Off Armageddon Reef (36 page)

Maikel had not openly assailed that doctrine, what he'd said was simply an argument that even the best teachers could fail. But that was also an argument that those teachers could be wrong. And so his words could be
interpreted
as an attack upon the infallibility of the Church which was every Safeholdian's teacher. Especially here in Charis, where independence of thought was openly encouraged.

“We strive to teach all our children those lessons,” the bishop continued calmly, as if completely unaware he'd said anything at all out of the ordinary, “and sometimes, despite all our efforts, we fail. There
is
evil in the world, My Children. It can be found anywhere, among any men, and it waits patiently and its snares are cunning. Men—powerful or weak, nobly born or common, wealthy or poor—fall into those snares, and thus into sin, and it is our responsibility as God's people, to hate sin. To reject it, and cast it out when it arises among us. Yet it is also the responsibility of God's people to love one another. To hate the sin, but love the sinner, and not to feel guilt or self-hatred because we
do
love the sinner.

“It is meet and right that we should give thanks this day for the preservation of our King, our Crown Prince, and our First Councillor. It is meet and right for us to condemn and hate the crime of treason which threatened them, and through them, all of us. Yet even as we give thanks, let us remember that the evil which threatened them and was thwarted still claimed its victims from among us. Those who fell into temptation's grasp and lent themselves to these evil actions are as lost to us as Crown Prince Cayleb would have been had their plans succeeded. What they've done will forever mark their memory among those who loved them, and the price for their immortal souls will be higher than any of God's children should be called to pay. And so, I beseech you all, as you join me in our closing prayer of thanks, to pray also for the souls of
all
who have perished, and for the wounded hearts of those who loved them.”

He gazed out over the cathedral's silent pews for perhaps ten seconds, then drew a deep breath and turned back to face the altar and the enormous faces of Langhorne and Bédard as he raised his hands in prayer.

Merlin looked at the bishop's sword-straight spine as the words of Maikel's prayer flowed over him. He hardly even heard the actual words, although a PICA's perfect memory would recall them later, if he wanted to. But the important words had already been said, and Merlin wondered if Haarahld and Cayleb had suspected where their bishop's sermon was headed.

“Perhaps you would care to explain the text of your sermon, Bishop?” Bishop Executor Zherald Ahdymsyn inquired icily, turning from the window of his study to face his “guest.”

“Forgive me, Your Eminence,” Maikel Staynair said calmly, “but I'm not certain what part of the text you're referring to.”

His eyes met the bishop executor's stony gaze levelly, and Ahdymsyn's fists clenched in the flowing sleeves of his cassock. He'd never been happy about Staynair's accession to the capital see. The man was too…too…too
Charisian
. But Haarahld's stubborn insistence on nominating the priest of his own choice to the empty throne in Tellesberg Cathedral had given the previous archbishop pause. He could have rejected the nomination. As far as Ahdymsyn was concerned, he damned well
ought
to have rejected it, and the bishop executor had said so at the time.

But the archbishop had flinched from the King of Charis' adamantine will. Archbishop Rojyr had been old and tired, already fading. He'd wanted only peace for his final years in the archbishopric, and perhaps he'd feared that if he pressed Haarahld too hard, it would create a situation which would force the Council of Vicars and the Inquisition to act.

And so, instead of dealing with it himself, he left it to fall onto
my
plate
, Ahdymsyn thought bitterly.

“I have been told,” he said to Maikel now, “that your sermon called into question the primacy and authority of Mother Church.”

“Your Eminence,” Maikel said, his expression one of total innocence, “I'm afraid I simply can't conceive of how anything I may have said might have called Mother Church's legitimate primacy and authority into question! What portion of my sermon could have led anyone to think for a moment that such was my intention?”

Ahdymsyn's fists clenched more tightly and his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply.

“Did you, or did you not, say that it was the responsibility of any godly individual to decide
for himself
what constitutes right or wrong?”

“Of course I did, Your Eminence.” Maikel's surprised tone couldn't have been improved upon by the most skilled of actors, Ahdymsyn thought. “Isn't that what both the
Writ
and
The Commentaries
teach us? That God and the archangels,” his fingers touched his heart, then his lips, “expect all of us to be armored against evil? That it's our duty as godly men and women to be eternally upon our guard, and to recognize evil for ourselves when we see it?”

Ahdymsyn's teeth grated as his jaw muscles tightened. He wanted to reach out and slap the bland-faced Charisian in front of him. Both of them knew what Maikel had really been saying, yet the bishop's glib response was drawn directly from the Church's most central doctrines.

“I don't disagree with the statement that God and the archangels—” It was Ahdymsyn's turn to touch his heart and then his lips. “—expect us to recognize evil when we see it. But it's dangerous, both in a doctrinal sense and in terms of maintaining Mother Church's legitimate authority, both in this world and the next, to suggest her teachings may be in error.”

“With all due respect, Your Eminence, but I said nothing of the sort,” Maikel asserted firmly. “I spoke of a parent's responsibility to teach his children to recognize right from wrong. And to be wary, alert to the fact that others, less responsive to their obligations, or for their own evil and corrupt purposes, may attempt to mislead them. To couch false arguments in terms of acceptable beliefs. I never suggested that
Mother Church
might fall into the error of false teaching. If you believe I've done so, I beg you to instruct me as to where and how I might have set forth such an unforgivable accusation!”

Ahdymsyn glared at him for a moment, then wheeled back to the window while he fought to get his own expression—and temper—back under control.

“Whether or not you intended that…‘accusation,'” he said finally, “your words, as reported to me, could be interpreted in that sense by those inclined to set up their own judgment in opposition to that of Mother Church.”

