Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [106]
“Of course,” repeated Saryon in hollow tones. “Have you given any thought to what we discussed the other day?”
“You mean about me being Dead?” Joram asked evenly.
The catalyst could only nod.
Joram was silent another moment. His hand going absently to his hair, he began to rake through it, combing it with his fingers as had Anja, so long ago. “Father,” he said finally, in a tight voice, “don’t I have a right to love, to be loved?”
“Joram —” Saryon began helplessly, fumbling for words. “That isn’t the point. Of course you have that right! All humans have it. Love is the gift from the Almin —”
“Except to those who are Dead!” Joram sneered.
“My son,” Saryon said compassionately, “what is love if it does not speak the truth? Can love grow and flourish if it is planted in a garden of lies?” His voice broke before he could finish, the word “lies” seeming to shine in the darkness brighter than the moon itself.
“You are right, Saryon,” said Joram in a firm voice. “My mother was destroyed by lies — lies she and my father told each other, lies she told herself. It was the lies that drove her mad. I’ve thought about what you said to me, and I have decided —” He paused, and Saryon looked at him hopefully.
“— to tell Gwendolyn the truth,” Joram finished.
The catalyst sighed, shivering in the cool night air. That hadn’t been the answer he hoped to hear. Drawing his robes closer about him, he pondered his next words carefully. “I am glad, glad beyond measure, that you realize you cannot deceive this girl,” he said finally. “But I still think it would be better to drop out of her life — at least right now. Perhaps, someday, you can return. To tell her the truth will put your own life at risk, Joram! The girl is so young! She may not understand, and you will only endanger yourself.”
“My life means nothing to me without her,” Joram responded. “I know she is young, but there is a core of strength within her, a strength born of goodness and her love for me. There is an old saying of your Almin’s, Catalyst.” Looking at Saryon, Joram smiled, a true smile, one that brought a soft light to the dark eyes. “‘The truth shall make you free.’ I understand that now and I believe it. Good night, Saryon,” he added, rising to his feet.
Hesitantly, he laid his hand on the catalyst’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said awkwardly. “I sometimes think … if my father had been more like you — if he had been wise and caring — then the tragedy of his life and mine might never have happened.”
Joram turned away abruptly and walked with rapid strides down the winding, twisting garden path. Embarrassed and ashamed over having bared his soul, he did not look back at Saryon as he left.
It was well that Joram did not see the catalyst. Saryon’s head sank to his hands, tears crept from beneath his eyelids. “The truth shall make you free,” he whispered, weeping. “Oh, my god! You force me to eat my own words and they are poison to me!”
7
The Killing Frost
Several more days passed after the meetings in the garden — days of idyllic bliss for the lovers, days of torture for the catalyst, slowly sinking beneath the burden of his secret. Lord Samuels and Lady Rosamund smiled upon the “children” with delight. Nothing in the house was too good for the future Baron and his friends, and Lady Rosamund began to consider how many people could be fit into the dining room for the wedding breakfast and if it would be proper to invite the Emperor or not.
Then one morning Lord Samuels went out to his garden as usual, only to return almost immediately to the house, using language that shocked the servants and caused his wife — seated at breakfast — to raise her eyebrows in reproof.
“Damn the Sif-Hanar!” Lord Samuels thundered. “Where’s Marie?”
“With the little ones. My dear, whatever is the matter?” Lady Rosamund asked, rising from the table in concern.
“A frost! That’s what’s the matter! You should see the garden!”
The family rushed outside. The garden was truly in a pitiable state. One look at her beloved roses, hanging black and withered on their stems, caused Gwendolyn