"I can tell you. He came to stop me from taking my own life. It was right after he died, when I knew Sagan had discovered my hiding place and that he was aiming to take me captive. I knew that the Warlord would use me to find you and I thought, to protect you, that I must kill myself. My brother's spirit convinced me that I was needed."
Maigrey looked at the young man. "Sagan would tell you that it is the Creator who chooses whether the dead shall return or not. Why didn't you tell him, Dion? Were you afraid he wouldn't believe you?"
"No." Dion paused, grim, thoughtful. "I was afraid he would. I could see him sneer. I could almost hear him say, 'So that's the reason you refuse to go to war. Your pacifist mentor forbids it! You're weak. Just as he was!'"
"And that was why you defied Sagan?"
"No, I'd made the decision already." Dion put his hand to his head, ran his fingers through his hair. "I sent the message, and then I sat down to wait. That time was hardest. I was alone and . . . afraid." He looked at her defiantly, as if expecting her to mock him.
She nodded, understanding. "I don't blame you."
"And then I saw Platus standing there. I saw the expression on his face. It was strange, But I realized why I was afraid. I began to understand my fear."
Maigrey kept silent. Dion was no longer talking to her, but explaining it all at last to himself. "I was afraid, not so much of Sagan, but of failing. Of losing everything. By going to war, I could exert my power, my authority. I could force people to do what I wanted, scare them into following me. Once I thought about it, I knew that wasn't the type of king I wanted to be. It would be better to fail, better to return to a life of being ordinary, even better to die than to do something that I would eventually live to regret. When I realized that, Platus smiled at me and nodded."
"You see," Maigrey said gently, "he had no need to speak to you."
"I guess not. But I didn't really understand that until now. I didn't understand myself." Dion frowned, shook his head. "Platus was an atheist, though. He didn't believe in God."
"He used to, Dion. And I'm not certain he truly did lose his faith. He was like a small child who gets mad at his parents and runs away from home. My brother couldn't understand how God could permit the atrocities committed the night of the Revolution. Platus got mad and he . . . ran away from home. Perhaps, now, he's come back."
"You know about the healing incident? The child and the . . . the young woman?"
"I read Sagan's report," Maigrey began cautiously, uncomfortably.
"Yes, well, you know about it, then. I know I healed that child, Lady Maigrey! I felt the energy flow through my body into his! And I know I could have helped that girl, even though she was under Abdiel's control.
"Sagan doesn't believe I can. He doesn't believe I have the power. He says I can't because the Creator grants the power and He would never give it to someone who didn't have faith—"
"Unless He gave it to someone to give that person faith," Maigrey amended quietly.
Dion nodded. "I've thought about that, too. And let's suppose that's true. Why that power and no others? I can't do anything the rest of you Blood Royal can do! I can't shut off the electricity with my mind. I can't force open doors with a look. I had the power during the rite. I kept the spiked ball floating in the air. ..."
"That was because you gave yourself up to the power completely, Dion. You didn't question it or yourself, you didn't try to analyze it—"
"Because I didn't know what the hell it was! I'm sorry, my lady," Dion said, drawing a deep breath. "I didn't mean to shout."
"Dion, what do you want from me?" Maigrey asked wearily. "I would like to be able to tell you that there is a God and that He, She, or It has some grand cosmic plan for us. I would like to believe there was a reason your father was murdered, your mother died in my arms, a reason for Platus's death, a reason my life was spared. I would like to tell you this. I'd like to tell myself—"
"Doesn't Platus's coming to us prove it?"
"It doesn't prove anything. I was about to kill myself. Maybe this was my subconscious way out. You were under stress. The vision could have been a form of hysteria—"
"You don't believe that. And neither do I."
"I don't know what I believe in, anymore. All I know is that faith comes from within and it begins with faith in yourself; the knowledge that you have within you the ability to judge between the dark and the light and to act accordingly."
"Dark and light? Sagan murdered and tortured people and professed all the time to be performing God's will."
