He had to convince the boy that he was wrong, and quickly.
* * *
Adam took Didryk up the mountain path. He often took acolytes out in nature, though they were usually older at this stage of their learning. Seeing Signs working in the real world always boosted understanding among the less gifted. Didryk for his part did not lack understanding but rather solemnity. Seeing the real forms of the Names he had memorized might make him a more careful student.
The climb also promised privacy.
Didryk ran, laughed and found stones to throw despite the steep climb. Adam found himself laughing also. He could not remember the last time he had laughed like this, deep from the belly, with no self-consciousness. He resisted the urge to tamp down Didryk’s enthusiasm, to turn this sunny mountain scene into a grey school room.
When the lessons began Didryk still laughed. He ran from tree to rock to bush, Naming each with a swirl of his finger and running to the next. His holy vocabulary surpassed that of a man three times his age. At last he tired and came to sit beside Adam on a boulder.
Adam handed him some ham and a piece of bread from his pack, and together they looked down upon Mondrath in silence.
After a time Didryk asked, “Can we come back to the mountain tomorrow?”
That would mean too many questions from the other priests. “No. Next week perhaps. But I want to speak to you of something important before we return to the church.”
The boy sighed and nibbled his bread. Adam took it as acquiescence and drew a deep breath. “Didryk, what you said before, about Mogyrk not being dead, but only dying—”
“It’s true.” Didryk turned to him now, eyes bluer than the sky. “I did not lie.”
“I did not say you lied, child. I think you are only mistaken. The God died for us, to give us these Signs to control our world. If He were still alive, then the Signs would not work. They would still be tied to Mogyrk’s soul.”
Didryk frowned, working this out in his mind. “But I can feel Him.”
“I have given that a lot of thought. Because you are so talented, you can remember Mogyrk better than others. You remember His pain and His sacrifice. Let it be a reminder to you in the coming years. And do not speak again of Him being alive. People will think you are taking His sacrifice lightly.” He watched the boy’s face, watched him make his decision, trying not to seem too anxious.
“All right,” Didryk said, “I won’t talk about it anymore.”
Adam paused, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. “Have you talked about it with anybody else?”
The boy’s gaze shifted to a nearby tree. “Not really.”
Adam rubbed some crumbs between his fingers. The boy had spoken to someone, but whom? If he pressed it, the boy would lie; he could feel it. If he did not know better he would have thought the boy was protecting someone.
Adam’s heart clenched. In becoming an austere he had never thought he would feel so frightened, that he would care as much as he did at this moment. When did he become less of an austere and more of a father? His mood having changed, he swallowed the last of his food and stood. “Come. It is time to return.” On the way down the mountain, as Didryk waved a large stick like a sword, fighting trees and rocks as if they were Cerani soldiers, Adam thought about how to protect him. If the other priests learned of the boy’s convictions, he did not think he could fight the crushing weight of the Sacred Church.
And yet perhaps that was best for Didryk. Adam found himself reconsidering all the arguments he had entertained on that first day, and coming no closer to a decision. Instinctively he felt Fryth was safer for the boy, but perhaps his affection tilted that instinct.
Didryk tripped and skidded across the rocky ground with a little shriek. When he sat up, Adam could see that his shins were scraped and bloody. Didryk looked at his wounds for a moment, then shrugged and got to his feet.
“Let me look at those cuts,” Adam offered.
“I fixed them,” said the boy.
Adam leaned down and ran a finger under the boy’s knee. Where he rubbed the blood away, there were no wounds—yet there had been no Signs, no drawing of circles nor incantations made. The boy had merely looked at himself. Adam shook his head. “I didn’t see you...”
“If you know the Names, you only have to imagine them,” said Didryk, picking up his stick again and waving it lazily in the air. After that he did not run, and walked beside Adam quietly.
Adam had to remind himself to put one foot in front of the other and keep his breathing steady. Didryk had healed himself merely by looking. It was unheard of. Impossible. Could he really be the child that was predicted? The one who would release Mogyrk from death? For once Adam did not wait to come to a rational decision but rather allowed the god’s presence to fill him. It was true. Didryk was the child who would bring about the new world. Adam’s instinct to protect him had been correct, and it was even more important now. And then he halted.
