“You know that there’s something else, don’t you, Your Grace?” The Healer folded his arms uneasily across his chest so that his empty cuff was hidden. “I don’t know how to ask—no, not to ask, but to offer—damn, I don’t know what I mean to say!”
“For a beginning, why don’t you try calling me Alister,” Camber said gently. “I find titles can sometimes be a hindrance, when one wishes to address a friend.”
“But, you’re an archbishop—” Tavis began.
“No, you yourself have told me that there are no bishops in this chapel,” Camber said with a smile. “The Council of Ramos has said so. However, there are priests here, regardless of the words of the new archbishop. If it helps, I can assure you that anything you wish to share with me will be held in the strictest of confidence—under the seal of the confessional, if you like.”
Tavis plucked at a fold of his sleeve with thumb and forefinger. “It isn’t that. I trust you, as far as that’s concerned.”
“But not where other things are concerned?” Camber said gently. “If you don’t, I’ll understand. These things take time.”
“No, I think I do trust you in that.” Tavis looked up at Camber squarely. “I was wrong about you—about all of you. So was Javan. Rhys never lied when he told me we were all fighting on the same side, but I wouldn’t believe him until it was almost too late—and it was too late for Rhys.” He paused to swallow and gather his courage again. “God knows, I’ve paid for my arrogance and petty suspicions, and made others pay, but I think I really can help now, instead of hinder. I want to help; I just don’t know how—Alister.…”
Slowly, so as not to break the growing rapport, Camber stood away from the altar rail and took a careful step toward Tavis, another, until he was less than an armspan away. Tavis stood, fearful, expectant, yet not retreating. It appeared that the Healer sensed what should come next, but he could not seem to bring himself to initiate it.
With a slow, deliberate blink, Camber purposely stepped-down a little of the rapport—and the tension—allowing a ghost of a smile to curve his lips.
“I’m afraid I have you at a slight disadvantage, Tavis. We Michaelines are trained in the old rituals, the formulae for contacts, as are Gabrilites, and we sometimes assume, erroneously, that all others of high training are, too. But your Healer’s training wasn’t Gabrilite, was it? And it certainly wasn’t Michaeline.”
Tavis shook his head sheepishly.
“Varnarite?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, that explains much. Their approach tends to be more pragmatic than philosophical—an acceptable variation on the art of Healing,” he added, at the beginnings of a defensive expression on Tavis’s face, “but it often ignores some of the more subtle nuances which would be useful in a situation like this. Let’s see, you would have learned the standard Healer’s approaches, but not the secondaries. Correct? You see, after many years of working with Rhys, I am somewhat familiar with the terminology.”
Tavis allowed himself a slight nod, and Camber echoed it reassuringly.
“I thought as much. Give me just a moment, will you?”
Without waiting for Tavis’s assent, he turned and went inside the altar rail, pausing to reverence the altar before removing one of the smaller candles from its holder. As he returned, he sent a quick command to Joram to keep the others back unless summoned. Then he was standing in front of Tavis once more, holding the unlighted candle in his left hand as he re-engaged Tavis’s eyes.
“I’d like to show you an exercise that many Deryni children learn at a very early age,” he said softly. “Joram and Jebediah learned it from their fathers, and I suspect that Niallan learned it from his. I, on the other hand, did not learn it until I was a Michaeline novice. The point is, I suppose, that it’s never too late to learn something new. Now, this could come under the category of a spell, but it’s time you learned that there’s nothing to fear in a name.” He held the candle a little closer to Tavis. “Put your hand over mine, so that we both hold the candle.”
Tavis hesitated for just an instant, then obeyed. His fingers were icy cold, but Camber did not move—simply let Tavis settle for a few seconds, take a few deep breaths which finally began to have an effect.
“Good,” Camber whispered, after a few more breaths. “Notice that you are the one who will be in control in this working. Your hand is over mine—I’m not holding you in any way. If at any time you begin to be afraid, or feel that you can’t bear what we’re sharing, feel free to withdraw as much as you need to. I won’t be offended. I gather, from some of your reactions, that you’ve been hurt in the past, and God knows, I don’t want to hurt you any more.”
