They adopted the lotus position, and for the next hour, Marta led him through the process of centering his soul and calming his mind, something he could do almost out of instinct by now. But Stearn knew better than to force anything with the abbey’s foremost teacher. She could detect impatience and draw out the meditation as a lesson in patience. Marta wasn’t much with words, like some sisters who’d taught him the basics, but she was uncannily aware and could convey volumes with a single glance or gesture.
Stearn blocked out any thoughts that might escape his shields and turned himself into a mental blank, as he’d done during every session since returning from the Windy Isles and resuming his apprenticeship under the Order’s leading mystic. After a while, the same strangeness he’d felt since telling Sister Mirjam about his breakthrough overcame him, as if ethereal fingertips were brushing against the wall protecting his inner core. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, and not for the first time, he suspected the sisters could do more than just sense the emotions of others in the way he sensed the chaotic thing inhabiting prisoners suffering from a personality disorder.
“You are strong.”
Marta’s voice almost jolted Stearn from his trance, but he remained centered and ignored it, proud of himself for both noticing and dismissing without effort. Then, after a few seconds, he realized her words hadn’t reach his brain via his ear canals, that she hadn’t made a sound. His eyes fluttered open before slamming shut again as he fought for mastery of his feelings.
Marta? Are you in my mind?
No answer. Was it the wrong question, or was he asking on the wrong frequency? Stearn centered his thoughts again and let himself drift, wondering whether he was hallucinating or whether this was yet another test. The rumors of Marta’s abilities seemed exaggerated, even as he learned under her tutelage.
The moment his internal clock told him the hour was up, Marta’s gentle voice shattered the absolute silence of a well-insulated room.
“I think you’re ready for the next step.” His eyes opened, and he found her studying him intently. “Tell me if something out of the ordinary happened during your meditation.”
“Partway through. It was as if feather-light fingers touched my mind. Was that you?”
She nodded. “Anything else?”
“Then you said, ‘you are strong,’ but it seemed as if you didn’t speak those words aloud.”
A mysterious smile tugged at her lips. “And?”
“I asked whether you were in my mind.”
“Three for three.”
Stearn returned her sphinx-like gaze with a questioning look.
“It happened? You touched my mind; you spoke to me without speaking, and you heard my question in return?”
“Yes. I belong to a tiny minority of humans whose sixth sense is almost fully evolved. Or as certain mystics would say, my third eye,” she tapped her forehead with an extended index finger, “in here, is open. There are a few of us among the sisters in this abbey and its dependencies, but not many. In most, the third eye is only partially open, though they can see more than others. We keep our true nature to ourselves and undergo rigorous training, so we don’t misuse the advantages it gives us. The Brethren know, of course, but not quite the extent of our talent. However, no one outside the Order is aware and that must stay so, lest people become wary, if not fearful of us. Distrust would not only impede our ability to serve as healers and teachers but might even endanger the Brethren at large. Bluntly put, we are the witches our distant ancestors burned at the stake.”
She paused for a reaction, but Stearn kept his expression perfectly neutral and waited respectfully for her to continue.
“You are that rarest human of all — a male whose third eye can open and open wide. I sensed it when you first arrived. The abbey’s records do not speak of any other like you in our entire history, though a man called Jackson Thorn founded the Order not long after our species first colonized worlds beyond Earth’s star system. Unfortunately, we don’t know whether his sixth sense was fully evolved or whether he only saw the diffuse light of something greater, like most friars.”
Stearn gave in to an impulse and asked with a sly grin, “If you sisters are the witches of yore, does this mean you’ll teach me how to use abracadabra in a non-ironic way?”
Marta gave him an exasperated look he suspected was mostly feigned.
“There is no way of using abracadabra or any other word of incantation in a non-ironic manner. Women with a partially or fully open third eye, though they didn’t know what the talent was, were deemed witches in those dismal days because they had abilities beyond anyone’s understanding. They didn’t actually perform magic because there is no such thing.”
“Too bad. I was hoping I might become a super friar, righting wrongs and making the universe a better place.”
She shook her head, eyes raised to the heavens.
“Speaking of irony. What we will do over the coming months and years, is build on the discipline you’ve developed so far to keep your mind hidden from others and the minds of others from intruding on yours. When I touched you during our meditation, I sensed the strength of the shell you’ve developed, one which is now an integral part of your being. You didn’t react, as some would, by lashing out against my mental touch, yet you heard my words clearly, which means you’ve instinctively developed the ability to separate directed signals from the general noise of random brain waves. Few can reach that point alone. I must normally teach my students how. Better yet, you projected a question at me, and I heard it, which means you also developed the ability to let directed signals out, another thing I normally teach sisters with a lesser talent than yours.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment of her praise.
“The first thing I will teach you is touching another mind and interpreting the emotions you sense without leaving a trace of your passage. It’s a skill our healers possess. Those with the strongest talents specialize in treating people with mental issues.”
“Like Amelia, Mirjam and a few others in the Windies.”
