Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [24]
“And what was it like?” Bishop Vanya asked very softly.
Saryon smiled wanly. “Dull. Boring. Turning the pages, I grew more and more confused. I understood nothing of it, absolutely nothing! It was filled with crude drawings of strange and senseless devices, containing oblique references to such things as ‘wheels’ and ‘gears’ and ‘pulleys.’” Sighing, Saryon’s head drooped and he whispered in the voice of a disappointed child, “It didn’t mention one thing about mathematics.”
Vanya’s inner smile slipped out upon his lips, but it didn’t matter. Saryon wasn’t looking at him, the young man was staring at his shoes.
In a lifeless voice, Saryon concluded. “At that moment, the Enforcers came in and … everything went black. I—I don’t remember anything more until … until I found myself in my cell.” Exhausted, he sank back into the soft cushions of his chair, his head in his hands.
“What did you do then?”
“Took a bath.” Looking up, Saryon saw Vanya’s smile and, assuming it was at this statement, added by way of explanation. “I felt so filthy and dirty, I must have bathed twenty times last night.”
Bishop Vanya nodded in understanding. “And, no doubt, you spent the night imagining what your punishment might be.”
Saryon’s head dropped again. “Yes, Holiness, of course,” he murmured.
“Undoubtedly you saw yourself sentenced to become one of the Watchers—turned to stone to stand forever on the Border of the land.”
“Yes, Holiness,” Saryon spoke in a low tone, barely audible. “It is nothing more than I deserve.”
“Ah, Brother Saryon, if we were all punished so drastically for seeking knowledge, this would be a land of stone statues—and deservedly so. The search for knowledge is not evil. You sought in the wrong place, that is all. This dreadful knowledge was banished for a reason. It very nearly destroyed our land. But you are not alone. All of us are tempted by Evil at one time or another in our lives. We understand. We do not condemn. You must trust us. You should have come to me or one of the Masters for guidance.”
“Yes, Holiness. I am sorry.”
“As for your punishment, it has already been inflicted.”
Astonished, Saryon raised his head.
Vanya smiled gently, his voice pleasant. “My son, you have suffered far more this night than your mild crime merited. I would not add to it for the world. No, in fact, I am going to offer you something to try in some small way to make up for what I fear is my share in your crime.”
“Holiness!” Saryon’s face flushed, then went white. “Your share? No! I am the one—”
Vanya waved a deprecating hand. “No, no. I have not been open with you young people. It is obvious that you consider me unapproachable. The same is true, I begin to see, with the other members of the hierarchy. We will try to remedy that. But, for now, you need a change of scenery to brush these dusty cobwebs from your mind. Therefore, Deacon Saryon,” said Bishop Vanya, “I would like to take you with me to Merilon, to assist in the Testing of the Royal Child, whose birth is expected to take place any day now. What do you say to that?”
The young man could not respond, being literally struck dumb. This was an honor for which the members of the Order had been politically vying and shuffling for months—ever since it was announced that the Empress was finally with child. Being absorbed in his studies and consumed by his lust for forbidden knowledge, Saryon had paid little attention to the talk. He was outside the circle of the popular young men and women in the seminary anyway and figured he would not have been asked to go, even if he had wanted it.
Seeing the young man’s befuddlement, and