The Rival (36 page)

"Have you been below?" Titus asked.

Linus shook his head.  "I know only one person who has been in the catacombs, and I don't think we can ask him about them."

From his tone, Titus knew who he was talking about.  Matthias.

"Take water of your own, boy," Reece said.  "It'll be thirsty work going through that dust."

"And food," Porciluna added.

"And holy water," Titus said softly.

Porciluna rolled up the map and handed it to the boy.  "The entrance to the catacombs is on the first floor where the old kirk connects to the newer Tabernacle."

"Near the Servant's Chapel," Titus said, "across from the damaged portrait of the Tenth Rocaan."  He untied his keys from his sash and removed a long one with a heart-shaped head.  "The door is small and wooden.  This key will open it."

"Have him take mine," Reece said.  "You might need yours, Holy Sir."

Titus smiled his gratitude, and put the key back on the ring.  With a shaking hand, Con took Reece's key, then tucked the map under his arm.

"After I've spoken to the King, Holy Sir, what do you want me to do?"

"Return if you can," Titus said.

The boy nodded.  He turned and bowed his head as he walked to the door.

"Con," Titus said, "God will be with you."

The boy looked up, smiled, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to bask in his beauty.  Then he slipped out the door as Elder Vaughn slipped in.  Vaughn stared after the boy as if he didn't understand what he saw.

He probably didn't.

"He may not make it," Reece said. "No one's been in those tunnels in generations."

Titus shrugged.  "We do what we can.  His trip might be moot."

Two other Elders, Timothy and Ilim, entered.  These Elders were all serving the church when Matthias was Rocaan. They had all been in contention when Matthias left.  Titus hadn't trusted any of them in this post. 

He still didn't.

Fedo was the only other Elder remaining from that period.  Elder Eirman died of apoplexy four years before.

Fedo entered, followed by Catton, Ury, and Hume, the Elders that Titus had chosen.  Catton was older than the others, an Officiate who long assumed he would never become Elder.  In some ways, he reminded Titus of the Fiftieth Rocaan, especially in his short balding build, and his reliance on the spiritual side of the Tabernacle. 

Ury was younger than Titus, still in his twenties, and his progression through the Tabernacle ranks had been swift.  He was slender and strong, with a young man's body and intelligent eyes.  He was cunning and had few beliefs, but he was supportive of Titus.  Titus needed him to balance Porciluna  —  or so he had thought when Eirman died.

Hume was the deserving one.  He was small, hunched and about Titus's age, which made him one of the younger men in the room.  He was bald except for some curls on the base of his skull, curls that one Elder in a moment of unkindness had called fringe.  Hume had served the Tabernacle with distinction.  He was a scholar who understood the Words and who took Eirman's place in recording the oral histories, but he was also a believer who rose before dawn every morning to find a quiet time with the Holy One and with God.

"I need to send one of you down to speak to these Fey," Titus said without preamble.  "It's dangerous.  There is a possibility they could kill the messenger.  For that reason, I can't go  —  no one else knows the secrets  —  and I can't send an Aud.  The Fey have been on the Isle long enough to know the Tabernacle's hierarchies.  I cannot insult them by sending the wrong person.  It has to be an Elder, and it has to be one who is not afraid of them.  He has to go without holy water.  They can't think he's armed."

"That's suicide," Porciluna muttered.

"Perhaps," Titus said.  "I hope it is simply a first phase in a negotiation."

The Elders glanced at each other.  No one stepped forward.

"I do not have much time. They haven't made any moves, but I don't know what they're waiting for."

"Whatever it is, it can't be pretty," Linus said.  "They've got us surrounded."

Titus clasped his hands behind his back.  Still none of his Elders said anything.

"That young Aud," Titus said, "accepted his Charge without argument.  None of you have his courage?  The courage of a boy of thirteen?"

"I'll go," Reece said.  "I can talk with them, and I have a physical reaction to holy water.  It's not as severe as theirs, but it could be seen as a bond."

"I don't want you to discover their life's story," Titus said.  "Just find out why they've gathered below."

"All right, Holy Sir."  Reece bowed, then backed out of the room.  As he did, Lindo entered. 

"You asked about the holy water supply, Holy Sir?" Lindo said.

