by Eric Thomson
Gwenneth’s ascetic features took on an air of indecision.
“The program is successful beyond our hopes, and I know we can release more of those with behavior disorders from their torment.”
“On the surface, yes. But as Seled proved, we cannot heal a twisted soul. Only death will offer release from torment. If that.” Marta sighed. “But perhaps I’m reading too much into my visions. Still, give my suggestion some thought. It may be prudent if we suspend the experimental program for a few years and watch those who’ve undergone the cure.”
“I’ll discuss the matter with Mirjam.”
Marta inclined her head, accepting Gwenneth’s answer — for now. “Is anything waiting for me upon my return?”
“I’d like you to resume working with Stearn.”
A frown. “Didn’t Katarin declare him for all intents and purposes done?”
“In terms of training, yes, seeing as how he’s shown no interest in becoming a healer or counselor, and he has neither the faith nor the temperament to become a chaplain. But he’s been spending entirely too much time with Loxias, out in the community, monitoring the senate elections and interacting with the leading business tycoons. Please resume your daily meditation sessions with him and check his behavior. I fear Loxias is using Stearn’s abilities for his own purposes.”
“Really?” Marta gave her superior a skeptical glance. “If you think Loxias is going against the Rule, call him on it.”
“I can’t because I saw no evidence, although I’ve heard whispers that Stearn’s been experiencing frequent nightmares in recent weeks. He was seen showering in the middle of the night on several occasions. The only reason I can think of why he’d do so is because he’s waking up in a cold sweat. Bad dreams. A guilty conscience. Perhaps he’s been pushing against his conditioning, and we know that can leave the mind prey to every manner of self-punishment.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“You and I have done so when required. Although we were taught how to bleed off the after-effects in a controlled manner. Stearn has both the smarts and the life experience to search for his limits and test them.” Gwenneth exhaled noisily, a sure sign of exasperation. Something in Marta’s expression gave her pause. “What is it?”
“The glimmer of an idea. What came through Seled’s third eye was the stuff of nightmares. It could be Stearn’s soul has its own problems, and they manifest as dreadful dreams leaking through an imperfectly closed third eye, one that wasted more energy during the day than it should.”
“Now you’re scaring me.”
“Good. Stearn could easily become stronger than either of us. And if he’s been breaking his oath while fighting the conditioning...” Marta let her words hang between them.
“I should never have indulged Mirjam and sent you to the Windies.”
“Wallowing in regrets is pointless. We learned something important, perhaps even vital, about the essence of being human. Besides, I’ll correct Stearn’s trajectory, don’t fear. There’s plenty of good in him.”
“And even more we don’t know. He never gave us a full accounting of his time in Antelope, and I’m still not convinced he told us the true story of the Void Beacon he supposedly found on a world far from the abbey that manufactured it.”
“By the time his mind cleared enough for a truth read, he’d developed shields I couldn’t push through without leaving obvious tracks, which just proves my point about the speed at which his mind has been developing.”
Gwenneth waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.
“As you said, regrets are pointless. Come home, reassert your role as Stearn’s teacher and guide him away from the secular ambitions peddled by the likes of Loxias and his followers.”
**
The electoral ads playing on every available display inside the Lannion Spaceport terminal’s central hall struck Marta as more strident and darker than ever before in the republic’s brief history. What little she glimpsed as she made her way through the cavernous, almost empty space advocated a wholesale replacement of the current senate and administration.
When Marta stepped out into the early morning sunshine, she suppressed a groan of dismay. She intellectually understood that what was early evening in the Windy Isles when the Phoenix Clipper City of Carhaix lifted off became dawn upon landing in Lannion. But being confronted by the fact she faced at least twelve hours until bedtime and not three made her heart sink. That brief, suborbital flight gave back the hours stolen from her weeks earlier, but the notion didn’t make an interminable day any more appealing. Not when she still suffered the after-effects of Seled’s collapse.
She found the abbey’s ground car waiting by the curb, along with other vehicles destined for her fellow passengers. One of its doors opened, and Landry’s smiling, bearded face appeared.
“Welcome home, Sister. How was your flight?”
Marta climbed in beside him and placed her bag at her feet. “The Clippers are amazing.”
“Perhaps one of these days, I should volunteer for an assignment in the Windies or aboard a starship and experience them for myself.” Under his deft control, the car pulled away smoothly and headed for the avenue leading into downtown Lannion at a comfortable speed, its anti-grav cushion absorbing imperfections in the roadway. Marta felt as if she sat in a comfortable reading chair.
“I didn’t follow the elections but caught the advertising in the terminal. Is it just me, or is this campaign rather less civil than previous ones?”
Landry chuckled.
“You don’t know the half of it. A lot of the races, especially in Lannion districts, are turning particularly nasty these days. I can’t figure what’s motivating it, but I’ll happily stay far away from politics, unlike many Brethren. Could be we need an amendment to the Rule forbidding political discussions, let alone attending rallies like Loxias and his cronies. But considering how many among us want the Order to wield more secular influence, I doubt the abbess would get a two-thirds majority to support such an amendment.”
