anything else, their minds so far above their students that they bordered on madness. But some Masters were cruel, and seemed to be there more to put their students in their place than for any other reason.
Among the students at this school was one who had worked very hard to arrive there. He had very little means, but a great deal of talent, and was the youngest admitted in more years than many could count. He had, in fact, begun to study sympathy many years before, when he was but a small child. When he began his classes, he thought, realistically, that this should be taken into account. After all, he did not see the purpose of wasting time learning that which had already been learned. So he took it up with his Master, who he (wrongly, it was later proved), assumed to be a great man.
The next day, the Master, threatened by his student's cleverness, and determined to put this young man in his place, handed the reins of the class over to the young man. After all, if he was so
clever, perhaps
he should be the one teaching. The young man was nervous, and humble, and resisted his Master's request, but was told to do so once, twice, three times.
So he did, and set forth to show the Master that he was not as foolish as perhaps the Master believed. Defiant? Perhaps, although he had not wished to be. But he had been forced to take this position, and swore by Merciful Tehlu that he would not embarrass those who had so kindly taught him in his youth.
And the young man spoke, imparting the wisdom he had learned many years before, as the class listened in rapt interest. While he spoke, he formed a clay mound in his hand, and sculpted it, until after a few moments it was nearly a perfect sculpture of the Master. Requesting a piece of the Master's hair, which was freely given, he completed the simulacrum, and binding his will, caught the small figure's leg ablaze. Now, it was not a perfect link, but the boy's power was beyond all imagining, and in mere seconds, the Master's clothes caught fire, smoking, then shooting blue flame in all directions. Why blue? I know not, although from what I have heard of this master, I think it not impossible that perhaps it was the Demon in him that caused it to burn so - and which caused him to suffer so little hurt.
The boy, of course, found himself on the Horns for such an offense. Humble and terrified, having only meant to
warm the Master's foot, he nonetheless stood brave and strong before the onslaught of anger, and showed a strength and nobility beyond his years. Sentenced to seven lashes - seven, that number of such import - he went to his punishment with his heart in Tehlu's hands.
And merciful Tehlu blessed him. Once the lash cracked! And the boy's skin split, but no blood appeared. And he did not flinch, as if he had not even felt the pain.
Twice, and three times! And still, the torn skin refused to cry its tears upon the ground, healed by Tehlu nearly before it had been broken.
Four five and six, and the boy closed his eyes, braver than many men.
And at last, released from his punishment, the crowd marveled at this boy who had been so marred, and yet so blessed that no drop of crimson - and no grimace of pain - marred the boy's countenance.
Why was he blessed so? Perhaps because Tehlu has a special place for those who have been wronged. Perhaps because the Master truly
was a demon, and the boy nearly a brave martyr to have challenged him.
Whatever the reason, men say that the lamps in the Master's room always grew dimmer and bluer, and a strange chill would enter the room on the nights that visitors or students would dare to mention the student who had defied him, and won Tehlu's blessing in return.
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