Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [261]
The Rebbe sighed. "Here in this place, I seek understanding. I seek to understand Yeshua's will; Adonai's will. I seek to reconcile the Yeshua-that-was, the gentle philosopher, with the Yeshua-who-comes, the warrior. To reconcile the long history and traditions of my people, the Children of Yisra-el, with this fierce new faith of Tadeuz Vral. But I do not think I will ever understand D'Angelines.”
I smiled wryly. "Nor I Yeshuites.”
He was silent for a long moment. "I know why you have come. And I would ask you to find it in your heart to leave.”
"Do you know what he did?" I asked.
"Yes." Rebbe Avraham's face looked old and tired. "Yes, I do. Many of the men who come here seek solace in silence and thought. Berlik did, too. But not all who come vow themselves to silence. Berlik spoke to me. We spoke at great length. I know what he did.”
"Then how can you ask?" I said.
"Because it is my duty," he said quietly. "Because I have seen the depth of grief in his heart at his own actions. Because Yeshua's death granted all men the right to repent and atone. Is your Elua, your god of love, so merciless?”
"No." I gazed at the cross. The blood stirred in my veins, whispered in my ears like the distant rustle of bronze wings. "But I am not here on Elua's business, Father. I am here on Kushiel's. And his mercy is just, but it is stern.”
"God's punisher," the Rebbe said. "He who loved his charges too well.”
"Yes.”
Another silence passed between us. "If this is love at work, it is no kind I recognize. Berlik is not here." Rebbe Avraham ben David squared his shoulders. "I sent him away. I could not allow this to happen under my roof.”
"Where?" I asked.
"Do you know," he said without answering, "he sought to extract a promise from me. That I would tell you, if you came. You and you alone." His wrinkled lips twisted. "I wouldn't give it. I didn't want to know.”
"Where?" I repeated.
His voice rose and cracked. "I gave no promise!”
I said nothing.
"I don't know," the Rebbe said at length. "Truly. It is a sin for a man to kill himself, even though he use another man's hand to do it. Berlik …Berlik believed he could see the future. That certain things were foreordained. I will not abet his madness.”
"Berlik did see the future," I said. "Too much of it. I know, I saw it, too. That's why he killed my wife and our unborn child, my lord. And if he had to do it again, he would, no matter how deeply it grieved him. Again and again.”
"I do not believe that," he said.
"Then let him convince me," I said. "Berlik has a right to his wishes. Mayhap this quest is not what I believe it to be.”
Rebbe Avraham lifted his gaze to the cross. His lips moved as he prayed in silence. I waited. Watched his shoulders slump in defeat. "Betimes there are no easy answers, are there?”
"Not always," I said. "No. We try to be good. But the way is seldom clear.”
"Berlik spoke of continuing," he said heavily. "Of going northeast. Of crossing the mountains. Onward, always onward. I begged him not to risk it, not with winter coming. To wait for spring. Miroslas…" He paused. "We have a writ from Tadeuz Vral himself. This land that lies northward under the shadow of the mountains—a great deal of it is set aside for our usage. Leagues and leagues, for silence and contemplation. Berlik needed solitude. I begged him to avail himself of the quiet spaces Miroslas has to offer; in the woods, alone. To hide. I do not know if he heeded me. I know only that he left.”
"How long ago did he leave?" I asked.
"Six weeks ago, perhaps," the Rebbe said. "Before the heavy snows fell. There has been no word of him since. I cannot say if he stayed or went. I have told you all I know.”
I took a deep breath, feeling a new burden settle into place. "Thank you, Father.”
The Rebbe rose. "Don't.”
It was the last word he or anyone else spoke to me in Miroslas before I departed. In fact, it was the last word I was to hear spoken by any voice not my own for a long time.
I left Miroslas in the morning. Like the people I'd met elsewhere in Vralia, the