Odo assumed an aggressive posture. “Now then, heretic, you stand condemned! I hereby place you under arrest so that an inquisition can be made into your false doctrines.”
The guards moved forward. Teo began to draw his sword once more. And then a brilliant light flooded the courtyard from above.
Everyone gasped and craned their necks as the sailcloth awning that had blocked the sky’s light was cast off. Late-afternoon sunshine gleamed against stone walls that hadn’t seen the sun’s rays for years. A breeze swirled into the courtyard of Castle d’If. The torches sputtered and went out. All the onlookers blinked and stammered in the blinding glare. Confusion reigned, until the Papa’s clear voice rang out like a bell.
“Let the light shine down and expel the darkness!” he exclaimed with his arms raised. “Odo of Marsay, by the power vested in me as the Holy Father of the Universal Communion, I strip you of your rank! Many good knights have shed their blood for the cause of Deus, and you are not worthy to be numbered among them. You are dismissed from the Order—you and all who will follow you!” The Papa gestured to the onlookers. “Will any of you stand with him?”
“Why should we?” someone shouted. “Good riddance!”
“He’s a wastrel!” another voice accused.
Soon the clamor was raised to such a pitch that the Papa had to quiet the crowd. Odo’s guards abandoned him. The Papa faced the stricken commander and took the leather book from his hand. Then, ripping the chevron epaulettes from Odo’s shoulders, he said, “Be gone, and do not come back.” Odo hung his head and fled through a doorway.
Turning toward the crowd, the Papa offered a blessing with his hands outstretched. “And now, brothers and sisters, peace be with you!”
“And with your spirit!” came the jubilant reply.
Teo stood on the gallery behind the Papa, stunned by what had just occurred. The situation had turned in an instant. Good had triumphed over evil, yet without violence. Teo grimaced as he realized how quick he’d been to draw his weapon. Now he felt relieved the affair hadn’t come down to swordplay. But what did happen here?
A flicker of movement above caught his attention. He looked up. Someone was standing at the rim of the courtyard’s opening, backlit by the bright sun. Teo squinted and raised his hand to shield his eyes.
Anastasia waved down at him, a broad smile on her face.
The temple precincts were dark and still as the rebel monk Lewth approached a low building. Though the scientific laboratory was locked for the night, he had stolen a key to the outer door and was able to dart inside. Not daring to strike a match, he crossed the shadowy room by the light of the moon. The lab’s inner chamber interested him most. Although the key to that door was unobtainable, Lewth had noticed a security breach above the doorframe: the transom window that let out deadly vapors was often left unlatched.
Lewth did not like the fact that everyone in Chiveis thought he was a faithful monk of Astrebril, but there was nothing he could do about it. Though he had formerly been devoted to that god, fasting and mortifying his flesh in obedience to the Beautiful One, he came to realize Astrebril’s thin veneer of beauty disguised a corrupted heart of death and destruction. Nevertheless, the god had immense power; that was his allure.
When the wise university professor Maurice began to suggest there might be a good God, Lewth had been all ears. As a monk at the High Priestess’s temple, Lewth could research lost religions in the secret archives. There he discovered the outlawed faith of Christianism. He even pilfered a cross-shaped necklace from a chest of relics. Yet Lewth had longed to know more about the Creator God. That was when Teofil and Anastasia had returned from the Beyond, chosen by Deu to recover the first testament of the Sacred Writing. A community of truth-seekers formed, and for a brief time life was good. But then the High Priestess laid down her ultimatum. Lewth had denied his faith on pain of death, and Teofil and Anastasia fled Chiveis. Perhaps they would return one day, just as Teofil promised.
Lewth now considered himself a spy for Deu within the ranks of the enemy. Viewing himself that way helped take away the sting of his moral failure. Though he wished he could have found the courage to die as a martyr, or at least go into exile like Teofil and Anastasia, fear had gotten the best of him. His stealthy activities around the High Priestess’s temple eased his sense of shame. Now Lewth was determined to learn the secrets of her deadly new weapon.
