Eifelheim - Michael Flynn [130]
Dietrich explained that, although the French began the Year of the Lord already at Christmastide, the Germans took the Incarnation as the proper time. The civil year began, naturally, in January. Hans could not understand such inconstancy. “On Krenkheim,” he said, “is not only the year standard, but so too the hour of the day and even to one part in two hundreds of thousands of the day.”
“The Kratzer divided your hour into a gross of minutes, and each minute into a gross of eyeblinks. What task can ever be done so quickly as to need an ‘eyeblink’ to mark it?”
“‘Eyeblink’ is your term. It ‘signifies’ nothing to us.”
Could a man see humor in golden-faceted globes; laughter in horny lips? Above them, he heard a colored woodpecker rap against a branch. Hans clacked back at it, as if answering, then laughed.
“We find such intervals useful,” he continued, “for measuring the properties of the ‘elektronik sea,’ whose … tides … rise and fall countless times during an eyeblink.”
“Ach so,” Dietrich said, “the waves that ripple in no medium. What is by you this ‘eyeblink’?”
“I must consult the Heinzelmännchen.” The two proceeded in silence beneath a choir of woodleafsingers and acorn-jays. Dietrich stooped by a patch of woods-masters by the trail. He plucked one of the pale pink flowers and held it close to his eyeglasses. The underground parts made a good red dye and Theresia could use the remainder in her remedies, save that she would not walk the Great Woods so long as the Krenken were there. Reason enough for Dietrich to dig a few up for her and place them in his scrip.
“An eyeblink,” Hans announced at last, “is two thousand and seven hunded and four myriads of the ripples of unseeable light from … a particular substance which you do not know.”
Dietrich stared at the Krenk for a moment before the absurdity overwhelmed him, and he burst into laughter.
AS THEY returned to the camp, Hans asked after the Kratzer. Dietrich told him of his many quodlibets with the philosopher over points of natural philosophy, but Hans interrupted. “Why has he not come to our camp?”
Dietrich studied his companion. “Perhaps he will. He complains of weakness.”
Hans suddenly stilled and Dietrich, thinking he had seen something in the forest, stopped also and listened. “What is it?”
“I fear we hold the Lenten fast too seriously.”
Dietrich said, “Lent is a demanding season. We await the Lord’s resurrection. But the Kratzer is not baptized; so why does he also fast?”
“From fellowship. We find comfort in that.” More, Hans would not say, but passed the remainder of the walk in silence.
AT THE camp, Ilse Krenkerin approached Dietrich. “Is it true, pastor, that those who swear fealty to your lord-from-the-skies will live again?”
“Doch,” Dietrich assured her. “Their spirits live forever in the communion of saints, to be reuinited with their bodies on the Last Day.”
“And your lord-from-the-sky is a being of energia, and so can find the energia of my Gerd and replace it in his body?”
“Ach. Gerd. Were you then his wife?”
“Not yet, though we spoke of finding a ‘no equivalent’ on our return. He was of the crew and I was but a pilgrim taking passage, but he seemed so … so commanding … in his ship’s livery, and goodly in form. It was for my sake—that I need not drink the alchemist’s broth—that he counterspoke the Herr Gschert and joined the heretics. If your sky-lord will reunite us in a new life, I would swear my fealty also to him.”
Dietrich said nothing of Gerd’s unbaptized state. He was unsure of the correct reasoning. The law of love held that no man could be condemned for lacking beliefs he had never had opportunity to learn; but it was true also that only through Jesus could a man enter Heaven. Perhaps Gerd would be admitted to that limb of Heaven reserved for the virtuous pagans, a place of perfect natural happiness. But if so, and Ilse accepted the