This early in the day, traffic was light, and they quickly left Lannion behind, though not before Marta spied more political advertising on large animated displays. Some even referenced the administration’s handling of the Barbarian Plague risk, promising their candidate would do better than the incumbent. She felt a sense of relief after the events of the last two days when they left the main road and entered the abbey’s expansive land grant. Soon, she spied its buildings above green fields and trees in full flower. Home.
“Gwenneth asked that you come to her office upon arrival,” Landry said, breaking through her reverie. “I’ll take your valise to your room.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
Landry stopped the car in front of the administration building, and the passenger door opened soundlessly.
“Enjoy a blessed day, Sister.”
“You as well.”
Marta found Gwenneth staring out of a side window overlooking the fields. The abbess turned when she sensed her presence by the open door.
“Please come in and sit.” She settled in behind her desk with a tired sigh. “Seled came out of her coma minutes after your Clipper took off.”
“And?”
“It took four friars to restrain her. Mirjam says her mind resembled that of a wild animal driven by rage. It’s as if her personality disorder was back, but without the restraint she could exercise before undergoing treatment.”
Marta cocked a questioning eyebrow. “You just used the past tense. What else happened?”
“Seled died of cardiac arrest shortly afterward, thankfully before Mirjam called the warden and ask he take her back for everyone’s safety. They’ll carry out an autopsy when it’s morning in the Windies, but Mirjam figures the heart attack was stress-induced.”
Grief twisted Marta’s features.
“The Void giveth, the Void taketh away.”
“Blessed be the Void.”
“At least the Almighty’s mercy will n
ow grant her the peace she never had.” After a moment of silence, Marta said, “This means that the treatment likely doesn’t address the true behavioral drivers. It merely removes the overt part. The sickness afflicting those unfortunates is much deeper and is probably impervious to any cure.”
Gwenneth nodded tiredly. “A sickness of the soul. Yes. I ordered the experimental treatment stopped indefinitely. The other five who underwent it will be closely monitored for any signs of their disorder returning.”
“I don’t think that’ll happen. If they cannot open the third eye, whatever lies behind it will stay walled off, and I checked — none of them has anything more than an above-average sixth sense.” Marta shook her head. “Sorceresses’ apprentices, indeed. I suppose it’s a good thing this happened behind the priory’s walls and not out in public where her condition would raise questions we cannot answer without imperiling the Order. What will Mirjam tell the warden about Seled’s death and the termination of the treatment program?”
“As little as possible. No doubt, there will be lingering suspicions.”
“Unavoidable, I suppose.” Marta suppressed a yawn. “My body thinks it’s bedtime.”
“Head for the refectory and eat breakfast as step one in resetting your inner clock, followed by meditation.”
“A wise suggestion.” She climbed to her feet. “I would take a few days of rest before shouldering fresh duties.”
“I only need you to deal with Stearn.”
“I will do so.” She bowed her head at Gwenneth and left the abbess to her thoughts.
When Marta entered the refectory, she noticed a cluster of Lindisfarne Brethren — friars and sisters — lingering after the morning meal, Stearn sat among them, looking as if he were holding court and not Loxias, the group’s putative leader. Stearn briefly looked up at her, and their eyes met. Marta’s heart sank when he gave her only a cold, dispassionate stare instead of the amused reverence he used to show for what he mischievously called his surrogate mother.
— 42 —
The next morning, Stearn stopped on the threshold to Marta’s training room and bowed his head.
“I’m here as directed, Sister, though I can’t understand why. Katarin taught me what I needed after you left for the Windy Isles. Since I will not become a healer, counselor, or chaplain, I don’t need further instruction and should concentrate on my duties.”
Marta, already sitting on her mat in the lotus position, gave him a hard look. “Duties that include taking part in secular politics?”
“Loxias is training me to become chief administrator one day. That involves accompanying him wherever he goes outside the abbey’s walls.”
“Please come in.” She pointed at the mat in front of her. “We will meditate together every morning. That way, I can check your personal progress.”
Stearn didn’t budge. “Why?”
“Because the student I was teaching in the Windies died yesterday, shortly after my departure. She was, like you, a wild talent who entered the Order later in life than usual, and I want to watch you for signs of the same condition that struck her down.”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “May I ask the student’s name?”
“Seled.”
The suspicion turned to incredulity. “That crazy old woman with delusions of attractiveness? They took her on as a sister?”
“She underwent treatment that erased her antisocial personality disorder, and once it was gone, we discovered she had the talent. Unfortunately, when she finally opened her third eye, things went terribly wrong.”
“And you’re afraid you’ll lose another student. Sister, I’ve been opening and closing my third eye at will since you left, and as you can see, I’m alive and well. Please don’t confuse me with a sociopath.”
