Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [8]
“Holiness, I didn’t understand —” Saryon began in misery.
“Didn’t you, Saryon? Your head may have condoned your actions, but your soul knew you sinned! I sense your guilt, my son, a guilt that has destroyed your faith. And you will not be absolved of it until you do your duty. By bringing the young man to me, by turning him over to the Church, you will ease your tortured conscience and find the peace that you once knew.”
“What — what will happen to Joram?” Saryon asked hesitantly.
“That should not be your concern, Father.” Vanya was stern. “The young man has twice broken our most sacred laws — he committed murder and he has brought back into the world a dread, demonic power. Consider your own black soul, Saryon, and seeks its redemption!”
If I only could, Saryon thought wearily.
“Father Saryon” — Vanya was clearly angry now — “I sense doubt and turmoil where there should be only contrition and humility!”
“Forgive me, Holiness!” Saryon pressed his hands to his temples. “This has all been so sudden! I can’t understand — I must have time to think and … and consider what is best to be done —” A sudden suspicion crossed his mind. “Holiness, how is it that Joram came to live? How did Anja —”
“What is that, Father? More questions?” Bishop Vanya interrupted severely. There was a pause, heavy, waiting.
Saryon swallowed, though there was nothing in his mouth but the taste of blood. He tried to clear his mind, but the questions were there — persistent, nagging. The Bishop may have sensed this, for the thoughts that came to Saryon next were as warm as a blanket.
“Perhaps you are right, Father,” Vanya said gently. “You need time. I am impatient, I admit. The matter is so critical to me, our danger so real, that I have been unfeeling. A day more cannot make any difference. I will contact you this evening to make the final arrangements. The Chamber of Discretion gives me the ability to find you any time, any place. You are always in my thoughts, as the old saying goes.”
Saryon shivered. This was not a comforting idea. “I am honored, Holiness,” he mumbled.
“May the Almin walk with you and guide your stumbling steps.”
“Thank you, Holiness.”
The silence was back, and this time Saryon knew that the Bishop was gone. Creeping from his chair, the catalyst crossed the cell and lay down once more upon his cot. He pulled the thin, meager blanket up around his shoulders and lay there, shaking with cold and fear. The early morning sun shown through the barred window, shedding such a pale, wan light that, if anything, it intensified the chill atmosphere rather than warmed it. Saryon stared bleakly at the shadows wavering in the mocking brightness and tried to understand what had happened to him.
But he was consumed with such horror and loathing that he could barely concentrate. Angrily he struggled with such rebellious feelings.
“I should be filled with humble gratitude to think the Bishop cares about his people so much that he devised this means of watching over them. If my soul were cleansed, as he says, then I would not resent this invasion,” Saryon told himself bitterly. “It is my own sins that make me shudder in fear at the thought that he has the power to finger through my mind like a thief! My life belongs to the Church, after all. I should have nothing to hide.”
He rolled over on his back, watching the moving darkness in the rafters.
“Oh, to find peace again! Perhaps what the Bishop said was true. Perhaps I have lost my faith because of my own guilt, a guilt I refuse to admit? By confessing my sins and accepting my punishment, I would be free! Free of these tormenting doubts! Free of this inner turmoil!”
The catalyst felt an instants peace wash over him as he considered this. It was warm and soothing and it filled up the terrible, black, cold emptiness inside him. If Vanya had been present, Saryon would have flung himself