Mogyrk is alive.
Didryk took his hand and tugged. “Are you sick?”
“No, no I am not sick.” Together they walked, the boy carefree, the man shaken.
As they neared the bottom of the slope, Didryk let out a whoop and ran ahead. Acolyte Stuart waited beside the church with open arms, and Adam felt all his wonder fade to suspicion. Stuart lifted the boy into the air. “How was your hike?”
Didryk pressed a finger to Stuart’s mouth. “Shhhhhh.”
Adam’s heart filled with dismay. Now he knew to whom the boy had been speaking.
* * *
The sanctuary was built to face south, towards where Mogyrk was said to have died in the deserts of Cerana. That meant the windows faced east and west, bringing sunlight in both the morning and the afternoon, beams that lit the study-tables and put a glow upon the vellum pages. Stuart’s students were bent over various shapes and diagrams, faces drawn in concentration. Didryk sat alone at a table between two windows, head resting delicately on one finger, bright eyes focused somewhere in the distance. Adam wondered if Mogyrk also looked so otherworldly, even as old as he must be. The sunlight gathered around the boy like a cloak. Stuart, standing over him and speaking in a low voice, looked entirely mundane by comparison. Even where the sun lit his blue robes, it only served to bring out the same colour in the boy’s eyes.
Was this how it felt, to be in the presence of greatness? Had Mogyrk had teachers and friends who looked upon him and felt this way? But Adam could not stand here in awe; he must continue to play his part. He strode from the doorway made his voice sound hearty and unconcerned. “There you are! Stuart stole you for a time. But now we must get to work.”
“I apologize for detaining your student,” said Stuart with a thin smile. “I am conducting the yearly aptitude test.”
Adam clenched his fists. “Well, are you finished asking questions?”
“Yes.” Stuart turned away and picked up a quill. “At last. I will send the report to you when it is finished, austere.”
Adam’s stomach turned. If Stuart knew of the boy’s heresies, he might not count him among the promising students of Light who travelled to the Sacred Church each year, but rather, among the wicked ones, hustled in a side door and never seen again. But at least the report would cross his own desk first. “Come,” said Adam, beckoning to Didryk, “come away.”
As Didryk started towards him, Stuart said, as if he had read Adam’s mind, “Very interesting. Very interesting indeed, austere.”
* * *
“Stuart says I can go to Yrkmir.”
“What?” They sat together on a bench outside the sanctuary, eating another lunch of bread and ham. It was becoming difficult for Adam to remain the stern teacher. He knew at some point in their relationship, the boy would become the teacher and he the student. And yet Didryk was still too young to negotiate the paths of the Sacred Church, to know how to avoid men like Stuart who only seemed kind.
“Stuart said he will ta
ke me if I wish. He will take care of me, now that my parents are gone.”
Adam understood why Stuart had offered himself as the delivery man. If Didryk were discovered as a dangerous heretic it would do the acolyte’s career well to have been the one who caught him. On the other hand, if his heresies were not discovered, Didryk would favour him as a father figure when he inevitably gained power. Stuart could not lose. Adam had not given him enough credit. “Do you want to go to Yrkmir?” he asked. “Leave your family and all of your friends?”
“I would learn more,” said Didryk with a little shrug.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. It would depend on what they thought of you. Didryk, have you thought any further about the things you said about Mogyrk?”
“I don’t talk about that any more,” the boy assured him.
“I will not be angry, child, whatever you say.”
“Nobody wants to hear what I have to say.” Didryk kicked a stone away across the garden.
Adam pressed on. “I merely want to be sure you are thinking about these important things as well as the patterns you can make. Faith is not a game.”
Didryk stood and faced him, blue eyes fierce. “I never said it was a game.”
“You did not, but I want to be sure you are thinking about this the right way.”