"Sagan has heard the still, small voice within. He either refused to listen, rebelled against it outright, or twisted its words to make it say what he wanted to hear. But I don't think he can do that any longer."
Dion waited for her to continue.
Maigrey was silent. After a moment, she sighed, reached out her hand, and lightly touched the fire-opal necklace the young man wore around his neck. "You're not going to get off any easier than the rest of us, Your Majesty. And for you, it may be much, much harder. ..."
"My lady," the apologetic voice of the captain of the guard.
"I am in conference—"
"I beg your pardon for the interruption, but Mendaharin Tusca is demanding to see you. He says it is urgent."
"Perhaps he's heard something about Sagan," Dion suggested.
Maigrey's pallor increased. "Yes, perhaps he has. Send him in, Agis."
The double doors slid open. Tusk, accompanied by Nola, bounded into the room.
"Great! They told me we'd find you both here! We've been lookin' all over the place for you, lad—"
"Tusca! What's happened?" Maigrey took an eager step forward.
"Happened? Nothing, yet. That's what we wanted to talk about." Tusk stared at her, confused.
Nola grabbed hold of his hand, squeezed it tightly.
He looked down at her and smiled. "Nola and I've decided. We want to get married now. That's okay with you, isn't it, kid? Hell, we're not doing anything else at the moment."
Dion and Maigrey stared at him blankly.
"We decided we don't need anyone to perform the ceremony. I mean, it may not be real legal, but who knows what's legal these days? It's what we say and mean to each other that counts and we want the people we love best to share that with us and . . . well . . . give their blessing to it. So we thought you and General Dixter and the lad here ..."
Tusk's voice dried up. Nola began to wilt.
"I mean . . . that's all right, isn't it?"
"Tusk," said Nola, edging close to him, "we interrupted something important. I think we'd better go—"
Maigrey recovered herself. "All right? It's wonderful. A wonderful idea. Everyone, every person in this entire ship, needs something to celebrate. A wedding would be perfect."
"Begging your pardon, your ladyship, but we wanted this to be . . . just our friends," Nola said, flushing.
"Of course. But afterward we'll have a party," said Dion enthusiastically. "The biggest party this ship's seen. We'll tell the entire fleet and the reporters. This will show Peter Robes what we think of his threats! Let's see, how long will it take us to get ready ..."
"You'd better have the ceremony tonight," Maigrey said.
She hadn't meant to sound grim. Nola stared at her with wide eyes, her face grew downcast.
Tusk frowned. "Maybe we shouldn't—"
"We should." Maigrey was deliberately cheerful. "I'll speak to Admiral Aks and Captain Williams and make the arrangements. We can have the ceremony—" She started to say "here" but, glancing around, realized that Sagan's presence in the room was too pervasive, too powerful. Not at all conducive to a wedding.
"I thought maybe the hydroponic vegetable garden," Nola said shyly. "It's not exactly roses and orange blossoms, but it is green and light and airy. ..."
"I dunno." Tusk shook his head. "I'm not sure I want to get married around a bunch of carrots and brussel sprouts."
Dion laughed. "It'll look gr
eat when we fix it up. And perfect background for the vids. No reporters at the ceremony, of course," he added, seeing Tusk frown again, "but afterward will be fine. I wonder how many bottles of champagne are on board? If you'll excuse me, my lady?"
"Yes, certainly, Your Majesty," Maigrey answered, trying not to sound too relieved at his going.
The three left; Tusk looking foolishly happy, Nola surrounded by a golden glow, Dion excited enough to be getting married himself. The double doors shut behind them, shut out their voices, leaving Maigrey alone.
Sagan's quarters were silent, dark, empty of everything except him. Maigrey walked over to the communications terminal and sat down at the console, prepared to astonish, confound, and undoubtedly highly irritate Captain Williams with demands for a wedding reception. She paused, however, and stared at her face in a steel panel opposite. Lifting her hand, her fingers traced, idly, gently, the scar on her cheek.
"And what about me?" she wondered. "Did I run away from home? Or did I come back one day to find the house empty, abandoned ..."