Tavis swallowed. “How did you know that?”
“A good guess?” Camber smiled. “You have been hurt, though, haven’t you? Perhaps in your training?”
“Yes. I was—”
“No need to dwell on it now,” Camber murmured, with a slight shake of his head, his voice lulling and soothing as he lifted his right hand to the same level as the other and turned it palm-out, toward Tavis. “We’ll just see if we can’t ease past that point. There’s been more pain since then, too, hasn’t there?” he continued, as Tavis’s left arm began slowly rising in echo of his own—though he did not think the Healer was aware of that. “You’ve never resolved the loss, have you? Don’t pull back!” he added sharply, but no louder, as Tavis became aware of his handless arm hovering beside Camber’s and he drew it away in embarrassment.
“No, I can’t—”
“Make the contact,” Camber whispered, glancing deliberately at the now-trembling forearm Tavis held clenched against his chest.
Tavis was sweating now, even though it was cold in the chapel at this hour. The Healer’s hand on Camber’s below the unlit candle gripped like a vise.
“Go ahead, Tavis. Make the contact,” Camber said again, gently. “Do you think I’ll be disgusted? Do you think the beauty of your soul has been marred by the loss of a mere hand? Think what you still can do with what you have, Tavis. Why, you can do things with one hand and a stump that other men can’t do with two good hands and all the armies in the land!”
He had felt Tavis cringe at the word “stump.” He was sorry, but denying its existence would not bring back what was lost. Tavis had to accept that. Camber almost held his breath as he stared into Tavis’s eyes, desperately willing the Healer to loosen up. He could not help unless Tavis wanted to be helped.
Finally Tavis began to respond. His teeth were still clenched tightly in his jaws, the eyes fixed and staring, but now the arm moved jerkily toward Camber’s hand. In the periphery of his vision, Camber could see the tension in the muscles of the lower forearm, where the sleeve fell away from the handless wrist, but he did not allow his gaze to waver from Tavis’s unblinking eyes.
The movement seemed to take forever, but finally Tavis made the contact, shoving the stump of his wrist firmly against Camber’s palm with a sob and closing his eyes. After a few seconds, the Healer was able to stop most of his trembling and look up again. Camber continued to gaze across at the other man mildly, in all acceptance.
“I know,” he whispered. “It was very difficult, wasn’t it?”
He had let the fingers of his right hand cup lightly and naturally over the end of Tavis’s wrist, supporting yet not confining, and he was encouraged by the perception that the Healer truly had stopped trembling. As Tavis gave a nod, breathing more easily now, and even beginning to relax a little, Camber allowed himself the ghost of an Alister smile.
“Are you feeling better?”
Tavis swallowed and nodded. “A little drained, but not nearly as frightened as before, God alone knows why. Apprehensive, but not really—frightened.”
“Good,” Camber nodded approvingly, “because there’s really nothing to be frightened of. You’ll find, I suspect, that it doesn’t feel a great deal different from Healing rapport, except, perhaps, for the fact that it’s an equal sharing, rather t
han one person being in control. It may also seem more intense but that depends on you.” He raised a bushy Alister eyebrow. “So, do you think you’re ready to learn a childhood spell now?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Let’s take a few deep breaths, then, and center down as if you’re preparing to do a Healing. That’s right. And when you’re ready, if you’re ever ready—some people never are—you can close your eyes for better concentration. The idea is to let the link form slowly, just a little at a time, so that each new meshing can be examined and digested at your own pace, with you controlling the depth of interaction, but passively—letting it happen, letting it flow.”
As he spoke, he could see the Healer’s eyelids beginning to flutter, the gaze becoming less intense, more dreamlike, and he knew that Tavis was shifting into his Healer’s trance. The level of control was excellent.