“The right way.” Didryk mimicked him, and then, turning away, muttered something that Adam could not hear except for “...Stuart.”
“Do not be rude, child. What did you say about Acolyte Stuart?”
“Nothing.” Despite Adam’s rebuke, the boy kept his nose in the air and his back turned. “It is just that some of the other priests are nice to me and you’re not.”
“It is not for me to be nice to you, child. It is for me to teach you and protect you.”
“Perhaps I should go with Stuart,” said Didryk. “You’re not nice to him, either.”
Adam stiffened but maintained a patient expression. “If you are done being angry, we have some Signs to learn today.’ At that the boy turned back to him, blue eyes wide and eager. He loved to learn. That was always the way to draw him. But it would not last long. Eventually Didryk would surpass his abilities and abandon him for someone he liked better—and be caught.
* * *
Adam was halfway up the mountain when he heard running footsteps behind him. “Adam!—Adam!” Stuart’s voice. He came to a halt, bringing his face into control before turning. “Ah! Stuart. I was on my way to Mogyrk’s View. You are welcome to join me.”
“Good. I thought it was time we discussed the young king, if it suits you, austere.” Showing a little deference for once, Adam thought.
“He would not be a king, you know.” Adam said, stalling for time, “The highest title he could reach would be duke, and that only if his cousin dies or steps aside.”
Stuart said nothing in response to this, only smiled inwardly as if at a private joke.
“What is it you want to say, Stuart?”
“That I know what you are hiding. The boy is gifted. Extremely so. But as a Fryth you are concerned about Yrkmir.”
Adam gave away nothing, but kept walking with the other man at his side.
Stuart began panting slightly as the slope grew steeper. “But Didryk. He has views. Views I think should come under the study of the Numbers.”
The idea of the Numbers questioning Didryk made Adam shiver. “He is just a boy.”
“A talented one. I have been watching him. He could be very important, one way or the other.”
“One way or the other?” Adam quickened his pace.
“You know the clues even better than I do, austere.” Again with the deference. “You know the dangers in leaving the boy unreported.”
“And the dangers in reporting.”
“I know that...you have known the boy...since he was born.” Stuart was rapidly losing breath. For someone not accustomed to the climb he had actually done quite well. But now he was winded, slowing. “But this is about the church...not you.”
It was at least a little bit about Adam, since he was likely to die beside Didryk if the boy were found to be a danger. But he put that aside. “It is about more than the church, Stuart. It is about the future. He is the child from the texts, I know it.”
Stuart barked a laugh and then, seeing Adam’s face, said, “You’re serious.”
“You think the child cannot be so low as to come from Fryth.”
“I think the Numbers...know more than I on the subject,” Stuart replied, “but you think...the Numbers will be mistaken about him. That they cannot see the Light as you can.”
“I think the Light is difficult to see so far north.”
Stuart cracked a smile at the pun as he steadied himself on a boulder. “You border on heresy. The only thing we can do...the thing we must do...is put Didryk in the hands of the Sacred Church. Otherwise why are we austeres?”
Stuart would never be convinced. He would make sure Didryk went to Yrkmir, and Adam did not know what to do about it. If only Mogyrk would send a sign. The acolyte coughed, and Adam feigned concern. “Are you all right? The next part is steeper, and we’ll have to go single file.”
“Perhaps next time I will go with you,” Stuart said. “For now, it looks as if I have become unaccustomed to walking outside the city where the roads are flat. But please, consider what I have said. I do not want anything to happen to you.”
Any doubt about whether Stuart would report him vanished. The best he could hope for was disgrace; the worst, a heretic’s death by fire. And yet he found he was still more worried about Didryk. “And the other priests? What have they said about the boy?” He did not look forward to the next council meeting and his inevitable defeat.
“I have not told them.”
Of course. He would not have shared his prize. For the first time Adam was grateful for Stuart’s ambition. It gave him a little more time. “I’m going up,” he said, “I will see you in the sanctuary.” He turned and began up the narrow path, keeping close to the cliff to avoid a sharp drop to his right. Once again he wished Mogyrk would show him what to do about the boy. Stuart’s silence aside, the time was coming when he would have no choice than to adjust to what had already been decided. How had he failed Didryk so drastically? Shame curdled in him.