Titus nodded.  They needed that information before continuing. 

"We have two thousand bottles scattered throughout the Tabernacle, and five barrels in the storeroom."

"We'll need more," Porciluna said.

Titus ignored him.  "Thank you, Lindo," he said.  "And what of the other matters?"

"We are moving supplies into the catacombs, but it is slow going, Holy Sir.  The stairs have rotted away.  One of the Danites constructed a rope ladder, but it is difficult to get things down it."

"I'm certain that you will prevail," Titus said, not caring about the difficulties.  "Thank you for your report."

Lindo nodded at the acknowledgment, then bowed and left.  Porciluna waited until he was out of the room before speaking. "You're filling the catacombs?  Who is going to go below?"

"No one I hope," Titus said.

"But what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that the Fey may have a legitimate reason for being here.  That's why I sent Reece to them.  If they don't want to see us on peaceful terms, then we are in trouble.  They will try to destroy us."

"Hence the holy water supplies," Linus said.

Titus didn't acknowledge that.  He didn't really want to think about it.

"But there are a lot of animals below," Titus said.  "More than I could count.  And I am afraid that they might overpower us no matter what we do. Then we use the catacombs."

"If we do that, the Fey will follow," Linus said.

Titus shrugged.  "That's a risk we'll have to take.  The catacombs are our last resort."

Porciluna placed his hands across his stomach.  "If that's the case, it seems odd to me that you're preparing for it now."

Titus glared at him.  He'd never be able to convince Porciluna.  Never.  "That's it," he said.  "You're dismissed.  Make sure that everyone under you is well supplied with holy water, and keep away from the windows."

The Elders glanced at him, as if they couldn't believe his sudden burst of temper.  He wasn't certain he could believe it either.  But, after a rocky start, he'd finally reached an equilibrium with his office, an equilibrium that had lasted nearly a decade.  Now he felt as if he were tossed into a murky area, an area he never wanted to walk, again.

"Hume, stay, please," Titus said.

The other Elders slowly made their way out the door.  Porciluna paused at it, as if he had more to say, but Titus just glared at him.  Porciluna left. 

Titus went to the door and pushed it closed.  Then he leaned on it, feeling the ridged surface of the designs against his back.  "We have finally come to it," he said. 

Hume sat on the arm of a plush chair.  He still hunched, as if he were trying to see the ground.  "Holy water."

Titus nodded.  "We have enough to start an attack if we need to, but not to sustain it, not with those numbers out there.  But this time I know if I make it, I make it as a weapon and not as an instrument of the religion."

"There is precedent," Hume said, "The fiftieth Rocaan did so in the first Fey invasion."

"Under Matthias's guidance."

"Nonetheless," Hume said.  "The Fiftieth Rocaan was his own man.  He would not have made the choice if he had not believed in it."

Titus sighed.  "I don't believe in it," he said.  "I don't believe that our place in this religion is to kill people.  The Roca showed that by setting down his sword."

"He didn't set down his sword, Holy Sir.  He cleaned it and gave it to the Soldiers of the Enemy.  That could be interpreted as an act which showed that sometimes killing is necessary."

Titus smiled.  "You're not making this easier."

"I didn't know I was supposed to," Hume said.  Then he leaned back.  "My point is, Holy Sir, that I am a scholar.  I can find something in the Words to defend any belief you hold."

"You also believe," Titus said.  "I didn't ask you to stay for your knowledge.  I wanted to know what your heart tells you."

Hume looked at his hands.  They were crabbed and bent, stained with ink, and filthy. 

"Hume," Titus said.

"My heart says two things," Hume spoke slowly.  "When I am faced with the Soldiers of the Enemy, when I am faced with my own death, I could not encourage it as the Roca did.  I would fight back, using anything at my disposal."

"But?" Titus asked.

"But when there is peace and a moment of calm, I believe that man should not take a life."

"We do so all the time.  The food we eat  — "

"An intelligent life.  The Fey, no matter what they may represent to us, are beings as we are.  They live, they think, they love.  I cannot condone killing them."

"Even in war?" Titus asked.

