“No, you’re trying too hard, son. Relax. Don’t make it happen; let it happen. Now, take a deep breath and let it all the way out. Again. Now you’re getting it. That’s right. This is the way every Healer has to start—learning to control his own body before he can control others’. Good. Now, let’s slip a little deeper and go on to other awarenesses. Deeper … deeper …”
And as the man spoke, Camber was aware of Rhys’s appreciation for what they were seeing, sensed the Healer’s own flash of memory to a time when another boy had lain on a similar cot and learned to rule his body in precisely the same manner as this boy was learning.
A little while longer they watched. Then, after only a short walk down another corridor, Emrys paused before a door and pushed it ajar. Beyond a short passageway lay a dim chamber lit only by a brace of candles on a small cabinet with many drawers. Camber scanned quickly as the others came into the room behind him.
The walls were hung with heavy drapes of a rich, midnight-blue, almost black, the ceiling likewise swathed in thick fabric which drank the sound. A narrow couch occupied the approximate center of the room, with two well-padded chairs facing it on one side. Camber guessed that the room was ordinarily intended either for solitary meditations or else for paired workings. He sensed a cold fireplace behind the hangings on the left, and a small window directly opposite, for ventilation, though the window was now shuttered.
Underfoot was a carpet of Kheldish weave, but no design had been worked into this piece to distract attention. Its dark, midnight hue swallowed up visual sensation as it swallowed up most sound. Camber did not even hear the second door close behind Emrys as he joined them.
“Being abbot has certain undeniable advantages, Your Grace,” the old man murmured, white face and robe stark against the darkness of the room. “This is my personal meditation and Healing chamber. Rhys, I assume that you will wish us warded for our discussion?”
“Please.”
With a slight inclination of his head, Emrys drew breath and raised his hands to either side of his head at shoulder-level, his eyes shuttering for just an instant as he turned the palms slightly inward. As the old man exhaled, Camber felt the tingle of energy rising around them, the unmistakable prickling of a ward circle strongly in evidence just at the edges of the room.
Surprised at the ease with which Emrys had done that, Camber drew in his own shields until they no longer collided with the shields of the warding circle, moving to one of the chairs as Emrys casually lowered his hands and took a place on the couch with Queron. Rhys sat uneasily in the chair beside Camber’s.
“My lords, we are now warded against both sound and psychic intrusion. Rhys, I am told that it was you who requested this meeting?”
“Just a moment.” Queron glanced at all of them with only partially veiled hostility. “Emrys, you didn’t mention that. Who is Rhys to request a meeting of the four of us? And if this is Healer’s business, why is Bishop Cullen present?” He glanced at Camber. “I mean no disrespect to your office, but there are certain confidences of our vocation which we usually do not share with non-Healers, even other Deryni.”
Rhys sighed and moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. Camber could sense his underlying anxiety as he faced the older Healer, though he knew that even Queron could not penetrate Rhys’s precise control at this level.
“Your last statement is certainly correct, Dom Queron.” Rhys drew a deep breath. “However, I have requested this meeting not only as Healer to other Healers, but under the seal of the confessional, to which Father Alister, as my confessor, is already sworn. I must charge you and Dom Emrys likewise to seal it so, on your office as priests, or I may not tell you more. Have I your pledge?”
Queron froze for an instant, only the intense brown eyes widening just a little in the otherwise well-schooled face. Then he glanced at Emrys, who nodded minutely, returned his attention to Rhys and gave a curt nod of assent.
“Thank you,” Rhys breathed. Camber knew he was steeling himself for the first revelation.
“Tell me, Dom Queron, what do you know of the Camberian Council?”
Queron’s jaw dropped and a tiny intake of breath marred his previous composure before he could regain control.
“Then, it does exist!” Queron breathed. “All these years, I’ve dreamed—but.…”
He glanced at all of them as he recovered himself, much taken aback as he realized that even Emrys had not reacted to Rhys’s question.
