'But everyday there are more of them,' Thomas Rane confided to Danlo one night after he had helped him through the 41st attitude of remembrancing. He had been meeting with Danlo almost every evening after dinner – on those evenings when Danlo couldn't contrive to visit Tamara – and he was very proud to be tutoring him in his art. Though he rarely favoured Danlo with words of praise, it was his way to praise him indirectly, negatively, through denigrating the efforts and skills of others. 'Remembrancing is the most treacherous of the arts: at first it's all roses, roses, roses, and soon enough, thorns, thorns, thorns. People give up too easily. And some people never learn the discipline of the self. Unfortunately, I'm afraid these are the very people Bardo will attract, if he tries to expand this little cult of ours. We've already given our kalla to the City's most brilliant – who's left? Now, shall we return to deism, or would you rather proceed to the mythopoesis attitude?'
To be sure, none of the three factions was ever a discrete group, completely separated from the others. Many of the kalla fellowship sought personal godhood as well as remembrance of the One Memory. Many seekers would burn for transcendence like stars in the night, only to stumble out of bed one morning red-eyed, discouraged, doubting, full of coldness towards themselves and their deepest dreams. A few of these might rekindle their passion for a while, but most would look for easier ways of annihilating the longing inside them. And it was never easy to tell when a seeker had left her path to become a godchild of Ringism who blindly followed another's way. Many there were who accused others of falsity and faithlessness, even as they gouged out their inner eyes and knelt raptly while Danlo or Bardo spoke of the wonders of the Elder Eddas. Bardo's house became something of an arena where Ringists of all factions vied with one another for spiritual superiority. Or rather, his brilliantly decorated rooms were like sets of a stage: at any time of day, men and women would sally down the glittering hallways, seeking each other out. They would pose and smile and beam at one another; they worked their faces into the silliest and most simple of configurations as they tried to emote an aura of enlightenment. They acted as they imagined godlings should act, and, subtly, slowly, they tried to shape each other into this idealized image of the perfect Ringist. People were always seeking to fix another's eyes, always looking deep into the eyelight as if to ask: 'Have you remembranced the Elder Eddas?' Or, more pointedly, 'Are you becoming a god?' And no one was a more fervent devotee of this game than Surya Surata Lal. She played it with Danlo and Hanuman and Tamara, and she played it with the brothers Hur, and she played it with any new Ringist who came into Bardo's house; in truth, she very probably played it staring into a mirror at herself.
'She has no real talent for remembrancing,' Thomas Rane confided to Danlo. 'And that is a pity because she tries very hard. Too hard, I think.'
In some respects, Surya Lal was typical of those who went back and forth between being seekers and mere followers of the Way. Although she was never lazy and she possessed an outward courage and intelligence that fooled even her friends, when it came time to find the way into herself, she would blink her red little eyes and purse her little lips, and fall stubborn, as dull and stolid as a musk ox. She had little imagination. She curried the good opinion of others, and so she began pretending that her remembrances were deeper and more profound than they really were. Because she clung to the prettiness of her own self-image, try though she might, she always balked at applying to herself the insights of her best memories. She was afraid of personal change, and of wildness, and she was jealous of those who had no such fear. From the very beginning, she resented Danlo's ability to delve into the heart of the Elder Eddas. She wrongly saw this ability as springing from kalla, hence her disapproval of that marvellous drug.
One night, after the kalla ceremony, she was heard to say, 'No one can know if Danlo's first remembrance was a great one or just a descent into illusion. I'm beginning to mistrust this kalla. It's far too dangerous to give to the inexperienced.'
