Reave the Just and Other Tales (28 page)

“Yet there was truth in it also. The poor of Sestle feared no one who was not better born, or wealthier, or more predatory than they. Within its plain limits, their acceptance of me was sincere.

“And I valued it for what it was. Soon I learned to treasure it.

“Determined to pose no danger in Leeside, I hunted ever more widely for sustenance. Consequently disturbances and rumors began to circulate in the neighborhoods of the rich and the wellborn, causing guards and watchmen to increase their vigilance—and my difficulties. Yet I regretted nothing that I did. The illusion of acceptance eased and nurtured me. I would willingly have incurred far greater hazards to preserve it.

“Still it
was
illusion. It taught me to crave more substantial consolations.

“However, I found that I could not glean what I sought by rote and mimicry. The forms of the chapel’s worship were potent in my heart, but their content—I could not comprehend it. Apparently my life and my nature had precluded essential insights or assumptions which the devout of Mother Church shared with their priest, but which conveyed nothing to me. What was ‘God’—or ‘Heaven’—or ‘soul’? I had no experience of their import. I knew only life and death. And death terrified me because it was not life. When the priest spoke of ‘sin’ and ‘forgiveness’ and ‘salvation,’ I could not imagine his meaning. I could only mouth the hymns and the prayers, and feel true acceptance slipping from my grasp.

“Eventually my desire to stand among those worshipers in their sanctuary might have curdled to darkness. My yearning had been reawakened, and its frustration could well have driven me to other extremes. However, I was spared that loss.

“Men say that my kind have no souls, and it may be true. But if we do not, I am unable to explain why God deigned to lift the burden of my isolation before it grew too cumbersome for me to bear.”

Sighing, I drank from my goblet. In some measure, the wine did ease me. It cleared my throat for speech. But it did little to disperse the thunderheads of weeping and fury which threatened to overwhelm my fragile composure with storms. I had never told my tale because it gave me too much pain.

Nevertheless I did not stop. I hungered for expiation, despite its cost.

In the silence of the assembly, I continued my litany of woe.

“Like ‘Heaven’ and ‘sin,’ ‘love’ was a word I did not comprehend. I had no experience of it. I could not have explained ‘kindness’ to a passing cur. How then could I grasp the higher concerns of the spirit? But I was taught—

“One day as I entered the sanctuary among the worshipers, a maid curtsied to me. I hardly regarded her, except that I feared all notice, and so I replied with a bow, not wishing to call down attention by rudeness. Then I passed her by.

“However, she found a place near mine in the sanctuary. The hood of her threadbare cloak covered her hair, but did not conceal her face from me. During the first hymns, she met my gaze and smiled whenever I chanced to glance toward her.

“Instantly I feared her. How had I drawn her notice? And how could I deflect it elsewhere? Attention led to death, as I knew too well. Yet I was also intrigued by her. I saw no revulsion in her soft eyes—and no malice. No cunning. No knowledge of what I was. Rather, I seemed to detect a shy pleasure in my confusion, my muffled alarm. Although I knew nothing of such matters, I received the impression that she wished me to repay her notice.

“Covertly, I studied her during the prayers and readings. To me, she was comely—smooth of cheek and full of lip, alive with the vitality of youth, yet demure and pious in her demeanor. Her poverty was plain in the wear and patching of her attire, but if she understood want—as did all Sestle’s poor—she had not been dulled by it. No taint of bitterness or envy diminished her radiance. In the depth and luster of her gentle gaze, I caught my first glimpse of what Father Domsen meant when he spoke of ‘the soul,’ for her eyes seemed to hold more life than mere flesh could contain.

“Her smiles teased me in ways which disturbed me to the heart.”

Within myself I wailed at the memory. But I did not voice my sorrow.

“The priest delivered his sermon earnestly, but I did not heed him. I could not. I felt a mounting consternation which closed my ears. I wished only to flee the maid’s nearness—and dared not, fearing to attract still more notice. Through the final hymns and prayers, and the priest’s distant benediction, I stumbled. Then I sought my departure with as much speed as I could afford.

“To my chagrin, she accosted me in the aisle before the doors. Avoidance was impossible. Curtsying again, she stepped near and laughed to me softly, ‘Sir, you sing very badly.’