“Yes, which is why they are spearheading the project aimed at treating Lyonesse’s most disturbed minds. The healers who specialize in physical ailments use this part of the talent to analyze a patient’s condition beyond what mere words or medical instruments can tell because of the close link between the mind and the body it inhabits. Healers must swear the Hippocratic Oath, with emphasis on clauses added by the Order. The first is I will not peer into another human being’s mind except in the course of my duties as a healer. The second is I will not use my knowledge of another’s mind for any purpose other than healing its owner.”
“What happens if a healer breaks her oath?”
“She can’t. Part of the training ensures healers would become physically ill if they tried, largely thanks to a prohibition imprinted on their minds. It means they can’t simply reach out and touch someone sitting across from them during a poker game to decide if they’re bluffing. But none would even try. Respect for the sanctity of others is a core tenet of the Order. But because of our training, we can pick up visual and auditory cues as well, cues humans don’t know they’re giving off, and draw surprisingly accurate conclusions from them. Healers can do most of their work without using the third eye. And the stronger one’s talent, the better one becomes at reading people without invading their privacy. Many of the long-serving friars are highly skilled, even though their talent is weaker than a sister’s.”
Stearn chuckled. “Then I’d best not walk into the refectory with a deck of cards after the evening meal.”
“On the contrary.” She smiled again. “Playing games with skilled cue readers will help develop your ability to give off no signals whatsoever. Now, about the oath. Since you’ll learn the same mental skills as healers, you will take it as well and accept the prohibition imprint.”
“Of course. Whatever you ask of me. Who knows w
hat path I’ll take? Though I’m not currently inclined toward medicine or psychology, I might still enter one of those fields once you finish training me.”
“One step at a time. First, we will see if your third eye will open. Not all of them can, and I don’t know why. Many believe a human’s soul looks out through it, and some souls would rather stay hidden.”
“And the oath?”
“At the proper moment. Before I imprint the prohibition, I must know it’s necessary by confirming you can reach out. We do not imprint a trainee’s mind lightly. Every intervention has risks.”
“Should I be worried?” Stearn’s tone remained as calm and neutral as before.
“No. But my fellow teachers and I always think of that tiny chance we might harm our students rather than help them. It keeps us grounded, fends off the vanity that plagues human beings, and ensures we stay humble before the Almighty. Too much pain comes from unthinking and ultimately unearned self-confidence.”
“Yeah. We call that the arrogance of stupidity back home.”
“How pithy. Are you prepared for this path?”
“I am.”
“Then let us begin.”
— 31 —
––––––––
“I understand President Morane, upon the advice of the senate, has invited the Order to join the Estates-General.” Loxias, sitting across from Gwenneth in the latter’s office alongside Keleos, studied the Summus Abbatissa with an expectant air.
“How did you hear of this? The matter is confidential unless I accept so that refusal doesn’t create ill will.”
“Come now, Gwenneth, surely you realize that as the Order’s chief administrator, I’m well connected within the community.”
“The Lyonesse Abbey’s chief administrator, Loxias.”
He made a dismissive hand gesture.
“Since the Lyonesse Abbey is the Order, I see no difference. Once we establish houses on other worlds, our successors can debate whether we should separate the post of motherhouse chief administrator from that of the Order. And if I may be so bold, accepting or refusing this invitation must be decided by the Council of Elders rather than you alone, since either choice entails wide-ranging consequences for every single Brethren.”
Gwenneth understood he would force the issue if she didn’t put this matter before the council. She also knew a good many among the sisters and friars were in favor of joining the Estates-General. They wanted a direct voice on issues affecting the republic rather than rely on their abbess working through close friends, such as Jonas Morane. Besides, if Loxias and Keleos knew about the invitation, then they too were quietly working with close friends outside the abbey, in which case she might as well bring matters into the open.
“Very well. I will convene the Council of Elders tomorrow after vespers, and we will debate the matter. If a majority are in favor, then so be it.”
Loxias inclined his head in a gesture of respect.
“Thank you, Abbess. We must secure our future within the republic, and this is the best way.”
Gwenneth heard an unvoiced ‘for now’ at the end of his statement, but let it pass.
When the council met the following evening, it was a foregone conclusion. The ten elders voted in favor after a perfunctory debate.
“Our Summus Abbatissa will, of course, take the Order’s seat on the Estates-General,” Loxias said after they adopted the motion to join. “But under the rules, we must name an alternate and appoint at least two observers. I propose the three come from this council.”
Gwenneth saw nothing but nods around the table and could predict what would come next.
Keleos raised a hand and said, “I propose the chief administrator be the alternate.”
Friar Sandor raised his hand as well. “Seconded.”
“Does anyone want a vote?” Gwenneth asked. No one spoke. She looked at Loxias. “Do you accept?”
“I do.”
“Motion adopted. Friar Loxias will be my alternate until such a time as I retire or he steps down from the post of chief administrator, whichever comes first. To make sure the alternate is aware of all matters concerning the Estates-General, he will be an observer if he’s not replacing me.” Gwenneth was pleased when she saw a look of surprise cross his face. “Which means we will nominate two more observers and their alternates.”
