Forging the Darksword Page 6

  “I don’t know what made me do it, Holiness!” he cried out helplessly. “I used to be so happy, so content here.”

  “I think you know. Now you must admit it to yourself,” Vanya said placidly.

  Saryon hesitated. “Yes, perhaps I do know. Forgive me, Holiness, but lately, I’ve felt—” He faltered, as though unwilling to speak.

  “Bored?” suggested Vanya.

  The young man flushed, shaking his head. “No. Yes. Perhaps. The duties are so simple …” He made an impatient move with his hand. “I have learned all the skills to be a catalyst to any type of magi. Yes”—this in response to Vanya’s skeptical look—“I’m not boasting. Not only that, but I have developed new mathematical formulas to take the place of centuries-old, traditional, clumsy calculations. I suppose that should have satisfied me, but it didn’t. It left me hungrier.” Forgetting himself in his words, Saryon talked faster and faster, finally standing up and pacing about the room, gesturing with his hands. “I started working on formulas that could pave the way for new marvels, magics never before dreamed of by man! In my research, I delved deeper and deeper into the libraries of the Font. Finally, in a remote part of the Library, I came across the Chamber of the Ninth Mystery.

  “Can you imagine what I felt? No”—Saryon glanced at the Bishop in embarrassment—“how could you, who are goodness personified? I stared at the runes carved above the doorway and a feeling crept over me much akin to the feeling of the Enchantment that we feel every morning on sensing the magic. Only this feeling was not one of light and fulfillment. It was as if the darkness in my soul deepened until it was sucking me inside. I hungered and thirsted and literally shook with desire.”

  “What did you do?” asked Vanya, fascinated in spite of himself. “Did you enter it then?”

  “No. I was too scared. I stood before the chamber, staring at it for I don’t know how long.” Saryon sighed wearily. “It must have been hours, because I was suddenly aware of an aching in my legs and a feeling of dizziness. I sank into a chair then, terrified, and looked around. What if I had been seen? Surely the forbidden thoughts I was thinking must be plain upon my face! But I was alone.”

  Unconsciously suiting his actions to his words, Saryon sank back into his chair. “Sitting there, in the Study Room near that forbidden chamber, I knew what it was to be tempted by Evil.” His head lowered into his hands. “You see, Holiness, I knew, as surely as I sat in that wooden chair, that I could enter those forbidden doors! Oh, they are guarded and shielded by wards and runes”—he shrugged impatiently—“but they are such simple spells of sealing that anyone with any Life in him at all can easily undo them. It’s as if they are guarded in this way as a mere formality, it being simply assumed that no one in his right mind would even want to be near the forbidden texts, let alone read them.”

  The young man was silent then. His voice dropping, he spoke almost to himself. “Perhaps I’m not in my right mind. It seems lately that everything I look at is distorted and foggy, as though I’m seeing it through a gauze curtain.” Glancing up at Vanya, he shook his head and continued, his voice tinged with bitterness.

  “I realized something else in that instant, Holiness. I had not discovered those books by accident.” His fist clenched. “No, I had been searching for them, deliberately hunting for them without admitting it to myself. Entire passages of other books I had read came clearly to my mind as I sat there, passages that made reference to books that I was never able to find and assumed must have been destroyed after the Iron Wars. But, when I found that room, I knew differently. They were in there. They had to be. I’d known it all along.

  “What did I do?” He laughed hysterically, a laugh that cracked into a sob. “I fled the Library as though pursued by phantoms! Running back to my cell, I cast myself upon the bed and shivered in fear.”

  “My son, you should have talked to someone,” Vanya remonstrated gently. “Do you have so little faith in us?”

  Saryon shook his head, impatiently wiping away his tears. “I almost did. The Theldara sent for me. But I was afraid.” He sighed. “I thought I could manage by myself. I tried to drown this thirst for forbidden knowledge in my work. I sought to cleanse my soul in prayer and obedience to my duties. I never once missed Evening Ritual, after that. I took to exercising with the others in the courtyard, letting myself get so exhausted that I couldn’t think.