“I assure you, Your Eminence, that I've never had any intention of questioning Mother Church's legitimate authority. If any words of mine could be interpreted in that fashion, I do most humbly apologize.”

Ahdymsyn continued to glower out the window. The sun was settling steadily into the west. The western horizon was a solid mass of crimson coals, reaching out to paint Howell Bay with an ominous tinge of red, and the bishop executor drew another deep breath.

“I am most displeased with the evident…carelessness of your choice of words, Bishop Maikel. You are, after Archbishop Erayk and myself, the senior bishop of the entire Kingdom of Charis. You have a responsibility, to God and to Mother Church, to remind the sheep of your flock where their duty and the safety of their souls lie. And it follows that you have an equal responsibility to avoid…inadvertently driving potential wedges between them and the safety afforded by Mother Church's authority.”

He made himself speak calmly, reasonably, although he knew perfectly well that neither he nor Staynair had any doubt that the Charisian bishop had done precisely what Ahdymsyn had accused him of doing. But, by the same token, Staynair had covered himself. His interpretation of what he'd meant, however inaccurate and self-serving it might be, sounded both plausible and reasonable. Or would have, anywhere except here in Charis.

“I regret that you have reason to feel displeased with me, Your Eminence,” Staynair said.

“I'm sure you do.” Ahdymsyn smiled out the window without any humor at all.

Technically, he had the authority to remove Staynair temporarily from his see. Without Archbishop Erayk's agreement, he couldn't remove the Charisian permanently, however, and he wasn't at all certain the Archbishop
would
support him.

And that's partly your own fault, Zherald
, he told himself coldly.
You've known for years how stubborn these Charisians are, and yet you've persistently assured the Archbishop that the situation was under control. You've downplayed the reports of people like Hektor and Nahrmahn as exaggerations—because they
are
exaggerated, wildly, damn it!—for too long. If you simply report Staynair's words now, after all that, and accuse him on that basis of seeking to undermine the Church's authority, you'll sound as if
you're
starting to exaggerate, as well. Without seeing the man's face, listening to his tone, sensing the mood of his parishioners, everything he's said will sound completely reasonable. And any allegations you may lay against him will sound hysterical and alarmist
.

The bishop executor's smile turned into a glare as he gazed at the smoldering horizon and wondered if that crimson pile of cloudy embers was an omen of some sort. Staynair was worrisome, of course, but that was at least partly because of the composition of the Charisian priesthood in general.

One huge reason reason Staynair's elevation to the Tellesberg see stuck in Ahdymsyn's craw was that it flew in the face of the Church's normal policy of moving and assigning senior clergy, especially bishops and auxiliary bishops, so that they served outside the kingdoms or provinces of their birth. It was never a good idea, in Ahdymsyn's opinion, to allow the leadership of the local Church to develop a feeling of loyalty to the secular realm it served. As far as he was concerned, that was particularly true in lands such as Charis, which were so far from the Temple and Zion.

But convincing members of the priesthood to move to such distant and isolated hinterlands was always difficult. Those with patrons of their own could always find some way to weasel out of it. While Charis' wealth offered a certain level of enticement, the truth was that assignment here was regarded as exile. At the best, it would be a severe blow to the potential career of anyone sent here.

Ahdymsyn's own case was atypical. He'd amply demonstrated his reliability, but he lacked that necessary patronage at the very highest level to ever become an archbishop in his own right. Since that was the case, Charis had suited him just fine, when it was offered. It was far enough from the Temple and Zion to give him a degree of independence and autonomy, plus manifold opportunities for acquiring personal wealth.

But better than nine out of every ten members of the Church's clergy here in Charis were Charisian-born, just like Staynair. The numbers were higher in the lower ranks of the priesthood, and among the various monastic orders, of course. But that was the very thing which made admitting a Charisian to the third-highest church office in the entire kingdom so…worrisome. Those lower-ranking priests and under-priests were undoubtedly listening to anything “their” bishop said.

“I'll accept your assurance that you didn't intentionally assail Mother Church's authority and right to declare error,” he said finally, turning back to face Staynair after several silent moments. “That doesn't abate my displeasure, however. Nor, I feel sure, would the Council of Vicars or the Inquisition be pleased by the potential for error contained in your…unfortunately chosen words. You aren't some simple parish priest. You're a bishop, one of Mother Church's bishops, and as such you will be rightly held to a higher standard. Is that understood, Bishop Maikel?”

“It is, of course, Your Eminence,” Staynair said, bowing his head very slightly.

“These are perilous times,” Ahdymsyn continued levelly. “Danger threatens Charis on many levels, as, indeed, the treason of the King's own cousin clearly illustrates. Do not increase that peril.”

“I'll take your warning to heart, Your Eminence,” Staynair said with another slight bow.

“See that you do,” Ahdymsyn said. “Be very
careful
to see that you do. Neither my patience, nor the Archbishop's, nor the Office of Inquisition's, is without limit. If your failure in your duties leads to consequences for others, then the weight of those consequences will be upon your own immortal soul, and Mother Church will demand an accounting of you.”

Staynair said nothing, but neither did he flinch, and there was no give in his steady eyes. Well, he'd been warned. And whatever else the man might be, he wasn't a fool. That would have to be enough…for now, at least.

“You may go,” Ahdymsyn said coldly, and extended his ring for Staynair to kiss.

“Thank you, Your Eminence,” the Bishop of Tellesberg murmured as he brushed his lips lightly across the golden scepter inlaid into the blood-red ruby of the ring. “I assure you that I'll remember everything you've said to me today.”