Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [96]
Valentina laughed, a broken sound. “It begs the axiom, does it not? Beware what you pray for, lest God grant your prayers.”
I was silent.
She paused in her stitching, gazing into the distance. “Do you know, in the western Church, they venerate Yeshua’s mother, Marya. We do not do that here in the east. Women are not venerated, not even the Mother of God. After all these years, I still miss it.” She continued stitching. “Would that I had appreciated such grace when I had it.”
“I understand,” I murmured. I did, all too well.
A single bitter tear trickled down her cheek. “God help me, I’d come to hope…” She did not finish the thought.
I knew, though. Valentina had come to hope that I would succeed in seducing her son, that I would persuade him to leave this place and find his wings. I wanted to tell her that I had tried my best, that one cannot free someone who doesn’t wish to be set free. Two months ago, I would have done it without hesitation.
Moirin the unrepentant sinner would have said it. Moirin the penitent catechumen didn’t dare.
Even so, I reached out and wiped the tear gently from Valentina’s face, trying to tell her without words that I was sorry for failing. She shook her head at me, and finished stitching me into my white robe, then winding a white woolen scarf around my head.
And then it was time.
My nemesis Luba came to fetch us. Once again, I was led outside so that I might enter the temple properly. It was a fine, bright summer day. If I’d actually wanted to be baptized, I couldn’t have asked for a more auspicious day.
Inside the temple, there was a considerable crowd. Scores of villagers were present. Aleksei was there, and gave me a slight, encouraging nod. The Patriarch was there before the altar in his vestments, flanked by a handful of priests including my former captors Ilya and Leonid. There was a wide-set fellow with a greying beard and keen blue-grey eyes. He wore fine clothes and was surrounded by soldiers, and I took him to be the Duke of Vralsturm. He eyed me with intense interest as I approached the altar, breathing the Breath of Ocean’s Rolling Waves to calm my nerves.
“Moirin mac Fainche of the Maghuin Dhonn,” Pyotr Rostov addressed me in a deep voice, speaking in D’Angeline for my benefit. “Is it your will this day to be baptized into the faith of the One True God and his son Yeshua?”
“It is, my lord,” I said firmly, willing myself to meet his eyes without a trace of guile.
He asked me the first question of the catechism. “What is our church called?”
“The Church of Yeshua Ascendant.”
“Why is it called the Church of Yeshua Ascendant?”
These were the easy questions. “Because it is dedicated to building the Kingdom of Yeshua on earth and preparing for his return.”
The Patriarch nodded in approval. “State its teaching briefly.”
I took a deep breath, reciting the words Aleksei had taught me. “God made the world and created Edom the First Man and his wife, the All-Mother, Yeva. Although our first parents were fashioned to be good, they succumbed to temptation and disobeyed God. Through the sin of disobedience, their minds were darkened. Their hearts were made evil, and they fell into wickedness and death. Their descendants suffered for their sins. But God in his infinite love sent his son Yeshua ben Yosef to redeem them…”
On and on it went.
I made a few mistakes, faltering here or there. Aleksei and I had agreed it would be more believable if I didn’t have the catechism down letter-perfect. But on the whole, I performed to Pyotr Rostov’s satisfaction.
The Duke of Vralsturm appeared impressed. I wondered if he spoke D’Angeline, but then I realized Aleksei was translating for him in a quiet murmur.
The Patriarch was pleased. On the surface of it, his expression remained grave,