Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [69]
The Field Catalyst could not see the Bishop’s face. Only Saryon could see it, and he would remember it to the day he died. The round, pudgy cheeks were placid and calm. Vanya was even smiling slightly, one eyebrow raised. But the eyes … the eyes were terrible—dark and cold and unyielding.
Suddenly, Saryon understood the genius of the man and, at last, he could give a name to his unreasoning fear. The punishment for the crime he had committed so many years before had been neither forgotten nor relaxed.
No, it had simply been deferred.
Seventeen years Vanya had waited patiently should an opportunity arise to use it …
To use him ….
“Well, Deacon Saryon,” the Bishop said, still in that same, pleasant voice, “what do you say?”
There was nothing to say. Nothing but the ancient words Saryon had learned so long ago. Repeating them now, as he repeated them every morning in the Ritual of Dawn, he could almost see the white, thin-boned hand of his mother, tracing them in the air.
“Obedire est vivere. Vivere est obedire. To obey is to live. To live is to obey.”
The Outland
The border of the civilized lands and that region of Thimhallan known as the Outland is marked to the north of Merilon by a great river. Called the Famirash, or Tears of the Catalysts, its source is to be found in the Font, the great mountain that dominates the landscape near Merilon, the mountain where the catalysts have established the center of their Order. Thus the river’s name—a daily reminder of the toil and sorrows suffered by the catalysts in their work for mankind.
The water of the Famirash is sacred. Its source in the mountain—a merry, bubbling brook—is a holy place, tended and guarded by the Druids. Water taken from this pure portion of the river possesses healing properties used by the Healers throughout the world. As the river runs upon its way, however, tumbling and laughing down the mountain like the child it is, the Famirash is joined by other streams and brooks, its innocence and purity diluted. By the time it reaches the city of Merilon, the river has grown up, becoming a wide, deep body of water.
Having gained in maturity and stature, the Famirash River, upon arriving in Merilon, becomes civilized. In the years following the Iron Wars, the Pron-alban, wizards skilled in the arts of shaping stone and earth, took hold of the river, rechanneled it and tamed it, split it and divided it, twisted it and turned it, sent it flowing up hills and down ornamental waterfalls, and caught it in quaint, small pools. Through their magical arts and those of their descendants, the river is forced up into the marble platforms where it bubbles in fountains and shoots high into the air in rainbow geysers. Magically heated, the river creeps demurely into perfumed bathing rooms or presents itself boldly, ready for work in the kitchens. Finally, allowed to venture into Merilon’s Sacred Grove, where stands the tomb of the great wizard who founded this land, the Famirash nurtures the beautiful tropical plants and finds time to indulge in the artistic creations of the Illusionists. So vastly changed is the Famirash River in Merilon that most people forget it is a river at all.
After suffering itself to endure these civilized trappings, it is little wonder that once the river escapes the city walls of Merilon it churns and rages within its banks in a tumult of white-water confusion. Once the Famirash works this out of its system, it calms down, and by the time it meanders past the cleared fields and small farm villages, it is like a placid old Field Catalyst, plodding slowly and muddily along its tree-lined way.
Onward it flows through the croplands, quiet and hardworking until it leaves civilized lands behind. Then, once out of the sight of man, the Famirash River gives a final, great twist—like the back of a dragon—and plunges with a wild roar of exultation into the Outlands.
Free at last, the river becomes a raging torrent of white, foaming water that leaps over rocks