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Intrigued, I hold out my palm. He drops something into it—a many-rayed silver pendant on a leather cord. I frown. I recognize it, but when I go to question him, he has already scampered out of the tavern. I stare at the place where he disappeared.
“He’s quite the little man, isn’t he?” Bryn asks, taking the empty stool.
A slight nod is all I can manage. I finger the necklace, picturing it around Amyrah’s neck. But something does not fit the memory. Didn’t it emanate light? At least, it did when she wore it. It looks like ordinary metal in my hand.
“Forgive me if this is an intrusion, but you seem to be a conflicted man.”
I do not meet his eyes.
“I recognize the look in your eyes.” He rests his elbows on the counter and leans into his clasped hands. “I know what it is to have your actions condemn you.”
I merely grunt. What could he possibly know about my situation?
“It’s probably not what you want to hear, but I can guarantee you will not find any victory by continuing to trust in your own ability to fix the wrong in your life.”
“You’re right,” I say, setting down the necklace and taking a gulp of ale. I plunk the mug down again. “I don’t want to hear that.”
He smiles good-naturedly. “Are you a man of faith?”
Even though Bryn doesn’t come out and say it, I know he refers to faith in Elyon, not the kaligorven. My shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh. “Not really,” I reply, and before I can hold it back, I add, “I left that to my wife.” The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth.
This is the day for admitting things to strangers, apparently. At least I will not be looked at with speculation for talking to this one.
Bryn sits in thoughtful silence for some time before he speaks again. “I was as you are now, several years ago. My wife found it so easy to trust in the goodness of the Highest, but it was always a battle for me. I felt shamed by her easy belief.”
It is so familiar, my chin bobs.
He lowers his hands to the rough counter. He has an easy manner about him—the furthest thing from intimidating, I realize now. “But I’ve since learned I was merely trusting in my own ability to believe.” He laughs. “And I was not very skilled at it.”
“Nor am I.”? “That’s the thing. It isn’t about our skill at all. Faith is a gift from Elyon, not something we can cultivate on our own.” He looks at me. “The absolution you seek from your guilt—it can’t be earned, either.”
I sigh and cover my face with my hands. This is not the kind of conversation I need right now.
But Bryn plows on. “Friend, no one is beyond hope. If the Highest can implant even the tiniest grain of faith in a heart like mine and cause it to grow, he can do the same for you. If he can remove my guilt from me, he can do so for you as well.”
A dry laugh shudders out of me. I am beyond redemption.
“I don’t pretend to know your situation, or what brought you to this place this evening,” he continues, unfazed, “but I recognize your expression. You believe you are not worth saving.”
“Are any of us truly worth it?” I bring myself to look at him. “You just told me not to trust in my own efforts.”
Sadness flickers briefly in his eyes. “No,” he answers softly. “We are a fallen people, and completely undeserving.” Bryn pauses, and his eyes travel to the flickering candlelight. “And yet, he loves us still.”
I want to retaliate, to tell this naïve man he is wasting his breath. How can he believe in a deity so gracious when we are trapped in the clutches of this never-ending shadowland?
But something stops my tongue when I think of Arvo. In his childlike innocence, he would forgive his parents for leaving him, for lying to him. He would love them still. And I know my daughter would do the same for me, if I asked. Perhaps Bryn is right, and they are both faint reflections of Elyon. Perhaps I can be forgiven for what I have done.
But the guilt still burns in my soul. “I have made a mess of everything in my life. It is too much.”? He shakes his head. “You can’t fix everything all at once, and you don’t need to. Confess your need to Elyon, and I promise he will move you forward, one step at a time.”
My hand covers the necklace.
Bryn gets up and pushes the stool in. “Walk in the light, friend,” he says as he hands me a small scrap of paper. “Darkness need not dwell in you any longer.”
I unfold the paper to find directions to a specific area in Utsanek scrawled across it. I do not recognize the location.
“When you’re ready to discuss this again, you can find me here.”
When I look up, Bryn Peren is gone.