“Emrys, you knew of this?”
“Of the Council’s existence, yes.”
“Are you a member, then?”
“Let us name me amicus concilium,” the old man replied with a faint smile.
“But, you knew of it, then! And you did not tell me!”
“You did not ask me,” Emrys replied. “Allow me also to reassure you that Rhys’s by-now obvious connection with the Council is the extent of my knowledge of this present affair. I was asked by someone else, whose identity I may not reveal, to bring you here for a meeting with Rhys and Bishop Cullen. I have done so.”
“I see.” Queron turned that over in his mind, then looked squarely at Camber.
“And what of you, Your Grace? Are you also of the Council? It is understandable that Rhys should be a part of it, for he is husband to the Blessed Camber’s daughter. But you—you did not even support his canonization. Are you now a member of the consortium named in his honor? Or was it in hypocrisy that you and Joram came to the shrine in February?”
“Bishop Cullen is here at the behest of the Council, the same as yourself,” Rhys replied, before Camber could frame a suitably misleading response. “For now, I put it to you that he is present as an unbiased but interested fourth party, and because he has knowledge of what I am about to reveal to you.”
“Which is?”
“I have discovered a new Healing function.”
“Ah,” Emrys breathed, nodding slowly.
Queron, his brows furrowed in question, glanced from Rhys to Camber to Emrys and then back to Rhys.
“A new Healing function? Of what sort? And why such secrecy? Emrys, are you sure you know nothing of this?”
Emrys shook his head. “No more than you do, son. But I gather that Rhys is prepared to tell us of it, or he would not have asked us here. Rhys?”
“I would prefer to show you, rather than tell you, sir,” Rhys said carefully. “As you may recall, Dom Queron once made that same request of a court convened to canonize my late father-in-law. As I hope to teach other Healers this working, I should like you to observe while I demonstrate on Dom Queron—provided, of course, that he is willing.”
Queron had started at Rhys’s words. Now he shifted in his seat, glancing at Emrys uneasily. “Emrys, would you allow this?”
“You need not be injured in order for me to demonstrate,” Rhys responded immediately, Queron’s apprehension on that count blatantly obvious. “The function is akin to what you worked with Guaire at the court, in that respect. I ask only that you give me the full cooperation which Guaire gave you, that you open completely and let me do what is necessary to demonstrate the effect. Father Alister will bear witness that what I propose will cause no permanent damage. I swear this by my powers of Sight and Healing. Nor is it painful—a little frightening, at worst. I will also give you what I would not ordinarily give with the practical use of this working, and that is the awareness and memory of what I have done, after it is accomplished. You may also follow the undoing.”
“Well, you’ve succeeded in making it sound ominous,” Queron replied, almost snappishly. He glanced again at Emrys, but got no support one way or the other, so he turned his attention on Camber.
“Your Grace, I would not ordinarily believe someone of your station party to anything untoward, but I am not entirely certain you understand our Healer’s ethic. Is it your recommendation that I accede to this request?”
“I would not be here, if I did not,” Camber replied truthfully.
�
��Emrys?”
The old man shrugged. “The decision must be yours, Queron. Rhys is clearly wary of your strength, yet he has chosen you as the most suitable subject for demonstration. You know his training and his reputation. You know, also, that I shall be monitoring. His request is unusual, but you yourself set the precedent. I will say that I trust both of these men implicitly.”
“I see.” Queron weighed all that had been said, then gave a short, explosive sigh.
“Well, it seems that I shall learn nothing more unless I agree. What must I do, Rhys? I warn you, after working only with my mostly human Camberians for so long, I am ill-accustomed to relinquishing complete control to another, especially when I do not know the expected result.”
In spite of his own apprehension, Rhys could not resist a slight chuckle as he got to his feet. Camber suspected he was enjoying Queron’s uneasiness just a little.