  “Above all, I avoided the Library. Yet not a moment passed—waking or sleeping—but that I did not think of that room and the treasure which lay within.

  “I should have known then that I was fast losing my soul.” Saryon’s words swept him on. “But the ache of my desires was too much. I gave in. Last night, when everyone else had retired to their cells for Resting Time, I slipped out and crept through the corridors until I came to the Library. I didn’t know the old Deacon had been posted there to scare off rodents. I don’t suppose it would have stopped me had I known, so completely consumed was I by my torment.

  “As I had foreseen, undoing the spells of sealing was simple. I could have cast such magic as a child. For a breathless moment I paused on the threshold, savoring the sweet ache of anticipation. Then I entered that forbidden room, my heart beating so that it came near bursting, my body drenched in sweat.

  “Have you ever been in there?” Saryon looked at the Bishop, who raised his eyebrows so alarmingly that the young man shrank back. “No, no, I—I suppose not. The books are not assembled neatly or in any sort of order. They’re just piled up in stacks as though they had been hurriedly tossed inside by hands eager to cleanse themselves of the contamination. I picked one up, the first one I came to.” Saryon’s hands twitched. “The elation and fulfillment I felt when I touched the small book made me lose all sense of sight or sound or where I was or what I was doing. I remember only holding it and thinking what wonderful mysteries were about to be revealed, and that my burning pain would burst forth at last and free me from its torment.”

  “And what was it like?” Bishop Vanya asked very softly.

  Saryon smiled wanly. “Dull. Boring. Turning the pages, I grew more and more confused. I understood nothing of it, absolutely nothing! It was filled with crude drawings of strange and senseless devices, containing oblique references to such things as ‘wheels’ and ‘gears’ and ‘pulleys.’” Sighing, Saryon’s head drooped and he whispered in the voice of a disappointed child, “It didn’t mention one thing about mathematics.”

  Vanya’s inner smile slipped out upon his lips, but it didn’t matter. Saryon wasn’t looking at him, the young man was staring at his shoes.

  In a lifeless voice, Saryon concluded. “At that moment, the Enforcers came in and … everything went black. I—I don’t remember anything more until … until I found myself in my cell.” Exhausted, he sank back into the soft cushions of his chair, his head in his hands.

  “What did you do then?”

  “Took a bath.” Looking up, Saryon saw Vanya’s smile and, assuming it was at this statement, added by way of explanation. “I felt so filthy and dirty, I must have bathed twenty times last night.”

  Bishop Vanya nodded in understanding. “And, no doubt, you spent the night imagining what your punishment might be.”

  Saryon’s head dropped again. “Yes, Holiness, of course,” he murmured.

  “Undoubtedly you saw yourself sentenced to become one of the Watchers—turned to stone to stand forever on the Border of the land.”

  “Yes, Holiness,” Saryon spoke in a low tone, barely audible. “It is nothing more than I deserve.”

  “Ah, Brother Saryon, if we were all punished so drastically for seeking knowledge, this would be a land of stone statues—and deservedly so. The search for knowledge is not evil. You sought in the wrong place, that is all. This dreadful knowledge was banished for a reason. It very nearly destroyed our land. But you are not alone. All of us are tempted by Evil at one time or another in our lives. We understand. We do not condemn. You must trust us. You should have come to me or
one of the Masters for guidance.”

  “Yes, Holiness. I am sorry.”

  “As for your punishment, it has already been inflicted.”

  Astonished, Saryon raised his head.

  Vanya smiled gently, his voice pleasant. “My son, you have suffered far more this night than your mild crime merited. I would not add to it for the world. No, in fact, I am going to offer you something to try in some small way to make up for what I fear is my share in your crime.”

  “Holiness!” Saryon’s face flushed, then went white. “Your share? No! I am the one—”

  Vanya waved a deprecating hand. “No, no. I have not been open with you young people. It is obvious that you consider me unapproachable. The same is true, I begin to see, with the other members of the hierarchy. We will try to remedy that. But, for now, you need a change of scenery to brush these dusty cobwebs from your mind. Therefore, Deacon Saryon,” said Bishop Vanya, “I would like to take you with me to Merilon, to assist in the Testing of the Royal Child, whose birth is expected to take place any day now. What do you say to that?”