“To my chagrin, I say—and yet I felt a far greater dismay when I found myself unable to turn away from her jest. She meant no harm by it, that was plain. No insult sullied her mirth. She simply wished to speak with me. And the impulse gave her pleasure.

“By that soft enchantment she held me, despite my knowledge of death, and my fear. I might safely have stepped past her there, urged ahead by the moving throng, but I did not. Instead I bowed to conceal my face, murmuring, ‘The melodies are new to me.’

“While I spoke, I cursed myself because I did not flee. But I cursed myself more because I could not match her smile. The pain of my loneliness had become greater than I knew.

“‘You are a stranger then,’ she remarked.

“‘I am,’ I told her. Because my discomfort seemed rude to me, I added, ‘My lady.’

“She laughed again. ‘“My lady”? You are truly a stranger. No native of Sestle would attempt such excessive courtesy here. I am not so wellborn, sir.

“‘I am called Irradia. Those who desire more formality name me “Irradia-of-the-Lees,” for I was discovered as an infant among the dredgings of the river, and raised by the good folk of Leeside. This chapel is my home.’ She glanced fondly about the edifice.

“Her enchantment did not release me. Awkward with difficulty, I strove to answer her. ‘You honor me,’ I said gruffly. ‘As for me, I am so far from my birthplace that I have no name. But you will honor me further if you call me Aposter.’”

Unable to face my audience, I gazed into the darkness of my goblet. “My lords, that is not my name,” I told the last of my wine. “Nor is Scriven. But it is the name I chose to give her. And it is the name by which I am known to His Reverence Straylish Beatified.”

Hardening my sorrow, I resumed.

“She accepted it without demur. How could she have known that it was false? That I was false myself?” Or that she would die in anguish because she could name me? “So commenced my true conversion to the teachings of Mother Church. Until that day, I had stood among the worshipers, singing and praying attentively, but I had only aped their devotion, not shared it. I desired it, but could not grasp its import. From that moment forward, however, the maid Irradia became my teacher, and I began to learn.

“At first, of course, she did not know that she taught me. She did not know what I was—and I gave her no glimpse of my ignorance. She merely offered me her friendliness and courtesy. Perhaps she did so because she could see that I was lost in loneliness despite my mimicry. Perhaps she was guided to me by the hand of Heaven. Or perhaps the flawless bounty of her heart surpassed the ordinary bounds of flesh and blood. I could not account for her actions then, and cannot explain them now. But in the days which followed she showed me what friendship and kindness were. By example she gave me my first instruction in righteousness.

“And with every taste of her companionship, I found that my hunger for it swelled. I grew eager for her smiles and mirth. I gave her occasion to tease me because her jests brought me pleasure. I accompanied her on the rounds of charity, the innumerable generosities, which filled her days as an adopted daughter of the chapel, and my small part in them warmed my heart. And when we were apart—as naturally we were more than we were together—I craved the sight of her as I craved survival. Her presence was like the vitality I drew from my victims. It elevated me, it made me strong and whole, it added a sparkle to the light of day and a glow to the depth of night—but it did not satisfy me. I desired more. I had been lonely too long. Her company became as necessary to me as blood, and I grew insatiable for it.

“So I began to reveal myself to her, hoping to strengthen the bonds between us—bonds which I had never felt before, and had no wish to break. I did not tell her what I was. But when I had known her for a month or more, I unfolded my ignorance to her. Embarrassed and cunning, I described the yearning which caused me to stand among the congregation and sing—badly—although I lacked all comprehension of what my worship signified.

“My ploy succeeded better than I could have dreamed. It drew Irradia to me, for she was pure in her faith, and the thought of healing the breach which separated me from Heaven enchanted her. At the same time, however, it increased my own attraction to the teachings of Mother Church. As my companion exemplified them, they seemed entirely lovely to me, worthy of all devotion. The idea that my long experience of revulsion might be redeemed transported me. Hopes and desires beyond imagination took root in my once-barren heart, and sprouted richly.

“The more I knew of Irradia, the more I longed for her. And the more I learned from her, the more I desired the solace and acceptance of Mother Church.”