“That’s good,” he continued. “Just let yourself float with me, as far as you want to go. And when you’re ready, the spell will go something like this:
“Join hand and mind with mine, my friend. And let the light flare up between our hands when we are one. Let the light flare up between our hands when we are one.
“It’s all a mental set, of course,” he went on softly. “The words, of themselves, mean nothing. Their essence is what’s important—that as our minds join, there will come a point when we are sufficiently in rapport to do useful work—and when that occurs, the light will flare between our hands, as an outward sign that that level has been reached. And it will happen.…”
Tavis was visibly nodding now, blinking very slowly, his breathing light and moderate. On one of the deep blinks, he did not open his eyes again. When Camber was certain that he was not going to, he closed his own eyes, beginning to reach out just a little across the bond of flesh to search for that other bond.
He brushed the other’s shields almost immediately; but to his relief, they began to subside, slowly, tentatively, at first, then with greater confidence, as superficial levels of Tavis’s consciousness encountered and accepted Camber’s gentle questing out. Camber went carefully, gathering all of his Camber essence back beyond what he intended to share with Tavis and beginning to reveal the Alister aspects, intending to go slowly, gingerly, so as not to startle the Healer.
But then, to his surprise, Tavis lowered every vestige of shielding and subterfuge, in one dizzying surge of blind, submissive trust. On instinct, Camber swept in behind the disintegrating shields, ready to pull out quickly if Tavis started to panic, but then letting himself merge with Tavis’s thoughts in a breathless mingling of memories and perceptions.
It was the most nearly perfect rapport Camber could have dreamed of, under the circumstances, approaching that long-ago first contact with Jebediah for sheer ecstasy of psychic communion outside the bonds of blood kin—excellent by the most exacting of standards. He was dazzled, by turns awed and appalled, but all of it was Tavis, and real; and some of the insights he gained into what was developing in Javan positively took his breath away.
The candle held between them had burst alight spontaneously in that first surge of raw awakening; but as the depth of rapport increased, and Tavis began to weave on his feet, the watching Joram came and took the candle away, to keep either of them from being burned—for the candle was the last thing on either man’s mind by then.
It was as well he did, for Tavis’s knees buckled shortly after that, voluntary muscle control melting away with his resistance as he settled into even deeper psychic realms, though at least he did not faint away as some people had been known to do at the intensity of such a first encounter. Camber caught him and eased him to the floor, managing not to lose contact or rapport, then settled down beside Tavis and let himself resubmerge. Javan tried to go to them, alarmed at Tavis’s apparent collapse, but Jebediah restrained him and tried to explain, guessing what Tavis must be experiencing and remembering his own first rapport with Camber. Tavis, of course, did not know that it was Camber, but the force of Alister Cullen alone was more than sufficient to give Tavis an experience he would never forget.
Camber shared all he could of Alister Cullen, and his relationship with all the others—Joram and Jebediah and Rhys and Evaine, and even Jaffray and Emrys and Queron—giving Tavis the background of their mission over the past twelve years and even projecting the details of the Camberian Council’s function and existence—for he sensed instinctively that Tavis should eventually be among their number, and told him so.
He did not share his part in the events of the night of Cinhil’s death, or his real identity as Camber, but other than that he opened his mind as fully as his priestly office would allow. Even the pain of Rhys’s death was worked through, the guilt and remorse expiated, the grief laid to rest.
One subject it was essential that they explore further, now that Tavis seemed the sole inheritor of Rhys’s Deryni-blocking talent, and that was the need of a Healer to work with Revan. Tavis did not exactly volunteer, for he was torn between his loyalty to Javan—the need to aid his prince as long as possible—and the recognition that the Revan movement also presented increasingly important potential to protect a large number of Deryni. However, he did agree to begin working with Queron to round out his training as a Healer, to take on the search for other Healers who could also learn and, if another Healer had not been found by then, to consider joining Revan when his position with Javan became no longer tenable. It was a precarious balance of ifs, but without consulting Javan, Tavis did not feel he had the right to make a more definite commitment. Camber had to agree.