“It is how you open and close it that interests me.” She pointed at the mat again. “Please, Stearn. Indulge me in this. The bond between teacher and student is one of the few things that can only be severed by death. And since we don’t know what happens after we die, perhaps it continues across the Void for eternity.”
“You know I’m not into religious mumbo jumbo.” Stearn exhaled with just a tinge of exasperation. “Very well. For you, anything.”
As he adopted the lotus position facing her, Marta said, “I’ve recently experienced something that makes me think at least part of what you call mumbo jumbo is real.”
“Oh?” A skeptical eyebrow crept up Stearn’s forehead. “I’m listening.”
“Do you believe we have a soul, immortal or not?”
“I’ve never given it much consideration.” He cocked his head to one side. “To be honest, I’ve never given it any consideration.”
“Please don’t speak of this with anyone else, but when Seled opened her third eye, I think I caught a brief glimpse of what I think was her soul.”
“And then she died. Maybe we’re not meant to see certain things.”
“Funny you should say that. However, the real question is, what precisely are we not meant to see or do?” Marta closed her eyes. “Please enter a meditative trance.”
Stearn followed suit and loosened the tight bonds that kept his thoughts in check. As expected, he soon felt the tendrils of her mind brush against his.
“Let me in.” Her voice seemed to come from afar.
“With all due respect, I will keep my privacy intact.” He hardened his mental shielding.
“You no longer trust your teacher?”
“Tell me why you want in.”
“You’ve been experiencing horrible nightmares in recent times.”
A moment of hesitation. “Yes.”
“They always happened after you opened your third eye and pushed against the conditioning.”
More hesitation. “Yes. How do you know?”
“Do you believe you’re the only one who’s ever tested his boundaries?”
“No.”
“We all do because that’s human nature. One of the most common reactions is disturbing nightmares, as if the soul was revolting while we’re at our most vulnerable.” When Stearn didn’t reply, Marta said, “You won’t let me in, will you?”
“No. I neither want nor need supervision by you or anyone else at this point. I simply wish to make my way in life by becoming one of the Order’s administrators and follow in Loxias’ footsteps. We can meditate together, but that is the only thing you or Gwenneth can ask of me. The Rule does not mandate I allow anyone into my mind. And should you insist, I will invoke the oath.”
“None of my other students have ever used such harsh words.”
“I am my own man, Sister. My mind does not need supervision by you or anyone else.” Stearn opened his eyes. “And I am no longer in a meditative state of mind, so if you’ll excuse me, we can take this up again tomorrow morning. My duties await.”
He uncoiled his legs and stood, bowed at the waist, then left her staring at his back as he walked away.
Loxias caught up with him on the way to the power generation plant. “How was your first session with Marta since her return?”
“Marta, like the rest of the older sisters, figures she understands the human psyche. She doesn’t. None of them do. They play with it instead of facing the truth.”
“I’m pleased you finally recognize that fact, my friend. Fortunately, the future is ours, not theirs.”
**
“Brigid! Thanks for showing up a little early.” Morane waved her into his office, pointing at one of the chairs in front of his desk, then gave his executive assistant a nod. He stepped back into the corridor and closed the door behind him.
“Always a pleasure, Mister President. I gather you read last night’s intelligence report.”
Morane nodded at his reader, lying on the desk. “Indeed. Did you check the latest opinion polls this morning?”
“Yes, and they dovetail nicely with the trends noted in the report. Something is happening out there that’ll upend the political landscape come election d
ay. A lot of first-term senators won’t be getting a second one.”
“And your operatives saw Order of the Void Brethren at most political events to support the challengers.” Morane’s tone made his words a statement.
DeCarde nodded.
“Loxias and Stearn are the most prominent, but they’re far from the only ones. I know you don’t share my views, but I smell mind-meddling of some sort. More first time candidates are ahead of incumbents than normal, and where the incumbent faces term limits, the leading replacements are cut from the same cloth as the challengers.”
“This is only the fourth senate election in the republic’s history. We can’t really look back and decide what’s normal and what isn’t.”
“My analysts checked the Colonial Council election history. Lyonesse generally gives its politicians a second term if they don’t trip over themselves during the first, but this time around, plenty of solid senators seem headed for defeat. Charis Sandino’s chances of succeeding you are getting slimmer. The newcomers will nominate their own candidates for the presidency and vice presidency.”
“Any idea who they might put forward?”
She shook her head.
“Not yet, but as the preference cascade speeds up, we should find out, although my best analysts are betting on Viktor Arko. He’s been a close friend of the Hechts since before we arrived and is well regarded by most people. I’m sure he’d accept the nomination.”
Morane grimaced at hearing the name of the man who was Health Secretary in Elenia Yakin’s cabinet, and before independence, ran the colony’s medical system. Arko made no bones about his dislike of Morane and fought him on many issues related to health services for the Defense Force. When Morane offered to keep him on as a cabinet member after succeeding Yakin, at least on an interim basis, Arko refused point-blank, returning to private life, and busying himself with philanthropic pursuits.