Chapter Four
The words of his mouth were softer than butter, having war in his heart; his words were smoother than oil, and yet they be very swords.
Prayer Book, 1662, Psalms 55:22
Sagan and Brother Fideles, their bodies bent against the strong gusts that swept over the planet, struggled toward their goal. Sand blasted their flesh. Clouds of dust swirled up suddenly, half blinding them. The two kept their cowls pulled low over their feces, their hands hidden protectively within the sleeves of their long robes.
At times, they were forced to come to a complete halt; the wind pounding them as if it would blow them over. When they reached the dark, silent, and towering Abbey walls, they were chilled to the bone, breathing heavily from the exertion.
The Abbey of St. Francis was old, one of the first monasteries to be built by the Order. The forbidding location had been chosen purposefully. Here, in these harsh and barren surroundings, young men of eighteen years of age desiring to enter the priesthood were brought to study and meditate and to undergo rigorous testing. Here they learned to abjure all pleasures of the flesh, including those that most humans considered not pleasures but necessities: warmth, comfortable beds, good food, companionship.
The young aspirant slept in his robes on a wooden cot in an unheated cell with only one wool blanket, which he wove himself. His diet, on those days when he was not fasting, consisted of bread, baked in the Abbey, fruit and vegetables, grown in the Abbey, and water. Mornings were given to study, afternoons to physical labor, evenings to further study. He was called upon to cease his labors and come together with his brethren in the chapel to pray three times daily, again before going to bed, and he was roused from his sleep in the deep hours of the night to pray silently in his cell.
Idle talk was forbidden, except for a short relaxation period following the evening meal, lasting exacdy fifteen minutes duration. At all other times, speech was permitted only to impart vital information or to respond to the questions of one of the elder brethren. Most communication came to be performed by hand signs.
Once a young man entered these walls, he was as effectively cut off from family and friends as if he—or they—had died. The abbot and the prior were the only two people permitted to have contact with the universe beyond the walls and this contact was almost exclusively confined to other abbeys and to the Order's headquarters, which were, prior to the Revolution, located on Minas Tares. (It is interesting, historically, in view of this restriction, to realize how much power the Order managed to exert on events happening throughout the galaxy.)
Upon completing his training, the young person was either accepted as a novitiate into the Order, in which case he took his vows, or he was rejected, in which case he was sent home. Once rejected, a young man or young woman (for the Order had its nunneries) could never again apply for admittance. Once accepted, a member of the Order, having been initiated into its secrets, could never leave.
To the Order's credit, very few who entered ever desired to quit. Any who had doubts were counseled. Those who were bitterly unhappy, and whom the counseling and the prayers of the community of faithful did not seem to help, simply and quietly disappeared. It was rumored that they were taken to some extraordinarily lovely place, where they were kept safe in pleasant surroundings for the rest of their lives.
A novitiate took vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. He was not permitted to harm any living thing or to take a life, even in defense of his own. (The warrior-priests were an exception to this rule, being granted the right to kill to defend the Order or the innocent.) After an additional two years study, the novitiate was admitted to the priesthood and deemed ready to be sent out into the world to serve God and man, if that was his choice. He could also choose to remain within the monastery walls, become a monk, one who renounces and withdraws from the world.
Sagan and Brother Fideles stood in the shadow of the Abbey, protected from the wind, whose keening among the sharp-edged rocks was the only sound to reach their ears. The walls towered above them, thick, massive. Unlike other human habitations in hostile environments, no plastisteel dome enclosed the Abbey in a protective bubble. The Abbey's walls and towers were made of the rock of the planet and were solid, airtight. Each stone had been hand-carved to fit precisely with the adjacent stones so that not the tiniest crack or chink existed between them. A special "skin" had then been fused on the exterior, to protect it from the ravages of wind and weather. Inside the Abbey, life-support systems similar to those on board spacecraft produced an oxygen-rich atmosphere. The system was the only mechanical device permitted in the Abbey. Light came from candles, fire for the cooking stoves and to heat the infirmary (the only room in which heat was permitted) came from wood or coal.
