Everyone has moments when the mind scatters, and such a thing would never draw particular notice—but in a person of Amon's consistently steady temperament, going on that way for so long was an abnormality. He was already a second-rank divine artist, long since thoroughly practiced in the basic meditation of divine arts, yet suddenly he could no longer enter that state of focused inward reflection; stray thoughts kept crowding in beyond his control. This was the obstacle standing in the way of his further cultivation.
Such an obstacle does not come from nowhere. When a person's heart is very settled, things he ordinarily would not think about, or memories he had already forgotten, rise up one after another from the depths of his mind. A third-rank divine artist may begin to learn mid-rank divine arts, and that demands absolute calm of the heart in meditation—a state undisturbed by the world's jumbled information or by the many stray thoughts within. So before reaching that point, he must first pass this trial: gathering in body and mind until he enters an unprecedented, subtle realm.
This trial is called firmness of faith; what it actually tests is a person's fixed resolve and inner steadiness. For a divine artist, faith is a very great aid, because at such a time one tends to grow irritable and full of wild fancies, and to doubt the divine arts one is learning and the teacher who taught them. Sincere faith in the gods can help the heart settle and break through into a deeper state of tranquility.
If one truly understands what this trial means, one should know how to face it, and need not pray to the gods at all—in the end it remains a test of the self.
Amon suddenly understood, and sighed to reflect that the more devout a person's faith, the easier this trial came to them; while for someone like him, if he never saw through the principle behind it, he might well be stuck at this stage his whole life and never advance a step.
Amon had formed a good habit since childhood: he never entangled himself over useless things, but first calmly did well whatever lay at hand. So he stopped thinking so much about how to pass this trial, and stopped dwelling on that far-off goal of unraveling the gods' secrets; he simply went on practicing the basic divine-art meditation every day, keeping himself as steady as he could amid the swirl of stray thoughts.
He also told Link and Metatron to avoid disturbing him for a while and to go cultivate divine arts on their own.
Metatron had by now stayed with the dwarves quite long enough; worried about how things stood at home, he needed to go back. Before setting out he came to take his leave of Amon, carrying a heavy, oversized leather sack. Amon taught him the complete secret methods of several low-rank divine arts, told him what trial he would face next, called Link over as well, and had the two of them swear an oath.
On the Celestial Pivot Continent, everyone believes an oath has real force, and the oath Amon required of them was a particular one: they were to keep secret the divine arts they had learned from him, and were never to use that knowledge to betray or harm him—otherwise they could not pass the trials that lay ahead, steadfastness of belief, the Temptation of the Demon, the fusion of body and mind, and the rest.
Such an oath was indeed effective. Amon was not at all sure what the later trials would be, but once he had grasped firmness of faith as steadfastness of belief, he understood that to pass them, the mind must hold no wavering whatsoever; an oath is a seed sown in one's belief.
Metatron's pack was filled with top-grade refined iron billets and several chunks of the finest horsehide steel blanks. A full-fledged mid-rank warrior, and here he was doing the hard labor of hauling loads over the mountains, doubling as a small-time private peddler on the side—so his combat arts training truly had not been wasted! An ordinary man could not handle this work.
Amon asked out of curiosity, "Aren't you tired of it? How much are these things worth?"
Metatron patted his leather pouch. "Dozens of gold coins! These few horsehide steel blanks alone are worth five gold coins!" He pulled three fist-sized horsehide steel blanks out of the pack—top-grade refined iron already smelted but not yet forged into any object—and set them out before Amon, showing off a little.
Amon had dealt with iron ore and smelting furnaces since childhood; his own staff had been forged from this same top-grade refined iron, except that in the Barron Kingdom such iron went by the name horsehide steel. Metatron was boasting of how precious the stuff was, while Amon was rather surprised—so it was not worth that much after all. A man hauled it out of the deep mountains through a thousand hardships and perils, and only in the distant Barron royal capital did it fetch five gold coins.
In Duke Town, top-grade refined iron was kingdom property; whatever was mined had to be handed over to the city-state. The town paid the smiths only wages and never the price of the iron itself, and most of the time those wages were paid off directly in ore cores—so Amon had no idea what the iron was really worth.
Only after he had finished showing off did Metatron tuck the three chunks of horsehide steel carefully back into his pack. Then he said to Amon, "This trip has brought in quite a haul, but the most important thing is that I got to study divine arts under you.
You are my teacher and my guide; in my heart, like Link, I am willing to call you the god Amon. ... When you have the time, you must come to Barron City—I will do everything I can to give you the finest hospitality. I've made a bit of money this time, after all."
Amon thought it over and said, "I won't stay here forever; I do mean to go and see Barron one day. Take this godstone. Cultivating divine arts takes a great deal of energy, and I doubt you'll have time to keep running back and forth making money."