  The young man could not respond, being literally struck dumb. This was an honor for which the members of the Order had been politically vying and shuffling for months—ever since it was announced that the Empress was finally with child. Being absorbed in his studies and consumed by his lust for forbidden knowledge, Saryon had paid little attention to the talk. He was outside the circle of the popular young men and women in the seminary anyway and figured he would not have been asked to go, even if he had wanted it.

  Seeing the young man’s befuddlement, and realizing that it would take him some moments to work this out in his mind, Vanya talked of the beauties of the royal city and discussed the political ramifications of the birth until Saryon eventually was able to at least mutter an intelligible remark or two. The Bishop understood what the young man was thinking. Having expected to be cast out in darkness and disgrace, he was suddenly to be taken to the city of beauty and delight and presented to the Royal Court. His fortune would be made—not a doubt of it.

  A Royal Child had not been born in years, the Empress having assumed the throne following the death of her brother, who himself was childless. The celebrations the city of Merilon was planning were to be spectacular beyond belief. As an honored and revered member of Bishop Vanya’s staff, as well as related—if distantly—to the Empress on his mother’s side, Saryon would be feted and entertained by the wealthiest nobles in the land. Undoubtedly, he would be invited by some noble family to be House Catalyst—there were several vacancies that needed filling. He would be set for life.

  And, best of all, said Bishop Vanya to himself as he graciously walked the still-dazed Saryon to the door, the young man would be living in Merilon. He would not be returning to the Font for a long, long time—if ever.

  6

  Merilon

  Enchanted city of dreams … Merilon. Named for the great wizard who led his people to this distant world. He looked upon it with eyes that had seen centuries pass, chose this place for his tomb, and now lies bound by the Last Enchantment in the glade he loved.

  Merilon. Its crystal cathedral and palaces sparkle like tears frozen on the face of the blue sky.

  Merilon. Two cities; one built on marble platforms constrained by magic to float in the air like heavy clouds that have been tamed and molded by the hands of man. Known as City Above, it casts perpetual, rosy-hued twilight upon City Below.

  Merilon. Surrounded by a sphere of magic, its decorative snow falls beneath a hot summer sun, its balmy breezes perfume chill and brittle winter air.

  Merilon. Can any visitor, riding upward in the gilded carriages drawn by steeds of fur and feather created out of wonder and delight, look upon this enchanted city without feeling his heart swell until its overflow of pride and love must trickle down his own face?

  Certainly not Saryon. Sitting in the carriage created to resemble half a walnut shell made of gold and silver and drawn by a fanciful, winged squirrel, he looked at the wonders around him and could barely see them for his tears. This was nothing for him to be ashamed of, however. Most of the other catalysts in Bishop Vanya’s retinue were affected in a similar manner, the exception being the cynical Dulchase. Having been born and raised in Merilon, he had seen it all before and now he sat in the carriage gazing upon the wonders with a bored air much envied by his fellows.

  For Saryon, the tears he shed were both a relief and a blessing. The last few days in the Font had not been easy for him. Bishop Vanya had succeeded in keeping the matter of the young man’s transgression quiet, and he had impressed upon Saryon that it was in the Church’s best interest for him to keep silent upon the subject as well. Saryon was a very poor dissembler however. His guilt made him feel as though the words Ninth Mystery were blazing above his head in letters of fire for everyone to see. So wretched was he, despite Vanya’s kind words, that he must sooner or later have blurted out his guilt to the first person who mentioned “Library” to him. The only thing that saved him and kept him too occupied to think of his crime was the flurry of activity into which he was plunged getting ready for this journey.

  Precisely what Vanya had foreseen.

  The Bishop himself, riding ahead of his retinue in the Cathedral’s carriage that was formed of leaves of burnished gold and drawn by two birds of bright red plumage, was reflecting on this and wondering idly how his young sinner was getting along as he gazed about the city. Vanya, too, was unimpressed by the beauties of Merilon. He had seen it all many, many times.