"I should never have left," said Sagan softly. He laid his hand upon the solid walls, chill and unyielding.
A large cast-iron bell was mounted on the wall above a small door made of the same heavy iron. A rope hung from the bell. Brother Fideles pulled the rope, rang the bell three times. He paused, as long as a man might count ten heartbeats, then rang the bell three times again. He folded his hands back in his sleeves and waited.
"I was to have been my father's penance," Sagan continued, his gaze on the high, dark, windowless walls, "to give the fruit of his sin back to the Church."
"God willed it otherwise," said Brother Fideles.
Sounds could be heard from within the structure, as of a door opening and closing. A slit window made of one-way steelglass, set in the iron door, slid open. Sagan and the priest took care to stand where they were visible to the unseen scrutiny. The window's shutter slid shut. They heard again the door opening and closing. Then a feint hissing sound, air being pumped out of the room, the pressure inside reduced to match die pressure outside.
"Was it God's doing," Sagan said, shifting his gaze to the door, "or a perversion of His will? I fought against the decision that sent me from the monastery in which I'd been raised. But the king had discovered that a child of the Blood Royal was being reared in ignorance and isolation. He commanded that I be sent to the Academy, and strong as the Order was, it could not go against a royal decree. When I was eighteen, I was given the choice of returning to the Order or remaining in the world. I was ambitious, yearning for power, fame, fortune. I chose the world."
They heard a screech, then a grinding sound. The iron door began to open slowly, operated by hand.
"Yet," said Brother Fideles, "you wear the robes and perform the rites of a warrior-priest, a sect banned at the time by a royal decree."
It took several moments for the heavy door to open. It was used rarely, and the crude mechanism, comprised of chains and wheels, was stiff, occasionally creaking to a stop. The two men waited patiently, each picturing, in his mind, the monk who acted as porter, sweating at turning the large crank on the other side.
"You can imagine, then, that it was a well-kept secret," said Sagan, eyeing the y
oung priest.
Brother Fideles's pale face flushed, he lowered his eyes. "Forgive me, my lord. I didn't mean—"
Sagan waved the apology aside. "The truth can be spoken now, I believe. You should know it anyway," he added in lower, grimmer tones. "It might save your life . . . or the lives of those whom I have given into your keeping. "
Brother Fideles's complexion went from burning red to ghastly white. He bit his lip, said nothing. The door shuddered and jolted into movement, but instead of opening, it started to close, stopped, then lurched into action again, this time in the right direction.
"Each child of the Blood Royal must undergo a rite of initiation. The Lady Maigrey and I, being mind-linked, were told that we must take ours together. I was twenty-three at the time, she was sixteen. I was older than was customary, but I had come to my studies late in my childhood, and then we had to wait for Maigrey to attain the proper age before proceeding. We were told that we would undergo the rite here, on the planet of my birth. We assumed it would be in the cathedral.
"When we arrived here, we were met by members of the Order and taken, in secret, under the cover of darkness, to the Abbey. We were admitted inside, the Lady Maigrey being the only woman ever permitted to enter the Abbey's walls. In silence, told nothing, we were led to the altar. My father himself conducted the ritual. He spoke to us—the first time that he had spoken since he'd confessed his sin and taken upon himself the vow of silence. That was the only time that I ever heard his voice. My own father's voice."
The door had opened wide enough to permit entry. The two men stepped within, stood in a small air lock that was a tight fit for the Warlord's broad shoulders. Perhaps it was the cramped surroundings that caused Brother Fideles to rest his hand gently upon Sagan's arm, or perhaps it was the pain, not heard in the man's voice, but crying from within, that caused the young priest to offer silent comfort.
Sagan did not respond to the touch, he seemed lost in memory.
"My father had received a sign from God, he said, that against royal command, against precedent, against tradition, against the rules, I was to be taken into the Order without undergoing the formal training, and made a warrior-priest. My only vow was an oath of fealty to God. My father spoke a prophecy concerning the Lady Maigrey and I, and then my father stepped into the shadows around the altar and was gone. That was the last time I saw him."
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