After dragging a stool near the lab’s interior door, Lewth climbed up and tugged on the transom. It resisted momentarily, then popped open with a screech. Lewth winced, but nothing stirred outside, so he grabbed the bars of a grate in the ceiling and lifted his feet to the transom. The move required some dexterity, but Lewth was slim and agile. He dropped to the floor of the inner room, his heart pounding.
The arcane laboratory had a large table at the center. A bench along the wall was littered with mortars, pestles, vials, ampoules, and other types of alchemy equipment. Since the room had no windows, Lewth took the risk of lighting a candle. He tiptoed around the lab, examining the strange paraphernalia. What he desired most was an instruction manual that would explain the mysterious project. His eyes fell on a small wooden chest. Lewth thought a book might be hidden inside.
He set down his candle and lifted the lid. The chest did not contain a book, only a small metal canister. Lewth lifted it out, cradling the device in both hands. The canister had a nozzle but no label of any sort. Turning it over, he noticed a single word incised into the metal. He brought the canister close to the candle’s flame, squinting to make out the word.
DANGER.
A black shadow darted across the table. Though it was only a rat, Lewth gasped and jumped back by instinct. The canister slipped from his fingers and banged hard against the floor. Instantly it began to hiss as a gas cloud billowed from it. Lewth fumbled to find the can beneath the workbench. A pungent mustardy smell filled his nostrils, but he ignored the stench until he finally grasped the can. He hurled it into the chest, still smoking, then slammed the lid shut and blew out the candle. The vapor was thick now, making his eyes water. Lewth coughed and waved his hands before his face as he stumbled to the door. He could open it from the inside, so he exited the chamber and hurried from the laboratory building. A sulfurous smell clung to his monk’s habit.
The night was pleasantly cool. Lewth inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with fresh, sweet air. He coughed a few times to expel the last remnants of the stifling gas. Soon he was breathing normally again. A smile came to his face.
So that’s the priestess’s great weapon? A choking gas that makes it hard to breathe? Lewth acknowledged it would be difficult to battle a foe while swathed in a thick cloud of the stuff. But the gas would hinder both sides alike. Any combatants who encountered the fog would fight their way clear of it and resume the contest elsewhere. Lewth could not see how the secret weapon would give an advantage to one side over the other.
The monk pulled his cowl over his head and folded his arms into his sleeves. If Teofil ever comes back to Chiveis, he’ll be relieved to hear what I’ve discovered! Coughing one last time, Lewth turned away from the laboratory and slipped into the shadows beneath the lofty spire of Astrebril.
Castle d’If was a hive of activity. While some of the knights made preparations for the expedition to pursue the Iron Shield, other workers were busy giving the castle’s courtyard a thorough cleansing. The walls gleamed, the floors were scrubbed, and the well at its center had been reopened. The sailcloth awning that Ana and Vanita had rolled back during the confrontation with Odo was discarded. Sunshine now illumined the courtyard with the light of heaven itself.
Purifying the well had been a top priority for the Papa, who was in charge of the castle now that Odo was gone. Bucket after bucket had been hauled up from the shaft until clear water replaced the brackish. The Papa had tasted the water several times before finally acknowledging its purity. Only when a papal assistant arrived at Ana’s room to deliver a white robe did she learn why.
The Order of the Cross at Marsay was being rededicated to holy purposes, and the ceremony was going to include the ritual of Washing for all who had not yet received it.
Ana arrived at the sun-drenched courtyard as the noon bell began to ring. She wore her plain robe and no shoes, just as she had been instructed. Many other white-robed figures had gathered in the plaza as well. Most were Knights of the Cross, but Ana smiled when she saw that Teo and Vanita also wore the special tunics. Marco, however, did not.
On the Papa’s signal, a small choir of men and women began to sing the Sanctus. “Holy, holy, holy!” they repeated over and over, until the stones of the castle itself seemed to cry out in praise to the Eternal One. Ana bowed her head and crossed her arms over her breast, seeking to become small. To make much of herself at a moment like this could only be sacrilegious.
