Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [32]
The Bishop probably never even knew Saryon had touched him. He was staring at the baby, his heavy face ashen, his eyes wide. The Lord Catalyst wrung his hands and trembled visibly while the Cardinals stood by, looking at each other helplessly.
The Prince, meanwhile, was screaming with the pain of the burn so violently that he was near strangling. Not knowing what else to do and realizing that the baby’s crying was shredding the taut nerves of everyone in the room, Saryon tried desperately to hush the child. At length he succeeded, more because the baby cried himself into a state of exhaustion than because the young catalyst possessed any skill in nursing. Silence settled upon the room like a dank fog, broken only now and then by the baby’s hiccup.
Then Bishop Vanya spoke. “Such a thing,” he whispered, “has never happened in all the years of history, even back before the Iron Wars.”
The awe in his voice was plain, something Saryon could understand. It matched his own. But there was another note in Vanya’s voice that made Saryon shudder—a note he had never heard in the Bishop’s voice before—a note of fear.
Sighing and removing the heavy miter, Vanya passed a trembling hand over his tonsured head. With the removal of the miter, he seemed to remove all the aura of mystique and majesty that surrounded him and Saryon, patting the baby’s back, saw a paunchy, middle-aged man who looked extremely fatigued and scared. This frightened Saryon more than anything and, from the looks on the faces of the others, he wasn’t the only one who received this impression.
“What I am about to tell you to do, you must do without question,” Vanya said in a thick voice, his eyes on the miter that he held in his hands. Absently he stroked the gold trim with shaking fingers. “I could give you the reason—No.” Vanya looked up, his gaze stern and cold. “No, I vowed to keep silent. I cannot break my vow. You will obey me. You will not question. Understand that I take upon myself full responsibility for what I require you to do.”
He paused a moment then, with a quavering breath, began to pray silently.
Holding the hiccuping child in his arms, Saryon glanced at the others to see if they understood. He didn’t. He’d never heard of a child failing the Testing. What was coming? What terrible thing was the Bishop going to ask them to do? His gaze went back to Vanya. Everyone in the room was staring at the Bishop, waiting for him to use his magic to save them. It was as if each of them had opened a conduit to Vanya, not to give him Life, but to take Life from him.
Perhaps this very dependence gave him strength, for the Bishop straightened and raised his head. His lips pursed. His eyes grew abstract and he frowned, still considering. Then, apparently reaching a decision, his brow cleared, his face resumed its normal cool composure. He replaced the miter, and the Bishop of the Realm stood before his people once again.
Bishop Vanya turned to Saryon. “Take the child to the nursery directly,” he ordered. “Do not take him to his mother. I will speak to the Empress myself and prepare her. It will be easier for her in the long run if we make this separation clean and swift.”
The Lord Catalyst made a kind of sound here, a sort of choked wail. But Bishop Vanya, his paunchy face freezing as if the chill silence in the room had seeped into his blood, ignored him. Speaking in an emotionless voice, he continued, “From this hour on, the child is to be given no food, no water. He is not to be held. He is Dead.”
The Bishop went on to say something else, but Saryon did not hear. The baby was hiccuping against his shoulder; his best ceremonial robes were wet with the child’s tears. Having managed to capture one fist,