Pathways - Jeri Taylor [213]
He rose each day at dawn, and ruminated that his mother would no doubt still consider him a lie-abed. He ate nothing until he had completed two hours of meditation, alone in his stone-quiet cell.
Then he would join his brothers and sisters for a simple meal of bread and fruit, which was followed by a meditative walk in the hills. On those mornings when T’Khut loomed above them, a special invocation would be chanted, an ancient prayer for T’Khut to keep her place in the sky. Of course everyone now realized the astronomical relationship between the two planets, and knew that T’Khut could not descend upon Vulcan at will, but the ancients did not understand that, and believed that fiery, violent T’Khut might at any time plunge from her perch to wield molten destruction to all the inhabitants of Vulcan. The incantations to T’Khut were considered some of the most powerful ever spoken, and even today priestesses extolled their awe and majesty.
The only other meal of the day came in late afternoon, and was as simple as the first: bread and fruit again, accompanied this time by soup. It followed classes in the temple and preceded an evening of communal meditation. Then everyone retired to their rooms to write and study, and finally to sleep.
It was an unvarying routine, broken only a few times a year for the observance of certain hallowed days: the birth of Surak; the consecration of Seleya, the holy mountain; and a few others. These observances were muted and staid, as was appropriate, and characterized primarily by the addition of music, generally the Vulcan harp, to the ceremonies.
Tuvok lived like this for six years, studying Kolinahr, and was more at peace than he had ever been before. The rightness of his choice soothed him, and he vowed to dedicate the rest of his life to the pursuit of mental discipline.
One day he was walking along one of the stone colonnades that ringed the temple, musing over a certain passage in Surak’s writings that seemed to possess a flaw in logic, when he heard the sound of children at play. They were part of the summer program conducted by M’Fau—the same program which Sophie Timmins had once attended—and they had been at the temple every one of the six years he had spent there.
Today, however, the sound was disturbing to him, in a way he couldn’t define. Something vague and uncomfortable began manifesting itself in him, and he was aware of sensations he hadn’t had since his days at the Academy. He determined to identify, analyze, and then eliminate these perfidious sensibilities. To that end, he changed direction and walked to the children’s yard.
There were perhaps thirty of them, ranging in age from five or six up to twelve or so. They were playing dak’lir, a structured game intended to eliminate excess physical energy—often necessary before young and undisciplined minds can be turned toward logic.
The day was a mild one, distant mountains etched against the sky (which was absent T’Khut’s menacing presence), red desert sparkling in the sun. It was on days like this that Tuvok made a point of strolling the colonnades, musing on the Disciplines. Now, as he gazed at the yard of unruly young people—and no mistake about it, they were behaving in a most untoward fashion—he felt a genuine annoyance. They had interrupted his thoughts. Their noisy discordance prevented him from reentering his former reverie.
He moved closer to the yard, seeking the priest or priestess who was in charge, but he saw no adult, just the gaggle of loud children. He was further annoyed to realize that the children were unsupervised. Unthinkable! How could any reasonable person allow this intractable group to create such a clamorous distraction?
He strode toward the children, not consciously aware that his heart rate