When the last echoes of the angelic canticle had died away, the Papa rose from a chair and went to a lector’s stand. He was dressed in a full-length white cassock with a pallium of red and gold around his neck. Opening his ornate copy of the Sacred Writing, he delivered a homily on the Washing to the gathered faithful. His explanation of its meaning was both learned and devout.
“In this ancient observance,” the Papa said, “we make an appeal to Deus for a good conscience through the resurrection of Iesus Christus. He came to us by water and by blood. The spirit testifies with the water and blood, for the three are in agreement. All who are washed by the savior are washed indeed, but if he does not wash us, we have no part in him. Today I call upon you to repent and be washed in the name of Iesus Christus for the forgiveness of your sins. He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”
“Amen,” the people replied in unison.
A space was cleared in front of the Papa so that the candidates in their white robes could step forward and kneel. Though Ana wanted to be next to Teo for such a momentous event, she was unable to reach him. The Papa drew an olivewood pail from the well. With a delicate silver ladle he poured water over the head of each candidate, offering the simple invocation, “I wash you in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
As Ana waited her turn, she glanced up from her kneeling position and met the eyes of Liber. He stared back at her with a look of desperation. Ana immediately realized he wanted to join the others in the ceremony of holy Washing. Liber’s childlike heart was open to Iesus, and his soul was sensitive to the promptings of Deu. Yet somehow he had been overlooked.
When the Papa arrived to stand before Ana, she looked up at him as he withdrew the ladle from the pail. “Please, Holy Father,” she said, pointing, “what about our beloved brother Liber? Can he not receive the Washing as well?”
The Papa turned and saw Liber hiding under the stairwell. He beckoned the bearded giant with his hand. “Come forth, friend,” he said. “Come forth and be free, as befits your name.”
Timidly Liber came and knelt next to Ana. She intertwined her fingers with his. He smiled back.
“Thank you, Stasia,” he whispered.
Ana bowed her head. Liber did the same. They closed their eyes, and together they received the water of life.
King Piair II felt breathless and jittery. He always felt like that when the High Priestess came to his rooms for her rituals of union. Piair wished he could be in control of himself like a man should be, but somehow the sensual woman reduced him to a lusty he-goat. She was in charge, and he was led along as if by a ring in his nose. Even so, he looked forward to her visits every time.
When the knock came, Piair felt his knees go weak. Not long now . . . He swallowed the lump in his throat and squeaked, “Come in!” but there was no response. Only when he tried again in a firmer voice did the door swing open.
And there she was.
By all the gods, I want her!
The dark-haired priestess swept into the room in her gauzy robe. An iron slave collar was around her neck. Though black makeup lined her eyes and glossed her lips, the rest of her face was pale and delicate like fine porcelain. Only one flaw marred it—a thin scar along her cheek.
“W-welcome, lady,” Piair said. “You look . . . lovely.” Ach! Stupid!
The High Priestess narrowed her green eyes as she floated toward him. “Are you ready for the union, my young prince?” she whispered in his ear.
“Of course,” Piair answered, his heart skittering wildly.
The High Priestess spun away. “Unfortunately, the gods will no longer allow it.”
What?
No!
For a moment the king stood in dumbfounded silence as the priestess walked away, but at last he found his voice. “My lady, why not?” he cried. “What’s the matter?”
“The gods are not pleased with you anymore. They have ordered the cessation of our rituals. I came to tell you.”
The priestess moved toward the door. Piair ran and caught her sleeve. “Wait!”
She turned, a tiny smile on her lips.
“What can I do to . . . regain the gods’ favor?”
The High Priestess shrugged. “Nothing, I fear.”
“There must be something! Just tell me and I’ll do it.”
“The gods are angry. Only a major offering would appease them.”