“I’m sorry, and I do commiserate, but I want to be certain that your foreknowledge doesn’t affect the outcome. Also, I want it to work the first time. Now, would you prefer to remain sitting, or would you be most comfortable lying down?”
“I’ll sit, thank you,” Queron murmured, watching warily as Rhys came around behind the couch.
“As you wish. The important thing is that you relax as much as you can,” he said easily. “The first time I did this, I had an unconscious patient who was also well-sedated, and the few other times, my subjects were consciously cooperative. Also, they were not Healers. I don’t know whether that will make a difference, but at least I’d like to be assured that you won’t panic and snap your shields shut on me.”
“Come, now!” Queron began indignantly. “I have better control than that!”
“I’m sure you do,” Rhys agreed. “So let’s show me. Center in and relax.”
He laid his hands lightly on Queron’s shoulders and drew him back to lean against his chest, but the muscles beneath his fingers were rigid. He said nothing, but as Queron took a deep breath and let it out, he could feel the tension draining away, too. Deeper relaxation followed as Emrys laid one weightless hand on Queron’s left wrist.
“That’s better already,” Rhys murmured, as he sensed a slow rapport building. “Why don’t we all take a few deep breaths and center in now? Alister, come around to my other side and go with us, if you will. You’ve watched me do this before, so if we should have any problems, you’ll have a unique vantage point as a trained non-Healer. Do you agree, Queron, Emrys?”
His dropping of the others’ titles indicated that Rhys was fast regaining his equilibrium, now that he was actually working. Camber was already slipping into familiar rapport with Rhys as he laid his hand on the Healer’s forearm.
Welcome, Rhys sent, as Camber settled into linkage.
“All right, let’s all go deeper. Queron, whatever you may feel, don’t resist. That’s right. Take another deep breath and let yourself go down another level.”
As Queron’s eyelids fluttered and then closed, the rapport extended until his mind was like a still, clear pool awaiting the ripple of another’s touch, the other poised quiet but expectant on the bank. Gently Rhys reached out with his mind, searching for the triggerpoint. When he touched it, the result was so abrupt that even Camber almost missed the transition.
One moment, Queron’s considerable talents and potentials were spread there for all three of them to see, dormant and controlled by Rhys’s touch, but there. The next moment, they were gone, and Queron was no more than human.
Startled in spite of himself, Camber drew back mind and hand simultaneously and watched Queron blink and tense for just an instant in sheer, naked panic. The Healer quickly regained just enough presence of mind to twist around and stare at Rhys in undisguised horror. Emrys looked equally stunned, the only time Camber had ever seen the elderly abbot’s composure shaken.
“Sweet Jesu, what have you done to me!” Queron cried, beginning to tremble as he realized just what Rhys had done.
He clapped both hands to his temples and shook his head several times, unable to assimilate what he was feeling—or not feeling—then subsided weakly, to suck in deep, shuddering gasps, as if he had not the physical strength to cope with his helplessness. Instinctively, Emrys gathered him in the circle of his arms and held him close for comfort, glancing across at Rhys in shocked disbelief.
“You took away his powers!” Emrys whispered, his tone both accusatory and awed. “One of the most powerful Healers I have ever trained, and you made him human—Blind! You can undo it?”
“Of course.”
“Then, do so. At once!”
Emrys’s voice was soft, but it crackled with command, nonetheless, and Camber felt Rhys’s surprise and consternation at the abbot’s reaction. Without hesitation, Rhys drew Queron back against his chest, and slipped his hands to Queron’s temples, acutely aware of Emrys’s rapier mind right behind Rhys’s, watching, guarding.
“Go deep, Queron,” Rhys murmured, pausing for just an instant as Camber dropped into the linkage once again with him and Emrys. “And now, know what it is not to recognize what has happened to you.”
With a deft mental touch, he nudged the memory of past power into temporary forgetfulness and allowed a moment for the knowledge to register on the most conscious levels, frighteningly aware of Emrys poised behind him, almost menacing in his protectiveness.