Tavis, when he finally opened his eyes, found himself lying flat on his back with a benignly smiling archbishop sitting on one side of him and a worried-looking prince kneeling on the other. Joram crouched beyond Javan, holding a lighted candle and wearing a tight little smile. Jebediah and Niallan stood beyond them, Jebediah looking especially pleased.
“How—how did I get on the floor?” Tavis asked sheepishly.
“You unlocked your knees,” Camber said easily. “It’s quite common. Some people, like Joram, can go to just about any level while on their feet and even functioning. Others, like Jebediah, go completely limp when they go into trance. I don’t know whether it has to do with training, or what. Perhaps there’s a physiological difference—rather the way different patients will respond to a Healer’s sleep commands. I noticed such variations when I used to work with Rhys.”
Tavis seemed to consider that carefully, but without the pain which Rhys’s name would have evoked before rapport with Camber. His shields were back in place, but not tightly so. Now there was casual seepage around the edges, so that Camber could constantly catch vague impressions of the direction of Tavis’s thought, much as he could do with Joram or Jebediah when in close proximity. He caught Tavis’s shift back to contemplation of what had just happened between the two of them and smiled as the Healer glanced up at him incredulously.
“Alister, did we really just do what I think we did?” he whispered.
Slowly Camber nodded, amazed and a little sad that Tavis apparently had never managed to experience that level of rapport before tonight, in all his twenty-five years. He realized now how much he had taken for granted all his life, that there must be many Deryni like Tavis, some of them even highly trained as he was, who had never achieved that awesome sharing which was their birthright.
“You did incredibly well, Tavis,” he said with a smile. “I don’t know how we managed to miss you all these years, but I think you’re going to be an enormous asset to our cause.”
“I’ll certainly try to be,” Tavis returned warmly. “I’m only sorry I fought you for so long.”
“What about me?” Javan blurted, brash yet a little fearful as he edged closer on his knees. “I want to help, too! I can, you know.”
“Javan!” Tavis chided, sitting up the rest of the way with Camber’s help.
“No, it’s all right,” Camber said, wondering whether he really wanted to cope w
ith Javan, too, after the emotional drain of Tavis. The exchange had been a heady one, and one which he would not have missed, but it had left his equilibrium a bit askew, as so profound an initial rapport often did. Still, if Javan was ready to trust them now, ready to open those impossible shields, this was an opportunity not to be passed up. A quick probe in the direction of Joram and Jebediah revealed that they shared his expectation and backed his reasoning.
“Javan, do you understand what just happened between Tavis and me?” he asked softly.
“I—think so.”
“What did happen?”
“Well, you both—let down your shields and you—went into each other’s minds?”
Camber nodded. “Essentially, yes. But that’s only the most superficial of explanations. Tavis trusted me, and he offered me the knowledge of everything he is, in equal sharing. It’s the most intimate gift that two people can share, Javan, for it’s the gift of perfect, unquestioning trust and acceptance. One does not give that gift indiscriminately; but when it is given, it must be without reservation, save for details which would violate another’s confidence. Can you comprehend that?”
Javan swallowed audibly, wide-eyed with awe, then gave a careful nod.
“I have shields, Father Alister,” the boy whispered tentatively. “Did Tavis tell you?”
“He did. And that you have learned to raise and lower them at will, just as we can. Have you really?”
Javan stared at Camber uncertainly, glanced at Tavis, back at Camber. For a moment, Camber was sure he was going to back down from what he had begun; but then the boy lowered his eyes shyly and spoke in a whisper.
“Do you want to see? I’ve—never done it for anyone except Tavis, but I’ll try, if you like.”
As he looked up at Camber, a little fearfully, wanting to trust yet still uncertain whether he dared, Camber still was not sure how or whether he wanted to attempt this tonight. Fortunately, Tavis took the matter out of his hands.
Camber the Heretic Page 52