  The Bishop’s bored gaze darted over the crystal walls of the three Guild Houses that could been seen, standing each upon its matching marble platform that together were known as the Three Sisters. He glanced once at the Inn of the Silken Dragon, so called because its crystal walls were decorated with a series of over five hundred fabulous tapestries, one for each room, which, when lowered simultaneously in the evening, formed the picture of a dragon whose colors flamed against the sky like a rainbow. He yawned when driven past the houses of the nobility, whose crystal walls shone with curtains of roses, or silks, or swirling fogs. Upon glancing up into the sky at the Royal Palace that shown above the city like a star, however, Bishop Vanya sighed. It was not a sigh of wonder and awe, such as his retinue was sighing behind him. It was a sigh of worry and of care, or perhaps exasperation.

  The only building in all of the upper levels of Merilon that captured the Bishop’s attention completely was the building to which the carriages were heading—the Cathedral of Merilon. Thirty years in the shaping, its crystal spires and buttresses burned like flame in the light of the sun, whose ordinary natural yellowish color had been changed to brilliant red and fiery gold this day by the practitioners of the Shadow Mystery, the illusionists, for the enjoyment of the populace. Vanya’s attention was caught, not by the shimmering beauty of the Cathedral—the sight of which filled his followers with reverence—but by a flaw he noticed in the building.

  One of the living gargoyles had shifted slightly in its attitude and was now facing the wrong direction. The Bishop mentioned this to the Cardinal sitting beside him, who appeared properly shocked. The secretary, sitting opposite the Bishop, made a mental note and mentioned it to the Regional Cardinal, who directed the affairs of the Church in Merilon and its surrounding environs and who now stood, resplendent in his green robes with their gold and silver trim, upon the crystal stairs waiting to greet his Bishop. Glancing upward, the Regional Cardinal paled. Two novitiates were immediately sent to deal with the offending gargoyle.

  The infraction corrected, the Bishop and his retinue entered the Cathedral, accompanied by the cheers of people lining the bridges that connected the marble platforms of Merilon with cobweb strands of silver and gold. The Bishop paused to invoke a blessing upon the crowd, who hushed in reverence. Then Vanya and his retinue disappeared inside the Cathedral and the crowd dispersed to continue their merriment.

  The city of Merilon, both Above and Below, was jamm
ed with people. Merilon had not known such excitement since the coronation. Nobles from outlying districts who had relations in the city honored them with their presence. Nobles not so fortunate stayed in the Inn. From the tip of its nose to the end of its tail, the Silken Dragon was filled to capacity. The Pron-alban and the Quin-alban, craftsmen and conjurers, had been working overtime to add on guest rooms to the wealthy dwellings of Merilon’s best families. Thus the Guild Houses were alive with unusual activity, many of their members having journeyed from far-distant places to assist with the extra work.

  Day-to-day life in Merilon had practically come to a standstill as everyone prepared for the grandest holiday and celebration to be held in the city’s history. The air was filled with the sounds of music being practiced in the gardens and courtyards, or with the sounds of poetry being rehearsed by the players in the theaters, or with the cries of the merchants selling their wares, or with the mysterious shrouds of smoke that hid the artists’ work until it could be unveiled upon the grand occasion.

  But no matter how busy, the eyes of every person in Merilon looked constantly upward, gazing at the Royal Castle that glittered so serenely in the burning sun. It would become a perfect rainbow of colored silks when the great event was at hand, when the Royal Child was born.

  When that event occurred, the holiday would be declared and the city of Merilon would, for two weeks, dance and sing and glitter and revel and drink and eat itself into a state of bliss.

  Within the Cathedral itself, all was quiet and cool and dark as the sun sank down behind the mountains and night covered Merilon with its velvet wings. For an instant, an evening star gleaming above the tip of a spire was the only light. But it faded almost immediately when the rest of the city burst into a blaze of flame and color. Only the Cathedral remained serenely dark; and, oddly enough, thought Saryon, staring up through the transparent crystal ceiling to where the castle floated in the sky above, there were no lights in the Royal Palace either.