“And now I’ll bring you back to your normal state, with all intact, remembering both the not-knowing and what it felt like to have your powers blocked. Relax, now, and feel it all return.”
Camber watched in fascination as Rhys reached out once more and reset the triggerpoint, relinquishing control and backing out hastily as the other two also withdrew. Queron’s shields rebounded into place with an almost audible snap, nearly brushing them all with the force of the return.
Queron blinked and sat up abruptly, took a few deep breaths, then looked slowly at Rhys coming around to take his seat again. In those first instants of recovery, Queron was taking inventory, as all Deryni adepts learned at a very early age, re-establishing balance as he would have done after any dangerous magical operation and assessing for hidden triggers or controls which might have been left behind.
After a few seconds during which no one dared breathe a word or move, Queron gave a little sigh and shook his head just a trifle wistfully.
“Whew, I’ll no more have my reputation, if that gets out.” He rubbed a still trembling hand over his ashen face.
“Are you all right?” Emrys demanded.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be, after that.”
He gave another little shudder, then turned to look at Camber, still sitting attentively to his right.
“And you, Alister—you will forgive the familiarity, I hope?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you. I—have to say that despite all the other surprises of the past little while, I was pleasantly surprised at the strength of your—presence. You have a sureness of touch that one seldom finds in one not Healer-trained. I’m amazed that your reputation has you as a man reluctant to use his powers—or, is it convenient cover for the fact that you are of the Camberian Council, and now accustomed to working with the likes of Rhys, here?”
Camber managed to keep his Alister smile from becoming an uncharacteristic grin at the implied compliment—and real truth—though he chose his words carefully.
“Let us say that I have learned a great deal through my association with Rhys and his lovely wife and my secretary Joram,” he replied easily. “As for the Council, yes, I am a member. And as you undoubtedly have guessed by now, the Council is very interested in you and Dom Emrys, especially if you can learn to do what Rhys has just done.”
Queron’s brow furrowed. “You—the Council, that is—you see a practical application, then, for neutralizing a person’s Deryni powers?”
“We believe it’s a blocking rather than a neutralization,” Rhys
replied. “Granted, this would be a desperation possibility, but consider how selected individuals might be blocked and hidden away, safe from discovery as Deryni, once the persecutions start. And if it is a blocking, rather than a taking away of powers, then the Deryni potential should be passed on to the children, even if it should happen that the parents cannot be restored to knowledge, for some reason. Of course, preventing the persecutions in the first place is the better solution, but we can’t count on that, given the present political situation.”
Queron nodded, his equilibrium obviously returning.
“I fear you may be right. But—do you really think that Emrys and I can learn to do what you just did, on command and without preparation or detection? I’ve never heard of anyone doing that before.”
“Neither have I, so I suppose we’ll be breaking new ground.”
Emrys, who had kept silent, once reassured of Queron’s return to full function, shook his head incredulously and folded his arms across his chest.
“I’m not certain I like the idea, Rhys. Is the Council truly behind this plan of yours?”
“They think it bears further study, at any rate,” Rhys replied. He shifted his attention back to Queron. “How about it? Shall we do it again, so that Emrys can watch from my perspective instead of yours this time?”
Queron opened his mouth to speak, then swallowed with a visible gulp, though the sound was muffled in the heavily draped room.
“You are good at destroying a man’s self-confidence, aren’t you?” he murmured, controlling a shiver of apprehension. “Do you really know what you’re asking? No, don’t answer that. You’re right, it should be me, so that Emrys can observe. No sense in both of us being set off balance.”
Rhys grinned and glanced at Camber. “Healer’s pride. You can bet that this is the last thing in the world that he wants to do right now, but he’s going to do it anyway. Thank you, Queron.”
“He need not do it on my account,” Emrys said, laying a restraining hand on Queron’s shoulder. “Why not give him a day or two to settle? Only God knows how hard that must have been on him.”
Camber the Heretic Page 22