“Wait!—Wait!” Stuart was still behind him, one hand on the rock face, the other waving up the slope. “What is it like to stand at Mogyrk’s View?”
“You can see everything.” Adam’s attitude changed; after all these difficult weeks he spoke to Stuart as one priest to another. “It is an inspiration.”
“Have you ever had a vision there?”
“No. I pray for one but...no.”
“I have rested a bit. Perhaps I will after all—” Stuart took a step forwards, but his boot slid on some loose rock and he lost his footing. As he fell he scraped his cheek on the cliff face. Blood smeared his face and then streaked the ground beneath him as he continued to slide.
Adam hurried down the narrow path. “Stuart!” The acolyte was now sideways to the drop, one leg on the path and the other hanging over thin air. He scrambled with his hands to find a hold on the jagged rock. “Stuart!” Adam knelt by the struggling acolyte.
Wait.
This is my sign from Mogyrk.
Adam stood and backed away just as Stuart reached for his hand. This was how he could protect Didryk. Without Stuart, nobody knew about the child.
“Adam! Help me! Hold onto my wrist!” Stuart flailed again, his fingers only digging into more loose rock. But somehow he held on.
Part of Adam walked away then, down the narrow path. He watched it go.
“What are you waiting for!” Stuart cried out.
Adam looked down at the acolyte. “Mogyrk lives.” His message to a man about to die. His confession. His promise.
“Mogyrk—alive? Heretic!” Stuart’s eyes grew wide. “The boy has deceived you! Take my hand! Take my—
” Before he could finish, Adam kicked out, his boot meeting Stuart’s hip with a thud. Still the man held on, so Adam stood on his hand, twisting those strong fingers, making sure they lost their grip. “Adam! Please—” Stuart’s words were lost in a scream as he tumbled down the mountainside. Adam took a small step forwards and looked at what he had done. Stuart had fallen down to the treeline and come to rest against a fir. He was not moving.
Adam felt neither shame nor guilt but only the aftertaste of bitter resolve. He had chosen his path and must follow it now. He turned and began his way down to the church.
* * *
“Adam!” Didryk ran to greet him, one hand holding his favourite book. “I was waiting for you. I have a question about—” His face turned pale. “Why is there blood on your robe?”
Adam looked down to where Stuart’s blood made a rusty stain along the hem of his robe. “I am afraid there was an accident on the mountain.” For the first time, he started shaking.
Didryk backed away. “Stuart...”
“Yes, he was coming with me to Mogyrk’s View, but his boot slipped. I’m afraid he...he fell over the side.” He hadn’t lied, not technically, but the boy saw something in his eyes, something that made him back away. For the first time, Adam saw fear on Didryk’s face.
“Didryk...” He reached out, but he was shaking even more now, so much that he worried his muscles might pull apart.
The boy ran away, darting between the church and the cookery, ducking under a ledge too low for a grown man to follow.
* * *
Adam stood on Mogyrk’s View, watching Stuart’s blue robes stir in the wind. Didryk had not spoken to him since the day Stuart fell. When he looked at Adam, his eyes were hard and cold. The boy had changed, because of him. If someone had asked him weeks ago if he was willing to lose the boy if it meant saving him, he would have said yes. But he would not have expected this pain he was feeling.
Stuart’s sacrifice had been effective. Adam had succeeded. Brandt lacked the curiosity to look at Didryk, and everyone else was under Adam’s control. He had removed the child entirely from instruction and started him on militia rotation. He had hidden the books so that Didryk was unable to teach himself. That would hold him, for a time. It would hold everyone for a time. And then, when Didryk was old enough, he would take over. He would rip authority from Adam, cast him down, and fulfil his fate alone. He had given the boy the freedom, the opportunity, to do that.
Evil is a Matter of Perspective: An Anthology of Antagonists Page 41