“I propose Sister Keleos and Friar Sandor as primary observers.” Loxias gestured toward his two principal followers, though he kept his eyes on Gwenneth so he could gauge her reaction.
“Seconded,” she said before anyone else could speak. “Does anyone ask for a vote? No? Motion adopted. Sister Keleos and Friar Sandor will be the primary observers alongside Friar Loxias. The floor is open for proposals on the two alternates.”
**
“Your devious plan to stay one step ahead of Loxias and the Lindisfarne Brethren is failing.” Gwenneth dropped into her usual chair overlooking Vanquish Bay and accepted a cup of tea from Emma Reyes. She gave Morane a sideways glance. “Tomorrow morning, I will formally accept your invitation and join the Estates-General as representative of the Order of the Void after the council Loxias imposed on me voted unanimously in favor. He is my alternate and one of the observers, while the other observers are members of the Council of Elders, meaning Loxias supporters. I am no longer in full control of the abbey, it seems.”
“At least not the part where it interfaces with the secular world.” He took a sip, eyes on the bay’s dark waters. Another storm was brewing on the horizon, but Morane figured it would stay away from land. The winds weren’t quite right, nor was it the season. “This is not exactly unexpected but cheer up. As the Order’s representative, you will control its interactions with the Estates-General.”
“Until I’m no longer Summus Abbatissa.”
“Which would have happened by now, had you not given way on declaring Lyonesse the motherhouse and agreed to imitate Lindisfarne by forming a Council of Elders. Some battles cannot be won. Wise people realize that sometimes the only course of action available is minimizing the consequences of a loss.”
“Yet I fear for the Order if it gets too deeply embroiled in the republic’s politics. The invitation to join the Estates-General was almost certainly engineered by Loxias. I wonder what debts he now owes, either personally or as the abbey’s chief administrator.”
“If you want, I could ask the intelligence service to find out.”
“It’s probably best if I don’t know.”
“As you wish.”
Something in Morane’s voice caught Gwenneth’s attention.
“You’ll do it anyway, won’t you?”
“I suddenly feel an irresistible urge to find out who among the republic’s notables is schmoozing with Loxias, apart from Gerson Hecht and Severin Downes, that is.”
“Pardon? Loxias is schmoozing with Hecht and Downes? I thought it was only a business thing.”
“That’s what I’m told. He’s rather chummy with Hecht.” Morane gave her a knowing look. “Their relationship is longstanding, which is why Hecht’s companies and those of his closest friends are the abbey’s favored suppliers. Nothing corrupt or criminal that anyone can prove, but there’s a lot of backscratching. Loxias isn’t as friendly with Downes, which shows your wayward friar isn’t entirely without good judgment. But our dear friend Severin chairs the Hecht Industries board of directors and circulates in rarefied circles now that most forgot his brief stint in the Windies.”
Reyes snorted dismissively. “Self-imposed amnesia, more like. The people in those rarefied circles forget nothing, not even the cost of that drink they bought you thirty years ago in a seedy bar on the Lannion docks.”
“That sounds a bit too personal.” Morane arched an eyebrow as he eyed his partner. “Is there anything about your life before we met you’d like to discuss?”
She stuck out her tongue at him. “
Figure of speech, Mister President. Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
“You know about my previous loves. Me, not so much.”
“Your previous love is in orbit right now, and you named this bay after her.” She gestured at the windows. “Big deal. The whole damned republic knows.”
Gwenneth, seated between them, raised both hands. “Could you please save it for when I’ve retired to my room. We of the Order may not swear vows of chastity, but still...”
“Sorry,” Reyes said, though her amused expression proved she was anything but contrite.
Morane drained his cup and placed it on the low table in front of them.
“Back to your situation. All I can suggest is work with what you have. Loxias forced the motherhouse issue, which resulted in a Council of Elders and a seat in the Estates-General. He’s fired his guns. What else can he demand?”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head.
“Nothing. This is as far as he can force us without entering unknown territory. We’ve taken on Lindisfarne’s mantle of leadership and accepted a seat on the third-highest council in the republic after the senate and the cabinet. A government influenced by the Order, let alone a theocracy such as the one running the Lindisfarne system during better times, shouldn’t come about. Yet, part of me fears we’ve not seen the end of this.”
“Maybe, but our constitution is designed to prevent anyone from circumventing the will of the people. Let Loxias enjoy his time in the sun because whatever he does will be inconsequential in the grand order of things. He will eventually become a friar emeritus and spend his waning years meditating on the future of humanity across the Infinite Void.”
“What worries me is the damage he can do between now and that blessed day, especially since he is younger than me and will stay active long after I relinquish the duties of an abbess. As for the future of humanity across the Infinite Void, I fear he meditates too much on the subject already. For him, the centuries between now and when the republic goes forth to reunite our species don’t exist.”
Imperial Night (Ashes of Empire, #3) Page 21
