Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [31]
An impatient cough from Dulchase recalled Saryon to his duties. The older Deacon had removed the seal from the basin containing the warm water. A pleasant, fragrant scent filled the air. One of the novitiates had scattered rose petals on the surface.
Murmuring the ritual prayer that he had been up half the night memorizing, Saryon gently placed the baby in the water. The child’s eyes opened at the touch of the liquid upon his skin, but he did not cry.
“That’s a brave one,” murmured Saryon, smiling at the baby, who was looking around with the thoughtful, slightly puzzled expression of the newborn.
“Release the child,” instructed Bishop Vanya formally.
Gently, Saryon removed his hands from the baby’s body.
The Prince sank like a stone.
Starting slightly, Dulchase stepped forward, but Saryon was there ahead of him. Reaching into the water, he snatched up the baby and hauled him out. Awkwardly holding the dripping-wet child, who was coughing and sputtering and attempting to cry at this rude treatment, Saryon looked around uncertainly.
“Perhaps it was my fault, Holiness,” he said hurriedly just as the baby managed to draw a breath and let it out in a shrill scream. “I let go of him too soon …”
“Nonsense, Deacon,” Vanya said crisply. “Proceed.”
It wasn’t unusual for a child to fail one of the Tests, particularly if he were unusually strong in one of the Mysteries. A warlock strong in the Fire Mystery, for example, might easily fail the Test of Water.
Recalling this from his reading, Saryon relaxed and held the baby as Deacon Dulchase brought forward the bauble and held it above the child’s head. At the sight of the bright toy, the Prince ceased to cry and stretched out his tiny hands in delight. Deacon Dulchase, at a word from Bishop Vanya, dropped the bauble.
The toy struck the Prince on the nose and bounced to the floor amidst a dreadful silence that was immediately shattered by the baby’s howl of pain and outrage. A spot of blood appeared on the child’s fair skin.
Saryon glanced up fearfully at Dulchase, hoping to see some sign of reassurance. But Dulchase’s normally sneering lips were now pressed tightly together, the cynical glint was gone from his eye, and he carefully avoided Saryon’s gaze. The young Deacon looked around frantically, only to see his fellows staring at each other in confusion and alarm.
Bishop Vanya whispered something to the Lord Catalyst, who, his face pale and strained, nodded emphatically.
“Repeat the first Test,” Vanya ordered.
His hands shaking, Saryon placed the screaming child in the water, then released him. As soon as it was obvious the baby was sinking, Saryon—at a hurried gesture from the Bishop—grabbed him out.
“The Almin help us!” breathed the Lord Catalyst in a trembling voice.
“I think it’s too late for that,” Vanya replied coldly. “Bring the child here, Saryon,” he said, his nervousness apparent in that he forgot to include the formal title “Deacon” in his command. Clumsily attempting to soothe the baby, Saryon hurried to obey and came to stand before the Bishop.
“Give me the torch,” Vanya ordered Deacon Dulchase, who, having reluctantly taken it up, was only too happy to release it to his superior.
Grasping the flaming torch, Bishop Vanya thrust it directly into the baby’s face. The child shrieked in pain, and Saryon, forgetting himself, caught hold of the Bishop’s arm, pushing him away with an angry cry.
No one said a word. Everyone in the chamber could smell singed hair. Everyone could see the red burn mark upon the baby’s temple.
Trembling, clutching the injured child to his chest, Saryon turned away from the pale faces and the horror-filled, staring eyes. Patting the child, who was now