Chapter 14

 

Sadakh surveyed the sea of upturned faces. His own face wore a smile as he chanted the familiar words.

He moved his slow and careful gaze over those before him, making brief eye contact with certain members of the crowd, attention always returning to the acolytes at the very front. Several of them sang a little loudly, enthusiasm overcoming ability.

He noted one who did not stand out, whose voice was not too loud and whose recall of the words was perfect; a young man with a face made almost imbecilic by excess joy. He gave the youth the same attention he gave everyone else.

It was firstday, and the sky above the First Light Priory was clear and bright after overnight rain. No doubt the lay members who made up the majority of the congregation had shared their opinions on the weather as they moored their boats at the priory. No doubt some called it a blessing after several wet days. Some, perhaps, even attributed that blessing to him, their spiritual leader and guide. He wished they would not do that. Such talk tipped him from love towards contempt, and he did not want to feel contempt for these people. For his people.

His mind returned to the four individuals lying in the infirmary. His first test had resulted in two speedy and unpleasant deaths, but the dead skykin he had derived that initial extract from had been diseased, tainted. This time the body had been sound, the blood pure. For this new test he had chosen two people of each gender and a selection of ages, though logic said the subject should be young and fit. He had confided his aim in two of his subjects – one of the men and one of the women. They had agreed, of course. The remaining two had no idea their sacramental drink had been tampered with. He could not know what factors made a difference: only by changing the parameters and noting the results could he hope to succeed. He had administered the extract two days ago. As yet, all four subjects lived, albeit in delirium.

The hymn drew to a close. Sadakh waited for the last notes to die away, for the pause, the anticipation. When the moment was right, he began to speak.

“Fellow seekers, we grow. We grow within ourselves and we grow together. Today, we add to our number.” He regarded the front row, his expression welcoming, serene. Some of them looked nervous. Not unsure, just daunted. The joyful imbecile blinked, then rekindled his smile.

“Fourteen new seekers have chosen to commit to our path. They have completed the study required, and renounced everything in their old lives that might hamper their search for truth and enlightenment. Let us praise the First and support their choice.” This was one of only two direct mentions of the First in the lay initiation ceremony. Like many rites of the Order of the First Light, Sadakh had made subtle changes in the eleven years since he had become the eparch. People needed rituals, but the words must not detract from the intention. Humility and acknowledgment of greater powers were vital, but to constantly invoke a deity whose existence was a matter of faith eroded personal responsibility.

During the next hymn the front row bowed their heads in silent prayer, preparing themselves.

Sadakh felt his ghost stir, but gave her no space to speak. He was making his own mental preparations because, whatever else, he had a sacred duty to those who stood before him. He would fulfil his obligations to his congregation, even though today’s ceremony might unfold in a way they did not expect.

The second hymn concluded. Sadakh spoke a short liturgy, then asked the blessing of the First while gesturing over the chalice of oil. Then he stepped down off the dais, trailed by two assistants, one of whom held the chalice.

The first acolyte, a man, was taller than Sadakh. He hunched down, dipping his head to be anointed, smiling awkwardly.

Sadakh used the oil to draw a column-in-a-circle, representing the Pillar of Light, on the man’s forehead, then said, “May you find the light within yourself.”

“So I will endeavour.” The man had an unexpectedly high voice. No doubt the mismatch between size and voice had caused him distress, perhaps even influenced his choice to seek consolation here. Sadakh hoped that one day the new initiate would learn that such external signs were nothing, and would stand tall in his own self-knowledge. Sadly, prior experience suggested otherwise.

The next acolyte was a young and attractive woman. He recognized the look she gave him. The chaplain who instructed her would not have denied the rumours – because Sadakh would not have his clergy lie – and he suspected he would be seeing more of this one.

Two more men, one young, one old.

Another woman next, and then he would be facing the smiling imbecile.

His ghost spoke up as he anointed the second woman.

Have a care now.

Would the ghost have commented if he had not already been in possession of certain facts? Whether she had a true objective reality or merely reflected and voiced his inner thoughts was his defining paradox. As happened when such doubts intruded, he dismissed the uncertainty as counterproductive; improvable. She was unique, and uniquely his.

He sensed, or believed he sensed, her approval at that thought.

Distracted by this lapse, he almost missed the telltale movement. Each acolyte waited with hands clasped under their chin in prayer until the eparch stood before them, at which point they lowered their hands, and their head, ready for his touch. The youth moved a fraction too early.

Another slight movement, this time from behind. His second assistant, to all appearances a mere robed servitor, was a trained bodyguard. The man’s nudge was subtle, but Sadakh expected it.

What happened next was fast, and inevitable.

Sadakh stepped back. The acolyte’s hand got as far as his belt but, there being no weapons allowed in the compound, he had to reach inside his tunic. The disguised bodyguard stepped forward. The second guard was already behind the attacker: a fierce woman who looked like a stout goodwife in the smock she wore over her leather armour, though Sadakh had seen her bring down men taller than him. She grabbed the acolyte’s arm, twisting it behind his back to immobilize him.

A small, shiny object fell from the man’s belt: a bronze bodkin.

Sadakh was flattered: no expense spared this time. And he could assume the metal pin was tipped with an equally rare and no doubt lethal toxin.

To the would-be assassin’s face Sadakh whispered, “The prince continues to underestimate me.”

Those nearby had registered something amiss, but had yet to work out what.

Sadakh nodded over the man’s shoulder. The female guard caught his eye, and yelled. “An assassin amongst us!”

The crowd paused, shocked. Then they surged forward. Sadakh’s clerical assistant clutched the chalice to his chest, white-faced; unlike Sadakh’s guards, he had no advance warning of another possible attempt on the life of the eparch. The male bodyguard shielded Sadakh from the sudden commotion, allowing him to step back onto the dais in safety.

Sadakh turned away from the chaotic scene. The assassin had come here expecting to die. Sadakh had no desire to watch his congregation grant the unfortunate man his wish.