Amon casually handed Metatron a godstone. Metatron's eyes went as wide as could be, and Link's jaw practically hit the ground. The two of them gaped for a good while, and then Link finally got his breath back and said, "God Amon! You are far too generous."
Metatron stammered, "My god! Amon, how could I accept a gift this precious from you?"
Amon thought to himself, Is one godstone really worth all this fuss? Back in Duke Town, where he had lived, one godstone bought only two barrels of the very best wine, and a merchant throwing in a sheep on top of that counted as a special favor. These two bumpkins had never even heard of the Eye of the Earth, and had no idea how much that black godstone he had once used was really worth—otherwise wouldn't they have fainted dead away?
"It isn't a gift either. You swore an oath to me, and you promised to wait in Barron City to welcome me. And since I have taught you divine arts, I hope you will put your heart into them. This is so you can go back and first settle your family and yourself; for this stretch of time, cultivate properly at home. I will come find you in the future—only wait for me with an easy mind." Amon smiled as he instructed Metatron and placed the godstone in his hand.
Metatron was so stirred and so moved that tears nearly came; he thumped his chest and poured out another heap of admiring words. Amon had his reasons, of course: on the continent, who had ever seen a respected divine artist personally drudging away for a living, much less hauling heavy refined-iron ore over vast distances as a private trader? Studying divine arts also requires a settled environment—otherwise Amon would not have chosen to stay on in a tribe of cave-dwelling wild folk.
A round trip to the mountain tribe took Metatron several months; if he brought back goods worth a few dozen gold coins, he counted himself lucky, and after deducting the goods traded to the tribe and the travel expenses, he cleared less than half a godstone a trip. The single godstone Amon gave him was worth at least a year of his iron-peddling profits.
Metatron departed with a thousand thanks, begging over and over that Amon must not forget to come find him in Barron City. Link and Amon walked him out past the village; on the way back Link kept looking at Amon pitifully without saying a word. His little calculation was fairly obvious: he was Amon's student too, and the teacher had given Metatron something so precious—maybe he would get something as well.
Amon saw it, and once they were back in the village he said to Link, "I have a story. A town chief hired a boy from the town to herd sheep, two silver coins a month. Later the boy had other business and could herd no longer, so the chief asked another boy whether he would herd for one silver coin a month. The second boy agreed. Now tell me—does the chief owe him a silver coin?"
Amon had not made the story up: that town chief was Dasti, and the boy who herded sheep for one silver coin a month was himself. Link was sharp and understood Amon's meaning at once. He hurried to explain, "God Amon, I haven't said anything, and I wouldn't dare ask you for a godstone—I'm just a little envious of Metatron, that's all! You taught me divine arts and granted me the power of the gods; I ought only to thank you and give you my own good things. How could I say you owe me anything?"
Amon laughed.
He went back to his thatched hut and brought out an exquisite copper bottle, which he handed to Link.
"You and your tribespeople have all shown me respect, and I have enjoyed no small share of your good food and wine, so take this wine bottle. A chief's household still storing its wine in clay jars—your household could use something like this to dress it up. As for godstones, your staff already has one, and Metatron, a mage who studied divine arts on the sly, needs a godstone often enough. He was forever borrowing your staff while he was here; I saw it all."
Link took the copper bottle. Among his people it counted as the finest object they owned; none of the tribesfolk here had ever seen its like. Amon's father had bought it for fifteen silver coins. The wine inside had all been drunk by Schrödinger, and the bottle itself was very beautiful. Link cradled it in his arms as though holding a treasure and went home overjoyed.
In the days that followed, Amon devoted himself solely to the basic meditation of divine arts, and the churning stray thoughts gradually settled, until his soul seemed to sink into a deeper, more silent world. Sitting there, it was as though another pair of invisible eyes could see his own body and mind; he knew clearly just what he was thinking. It was an experience unlike any he had known before, and the world outside him had grown distinct.
The power that divine artists cultivate must communicate with the outside world, and they must learn to control the various energies; only when one's own heart is settled and has overcome distraction can one perceive this world more clearly.
Amon strove for it without forcing it. One night, while practicing meditation, he suddenly slipped into that state without meaning to. Quite naturally and unintentionally, he attempted a mid-rank divine art—the divine art of detection, with which he already had some experience. Without opening his eyes in the darkness, he could hear every faint sound outside the hut so clearly that, following the sounds, he could almost see a small insect crawling past the corner of the wall.
He had successfully passed the trial of steadfastness of belief. Being able to use at least one mid-rank divine art is one of the standards by which a third-rank divine artist is judged. Although Amon had never read a text on the divine art of detection, through a comprehensive sensing in which the various elements made no distinction among themselves, he grasped the most basic principle of the puppet-eye art. The divine-art texts had summarized this long ago, and Amon had groped his own way to the same point.
Just as he was carefully pondering this novel way of detection, he suddenly heard rolling thunder coming from the far horizon.