As the days grew shorter and the weather colder, she began to mistrust the very act of remembrancing. She was envious of Thomas Rane and Danlo, and if the truth be told, even of Hanuman li Tosh. Since she lacked the skill to explore the great memories, she could never teach others the remembrancing art, never become a guide and an authority in Bardo's nascent church. Thus she sought to control the remembrancing ceremony, and ultimately, to undo it altogether. After the drowning of Isas Nikitovich, she argued against giving kalla to new Ringists. It was her idea to substitute plain sea water for the kalla at the nightly ceremonies. She implored Bardo to make this change. And Bardo, for his own reasons, heeded her strident words. Beginning on the evening of the 48th of winter, those bearing their first invitation to Bardo's house were given water as a symbol and sacrament, while more experienced Ringists received their two sips of kalla doled out from Bardo's diamond-studded jigger. It might be thought that this corruption of the ceremony would have alienated many people, but ironically it had the opposite effect. Would-be godlings could now flock to Bardo's house without fearing that they would be required to accomplish anything so arduous or risky as self-remembrance. Indeed, more than a few longtime Ringists, who were sick of the kalla, were only too glad to sip water in its place. As for the new converts burning for a taste of the holy drug (approximately one third fell into this category) they could always hope to be admitted to the elect of Bardo's new religion. They could do this by attending at least thirty-three remembrancing ceremonies, by professing a faith that human beings could become as gods if only they would follow the example of Mallory Ringess, and most importantly, by surrendering at least a tenth of their worldly wealth and income to the Way.
'We need money,' Bardo confessed one night. In his tea room, he had called together those closest to him. Surya Surata Lal and Thomas Rane were of this inner circle, of course, as were Kolenya Mor, Nirvelli, Hanuman, and Danlo. The brothers Hur, after the Nikitovich incident, had fallen from favour, and so they were not invited to sit at Bardo's exquisite tea table, to drink the rare teas and thick Summerworld coffees that Bardo served in little white cups. 'There's now a twenty-day wait for invitations to the remembrances – we can't fit all the seekers who want to attend one into this house. Therefore, we need to buy a property that will accommodate everyone. A couple of blocks off Danladi Square, there's an abandoned building I'd like to consider acquiring. A grand building, a glorious building. But it's hideously expensive. As my cousin has pointed out, the only way to finance such an acquisition would be for the new Ringists to pay for it.'
Now, Bardo had organized his cult as most religions have been organized since the beginning of civilization: he was Lord, High Priest and Guru of the followers of the Way, and he ruled on all church matters with absolute authority. He had no real need to consult others. But he was always a reasonable, congenial man who loved good drink and the interplay of friendly argument. He invited comment, and so he couldn't have been surprised when Thomas Rane said, 'There are already too many godchildren. Too many new Ringists. We should cull the best of these and discourage the others. The Way needs fewer seekers, not more.'
'I strongly disagree,' Surya said as she tapped her teacup. 'We've a duty to teach the Way of Ringess across the Civilized Worlds. And possibly beyond – wherever human beings are still human.'
Danlo, who had never really understood the getting and spending of money, looked at Bardo and said, 'If you require new Ringists to pay money in order to attend the ceremonies, then this is ... tantamount to selling the kalla, yes?'
'Ah, but this is the wrong way to view the situation,' Bardo said. 'We – any who call themselves Ringists – are simply buying a building. We'll own it in common, each Ringist holding shares according to his or her contribution to the Way.'
'But what of those who have no money to contribute?' Danlo asked.
'Well,' Bardo said, 'they won't be able to hold any property in condominium, will they?'
'But you will allow them to attend the ceremonies?'
'Of course,' Bardo said. 'The Way of Ringess is open to everyone.'
'Even autists?'
'Even autists, Little Fellow.'
'But what of the Order, then? The novices and journeymen, most of the academicians ... what of their vows of poverty?'
'Ah, but that is a delicate matter,' Bardo said, and he slurped down a cup of his sweet, black coffee and ate a cookie. 'From all new Ringists we'll require a tenth of all property and income. At least. But a tenth of nothing is still nothing, eh? Those who are truly poor will pay nothing.'
As Bardo and Danlo argued finances for a while, it became clear that Bardo considered few of the Order to be truly poor. He pointed out that journeymen and novices, who don't even own their own clothes, often come from wealthy families. 'It's been my experience that everyone likes a little money pressing his palms, and almost everyone hoards a little. Or they can acquire it, or create it.'
'I have never even seen a City disk,' Danlo said. 'Much less held one in my hand.'
'Well, that's because of the way you grew up. But even Danlo the Wild could get money, if there was a great enough need.'