The assembly stirred, restive with distress—indignant tinder smoldering toward outrage. They had seen that I was fearsome, a creature of powers miraculous to them, and therefore cruel. That I now laid claim to the teachings of Mother Church, which they held as their own, affronted them mortally. The Duke himself appeared disturbed, and his supporters with him. I heard whispers of “blasphemy” and “carnal evil.” No doubt the gathering thought that I expressed a wish for Heaven in order to disguise my lust.

But Duke Obal had cornered me in his bright hall. I was as ready to give battle as any trapped beast. And the pain of Irradia’s loss—and of my part in her torment—gave me a kind of strength. Briefly I could raise my voice.

“Do you question my
sincerity,
my lords?” In sudden fury I flung my goblet so that it bounded, soundless and empty, across the rugs. “Do you believe that I
dissemble
?”

My vehemence shocked the whispers to silence.

“It may be that I have no soul,” I cried.
“But I have a heart.”
There my flare of force consumed itself, and died. Ash and regret seemed to fill my mouth as I repeated, “I have a heart. I wish daily that I did not.”

Then I rallied against my weakness. “But I do not ask God to take it from me. It is
mine
. My life is only my life. Doubtless you will slay me, when I am done with my tale. But you cannot erase my pain, or stifle my yearning—or avoid the cost.”

The Duke covered his eyes. Perhaps he lacked the courage to regard me directly. “Continue, Scriven,” he murmured as though he had been moved. “Fear nothing. I am as mortal as any man, and as flawed. But I am not so easily turned aside from my promises.”

He could not truly believe that I would “fear nothing” at his command. He was not such a fool. But I had set my feet to this path, and did not mean to step back now. Bowing my head, I answered, “As you wish, my lord.”

All the influential of Mullior watched me as they would a serpent. Under the bale of their fascination, I pursued my tale.

“As I have said, the maid Irradia gave me instruction, binding me to her with every lesson—and her to me. Indeed, the growing warmth of her regard taught me the truth of her words, for it demonstrated God’s forgiveness. In the name of Mother Church, she offered me a life which was not defined and circumscribed by revulsion.

“And when she believed that I had understood her, she took me to Father Domsen, so that he might further my edification.”

Bishop Heraldic and his confessors crossed themselves in self-protection, warding away heresy, but I paid them no heed.

“That good man welcomed me,” I said without scorn, as though I had seen no reaction. “He taught me gladly. He was Irradia’s father—in a manner of speaking—both temporally and spiritually, and at first I thought that he extended his kindness to me for her sake. Later, however, I understood him better. His love for her enriched but did not determine his acceptance. The simplicity of his faith, and the embrace of his heart, were wide enough to enfold all who worshiped with him.

“Sooner than I would have thought possible”—and altogether too soon for my dismayed auditors—“he and Irradia began to speak of my baptism—of my union by water and sacrament with Mother Church.”

Despite the moisture in my gaze, I held up my head as though I meant to stare down the assembly. But I needed more valor to confront my memories than to outface my enemies. Word after word, my tale gathered its anguish.

“My lords, I know now that I should have feared baptism. Belatedly I have heard that holy water is agony to my kind, scalding us with Heaven’s rejection. At the time, however, I had no such concern. Irradia and Father Domsen had taught me to trust God’s utter benison. Having no soul, I was unaware that I was damned.

“Yet I was troubled in my mind—and in my heart, if I have no soul. Throughout my life, I had known only abhorrence. And from abhorrence I had learned shame, although I did not realize it until I had recognized my loneliness. I am what I am, and life is life, and I had not ceased to feed. No creature of flesh endures without its proper sustenance. I studied the will of Heaven openly, desiring it as I desired Irradia’s love. Yet still I preyed widely in Sestle so that I would not perish.

“Ashamed, I feared that Irradia—and Mother Church—would repulse me if they learned the truth.

“Further, I knew that I had been careless, although I had not yet imagined the consequences. Blinded by yearning, I had fed too often upon the fat and the wellborn, the wealthy and the publicly devout. And in so doing I had drawn notice.

“A child might have foreseen this, yet I did not. Ignoring the hazard of my actions, I had brought myself unwittingly to the awareness of His Reverence Straylish Beatified.”