Piair shifted uncomfortably, still inflamed by his randy desires. “Please,” he begged. “Don’t go. I need you.”
The queen of Astrebril raised her eyebrows in a way that Piair found charming. “You need me?”
“Yes! I need you to intercede with the gods. What gift could I give them?”
Taking Piair by the hand, the High Priestess led him to a plush divan and sat down next to him. “There is perhaps one thing that would placate the Beautiful One,” she said.
Piair nodded for her to continue.
“You know your history books, so I don’t have to tell you how Jonluc Beaumont conquered the kingdom of Jineve long ago. Over time we lost contact with that land. But lately the great Astrebril has been speaking to me. He believes his glory should be appreciated by everyone.”
“All my subjects worship Astrebril, my lady. Chiveis belongs to him. I have made sure of it.”
“Yes. But now Astrebril wishes the Jinevans to come under his dominion as well.”
Piair drew back. “You mean he wants an invasion? Like Beaumont’s?”
“Like Piair’s.”
Like . . . Piair’s.
Piair the Conqueror!
The High Priestess stroked his hand with her black fingernails. “Are you the man for this heroic task, my prince?”
Piair wanted to say yes, but he didn’t want to commit himself to a course of action that would shame him later. “What about the Jinevan army? Is it formidable?”
“The underworld spirits tell me the Jinevans are strong enough that we would need an alliance to defeat them.”
“An alliance? What does that mean?”
“It means we must follow in the footsteps of Beaumont. He made a Pact with the outsiders. They fought alongside him and divided the spoils of war. So must we.”
“The outsiders? They’re barbarians!”
“Indeed! But they’re barbarians who know how to wield a sword. They would be useful confederates, nothing more. After the war they would disappear.” The High Priestess smiled, her face bright with anticipation. “Think of it, my prince! Think of the splendor that would crown your head! I find that so . . . alluring.”
“R-really?”
“Of course! There is nothing more attractive to a woman than a man with the will to power.”
I could be that man, Piair thought. His mind raced as he considered the details. “Arrangements would have to be made. Supplies and arms would be needed. The outsiders would have to be contacted about this.”
“My priests have been in contact with them already. In fact, the outsiders are massing just beyond our borders. Your Highness, you must grant them access to Chiveis! Let their army encamp in the fields in front of the Citadel’s wall. A levy must be instituted so that
provisions can be gathered from all the towns and villages. Then we will march forth and make war.”
“Make war,” Piair repeated, liking the sound of it.
“Yes! A war like that of Beaumont—and like your father before you.”
Piair’s attention snapped back to the High Priestess. “But my father fought against the outsiders! He didn’t ally with them!”
“Times change. We must adjust.”
The young king hung his head, conflicted by the choice before him. “I just don’t know what to do,” he muttered, clutching his forehead in his hand. “It’s all so radical.”
The High Priestess rose from the divan. “You disappoint me, Piair.”
She turned away, but Piair grabbed her hips, spinning her around. He clenched the priestess’s robe in his fists as he stared up at her from his seat. She regarded him with a steady gaze. Piair thought he could detect desire in her eyes.
“If I do this, my lady, will Astrebril be pleased?”
“Yes, my prince.” She paused, smiling a little. “And so will I.”
Piair pulled the High Priestess to himself. “Then so be it.”
Ana reclined in a canvas chair on the roof of Castle d’If, awed by the beauty of the stars that dotted the nighttime sky. Liber was there too, but he had little interest in the stars. He was busy munching sweet biscuits and guzzling a mug of apple cider.
“Want some, Stasia?” he asked.
Ana took a biscuit from the tin and thanked her friend. She nibbled it as she stared at the milky band that stretched across the heavens.
“Does the Father in the Sky see me?” Liber asked.
“Yes.”
“Even at night?”
“Mm-hm. All the time.”
Liber reclined in his chair. “I like that.”
For a while the pair was silent, then Ana turned to Liber with a question. “Why did you seek the Washing today?” she asked.
The Kingdom Page 33
