That’s how she was able to channel the visions from the Throne of Tears to all the other lyr .”
“And you have inherited her blood. Perhaps her special capacity as well.” He paused. “Maybe it’s time you talked to her about your visions. She may be able to tell you more about them than I can.”
For a moment Salvator shut his eyes. Then he said, very quietly, “It is not that simple.”
“Why not?”
Salvator sighed heavily. “After I returned from Alkali, I asked my witches to search the High Kingdom for any Souleaters that might be there. They came up empty-handed. I know the Magisters have been searching for the creatures as well. One of them is bound in contract to my mother—she thinks I don’t know that, by the way—and I’m sure she has asked him for help. Yet she is not aware of any Souleater in my Kingdom, so that means Ramirus has not found one either. This demon’s mesmeric power protects it from discovery.”
“But you sense its presence.”
Salvator nodded tightly.
“Which implies . . . .”
“That I am resistant to its power,” he said solemnly.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
Steepling his hands upon his chest, Salvator stared down at them in silence for a moment. “When I came to this monastery four years ago, it was because I believed with all my heart that if enough of us did penance for the sins of mankind, the Souleaters would not return to us. That the Destroyer would be appeased by our sacrifice, and spare mankind His wrath. But we failed.” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “We failed, Father. And now the ancient demons have been sent to us again, to bring down the Second Age of Kings as they did the First.
“So what is our duty as Penitents now? To stand aside and watch the world be destroyed, offering nothing better than lamentations from the sidelines? Are we permitted to hide away the contents of our libraries, so that when human civilization finally collapses our knowledge will be preserved for future generations? Or would that be deemed blasphemy, an attempt to lessen the impact of divine justice? Are we allowed to do battle with these creatures in any way? Or is it our duty to stand aside in the name of the Destroyer, and watch as the most terrible prophecies of our faith are fulfilled?
“These questions are not addressed in our scripture. And I cannot ask the primi for answers. There is too much power in such questions for me to entrust them to any man who cares about power.” He spread his hands wide. “So I have brought them here. To you, Father. To hear your thoughts upon these matters.”
For a long time the abbot was silent. Finally, very quietly, he said, “I am humbled by your faith in me. But I cannot provide you with answers, you know that. Those you must find for yourself.”
“I have not come for answers,” he responded. “Only your wisdom, to shed light upon the questions.” When the abbot said nothing, he pressed, “The Creator once led me to this place, to become a man of peace. Now He has placed a sword in my hand, such as no other man can wield. If I take it up, will I betray my faith? I know that if I turn away from it, I may betray my kingdom.”
The abbot turned away from him. In silence he stood, still as a statue, a beam of late afternoon sunlight washing over his sandaled feet. Though he did not speak aloud, Salvator knew that he was praying, and he waited.
“The Church has declared that the lyr are not abominations,” the abbot said at last. “The power in their veins is a natural force, provided by the Creator. Or so we are now told. Would God have provided mankind with such a power if he did not mean for him to use it?”
“The Magisters have power as well,” he pointed out.
“The power of the Magisters is an unclean thing, ripped from the heart of Creation and crafted into a foul form that goes against God and nature. Only the blackest of souls wield true sorcery, and any man who is touched by
“And you have inherited her blood. Perhaps her special capacity as well.” He paused. “Maybe it’s time you talked to her about your visions. She may be able to tell you more about them than I can.”
For a moment Salvator shut his eyes. Then he said, very quietly, “It is not that simple.”
“Why not?”
Salvator sighed heavily. “After I returned from Alkali, I asked my witches to search the High Kingdom for any Souleaters that might be there. They came up empty-handed. I know the Magisters have been searching for the creatures as well. One of them is bound in contract to my mother—she thinks I don’t know that, by the way—and I’m sure she has asked him for help. Yet she is not aware of any Souleater in my Kingdom, so that means Ramirus has not found one either. This demon’s mesmeric power protects it from discovery.”
“But you sense its presence.”
Salvator nodded tightly.
“Which implies . . . .”
“That I am resistant to its power,” he said solemnly.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
Steepling his hands upon his chest, Salvator stared down at them in silence for a moment. “When I came to this monastery four years ago, it was because I believed with all my heart that if enough of us did penance for the sins of mankind, the Souleaters would not return to us. That the Destroyer would be appeased by our sacrifice, and spare mankind His wrath. But we failed.” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “We failed, Father. And now the ancient demons have been sent to us again, to bring down the Second Age of Kings as they did the First.
“So what is our duty as Penitents now? To stand aside and watch the world be destroyed, offering nothing better than lamentations from the sidelines? Are we permitted to hide away the contents of our libraries, so that when human civilization finally collapses our knowledge will be preserved for future generations? Or would that be deemed blasphemy, an attempt to lessen the impact of divine justice? Are we allowed to do battle with these creatures in any way? Or is it our duty to stand aside in the name of the Destroyer, and watch as the most terrible prophecies of our faith are fulfilled?
“These questions are not addressed in our scripture. And I cannot ask the primi for answers. There is too much power in such questions for me to entrust them to any man who cares about power.” He spread his hands wide. “So I have brought them here. To you, Father. To hear your thoughts upon these matters.”
For a long time the abbot was silent. Finally, very quietly, he said, “I am humbled by your faith in me. But I cannot provide you with answers, you know that. Those you must find for yourself.”
“I have not come for answers,” he responded. “Only your wisdom, to shed light upon the questions.” When the abbot said nothing, he pressed, “The Creator once led me to this place, to become a man of peace. Now He has placed a sword in my hand, such as no other man can wield. If I take it up, will I betray my faith? I know that if I turn away from it, I may betray my kingdom.”
The abbot turned away from him. In silence he stood, still as a statue, a beam of late afternoon sunlight washing over his sandaled feet. Though he did not speak aloud, Salvator knew that he was praying, and he waited.
“The Church has declared that the lyr are not abominations,” the abbot said at last. “The power in their veins is a natural force, provided by the Creator. Or so we are now told. Would God have provided mankind with such a power if he did not mean for him to use it?”
“The Magisters have power as well,” he pointed out.
“The power of the Magisters is an unclean thing, ripped from the heart of Creation and crafted into a foul form that goes against God and nature. Only the blackest of souls wield true sorcery, and any man who is touched by
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