"War."  Hume rubbed his hands on his robe.  The ink smudges disappeared from part of his fingers, but the blackness of the robe hid any dirt.  "I do not, nor have I ever, believed in war, Holy Sir."

"Although they make it on us?"

"They have not for a generation.  We do not know what their intentions are.  My advice to you, if that is what you are seeking, Holy Sir, is to wait until Reece has spoken with them.  Then make your decision."

"And fight them if they fight?"

Hume took a deep breath and released it.  "Replace any holy water that gets used, as you usually do.  Assume that you are making it for religious reasons."

"But I won't be," Titus said. 

Hume stood.  "That is where we run into the scholarly difficulties, Holy Sir.  An act of war just might be a holy thing."

"What are you saying, Hume?" Titus asked.

Hume licked his lips.  "I'm saying, Holy Sir, that the last few years of the Roca's life were spent fighting invaders, Soldiers of the Enemy.  We assume he defeated them because we worship him, not them.  And we believe that his act of self-sacrifice was the defining moment in that defeat."

"Yes?" Titus said, not sure he liked how this was going.

"Our great religious leader, the man we call Beloved of God, the man we have raised to the level of God, waged war, Holy Sir.  He led men into battle.  You might have to as well."

Hume's words hung between them.  Titus stepped away from the door.  He felt numb.  "You may go," he said.

Hume nodded, then let himself out.

The religious leader as warrior prince.  The sword as weapon and symbol.  Holy water as purifier and killer.

It all added up.

Which made Titus hate it, even more.

THIRTY-EIGHT

The fingers on his face were cool, light.  Nicholas started awake.  Sebastian bent over him, the skin around his gray eyes crinkled with worry.

" … Pa … ," Sebastian said softly.

Nicholas stretched.  He hadn't meant to fall asleep.  He was sitting in the chair beside the fireplace in Sebastian's room.  He had sat down only for a moment, after posting several guards on his children, and watched Sebastian sleep, wondering how a child that had been so much a part of his life could be anything but his flesh and blood.  The fact that Sebastian wasn't really human but made of stone made even less sense.

The room was full of early morning light, the soft kind that crept across floors and took the darkness away.  It was still pink with the dawn.  Sebastian was wearing his night robe.  He was crouched beside Nicholas's chair.

His fingers brushed Nicholas's face again.

" … Pa … ?"

Nicholas caught Sebastian's hand in his own, and squeezed the boy's hard, smooth palm before letting it go.  "I'm awake, son," he said.  The word "son" sent a shiver through him.  It was accurate and inaccurate at the same time.

" … Pa … ," Sebastian said, then swept his left hand toward the open window.  He seemed agitated.  His lower lip was trembling and he could not remain still.

Nicholas ran a hand through his son's straw-like hair, then stood up.  He was still wearing the ceremonial robe from the night before.  He hadn't been asleep long.  It hadn't quite been dawn when the group left the war room, and Nicholas had come down here to make certain his children were well guarded.  He had planned, at dawn, to send a message to the Rocaan.  Enough divisiveness.  They had to work together.

His boots hurt his feet, and his clothing felt sticky.  Sebastian stepped aside as Nicholas made his way to the window.

The dawn was pink, as he had expected.  Clouds streaked across the sky in various hues of red, mixing with some solid yellows.  The air smelled of roses and fresh grass.  It would be a beautiful day.

Sebastian came to his side, and pointed downward.  Nicholas leaned his hands on the stone ledge and peered out.

The gardens were strangely silent.  Usually at this time of day, the birds chirruped and made a raucous song.  This morning, though, they covered the trees, the shrubs, and the grass.  Hundreds upon hundreds of starlings, robins, and gulls stared at the palace.  Nicholas couldn't recognize all of the species.  He recognized eagles, but not the large birds that sat beside them.  Birds with long multicolored beaks sat on the topmost branches.  They were larger than many cats, and their beaks looked as if they could break smaller animals in half.

Nicholas glanced to his left.  Birds, in a circle around the palace.  He glanced to his right.  More birds.  Then he backed out of the window, crossed the room, and looked out the other window.  The far side of the garden was also filled with birds, and even more sat on the stone wall protecting the palace.  As he peered toward the kitchens, he saw birds spread like a carpet across the courtyard.