'I do not think so,' Danlo said. In truth, he thought the invention and use of money was shaida, one of civilization's worst perversions, and he could not imagine ever wanting any.
'If you had to, you could sell yourself on Strawberry Street.' This came from Hanuman li Tosh, who had been sitting quietly at the end of the table. He was referring, of course, to the male brothels down in the worst part of the Farsider's Quarter. Although he hadn't touched his coffee, his eyes, his hand motions, his entire body and being seemed electric with alertness, as if he had just drunk nine cups of coffee. He looked at Danlo, and his face radiated awareness of the cruelty in his words. This rare cruelty caused Danlo to stare at Hanuman in disbelief and despair. Everyone at the table must have sensed the hurt flowing between them. 'I'm sorry, now I've wounded you,' Hanuman said. He spoke as if he and Danlo were the only two people at the table. 'I really didn't mean to.'
Bardo – and most of the others – suddenly seemed very intent on eating their cookies and drinking their tea. Nobody spoke.
'No one should have to sell themselves for money,' Nirvelli finally said in her beautiful, dulcet voice. She was wearing white pyjamas, and the contrast against her black skin was striking. 'Is the Way of Ringess about money, or is it about joy? Pleasure can be bought and sold, as I well know, but joy is beyond price.'
'This talk of money demeans us,' Thomas Rane put in, and his face was hard with disapproval.
'Money is just money,' Surya said. 'And we have to decide how to accept money from those of the Order able to contribute,' here she gave Danlo a swift, chiding look, then continued, 'The young pilot is correct that most of the Order have taken vows of poverty. Therefore, they can't own property, not even in condominium.'
Bardo swished some coffee inside his mouth before swallowing. He belched, waved his hand as if to shoo away a furfly, then said, a little too carelessly, 'But this problem of ownership is really a non-problem. All Ordermen who can't own property can make a donation to established Ringists. Even if they must make this donation in secret. Property can then be held in trust for them by these Ringists. This should satisfy the Order's goddamned canons.'
If it was Surya Lal who first suggested squeezing money from the new Ringists, and Bardo who schemed to legally implement such a tithe, then Hanuman li Tosh must be credited with attracting the flood of converts that would soon swell Bardo's church. (Just as he must be blamed for the ultimate corrupting of the Way.) To give a full account of his remarkable transformation and his rise to religious authority, it is necessary first to say more of his quest to understand the universal nature of suffering.
Those who follow that part of themselves which is great are great men; those who follow that part of themselves which is little are little men' – thus spoke the great Lao Tzu millennia before Hanuman was born. He might have been foretelling Hanuman's astonishing career, for Hanuman's whole life was a tragic blending of the little and the great. At first, however, to the followers of the Way, only the great part was obvious. He was very young to become a leader of a great religious movement. Some thought that he was too young, but others pointed out that the Emperor Aleksandar had been as young when he tried to conquer Old Earth, and that Jin Zenimura had been only two years older when he repudiated the Order of the Warrior-Poets and founded Zanshin. As it happened, Hanuman's youth was a sword that cut two ways, both of which aided his rise: his admirers cited his age and accomplishments as proof of his genius, while his detractors dismissed him as merely a vain young man full of pretensions and impossible ideals and didn't take him seriously until it was too late.
Danlo was perhaps the only one to descry Hanuman's true potential. Once, after an empty remembrancing ceremony in which they both sipped only salt water, Danlo found Hanuman alone with the ferns and the waterfall in Bardo's meditation room, and he said, 'The most dangerous kind of idealist... is one who has the power to make his ideals real.'
'And you think I have ideals?' Hanuman laughed out.
'Truly, since the night of your great remembrance, you have envisioned something. A fate and way for human beings. I can almost see it. You never talk about it, but in the silence, in the shadow of your thoughts ... this fate.'
'I believe in free will, you should know.'
'Why can't we talk any more?' Danlo asked.
'I talk all the time. You never listen.'
'But the others ... they listen, yes? The godchildren. For them, your words are like quicksilver, and you speak and speak, and more and more people knock at Bardo's gates to listen.'