Sam was embarrassed. Here he had been grilling Rinaldi and had never even introduced himself. He started to give his name, but sudden suspicion stopped his tongue. Names were important, both magically and in the world of the shadows. How did Sam know if this priest-if he was a priest-was who he said he was? Rinaldi had admitted to being involved with this elf queen, Deigh. Maybe his involvement hadn't ended. He might be one of Deigh's flunkies and the whole friendly approach some kind of trap. The suspicion gnawed at Sam, and he hated himself for it.
It had been bad enough when Dodger manipulated |him, but what Hart had done… her perfidy was shattering. It made him want to believe the Man of Light's implication that their affair had been induced by magic. but magic wasn't causing his feelings now. The anger and pain made mock of any attempt to accept that his feelings for Hart had not been real.
First Dodger, then Hart. Too many betrayals. Could he trust anyone?
"They call me Twist, father," he said softly into the silence. He could see that he hadn't hidden his inner struggle from Rinaldi, but the priest politely ignored it.
"Ah. A street name?"
Sam nodded.
"I understand that the current circumstances do not inspire trust. However, we are both in the same cell and I believe that you might have the power to get us out. Perhaps if I tell you more about myself, you will trust me. Read my aura, if you wish. I have nothing to hide."
Getting out was a top priority, but Sam still felt too weak to do more than sit up and breathe deeply. He didn't feel ready to read anyone's aura, but he didn't have to tell Rinaldi that. Until he was stronger and had a better idea of what was going on, he could at least listen to the priest's words. "Sure. Why not?"
Rinaldi's idea of filling Sam in began far too early to be of any real interest. Sam had no desire to hear about the priest's rough childhood in Awakening-torn Italy. What relevance could it have? Sam let his mind drift, occasionally dropping back to the real world to pick up snatches of Rinaldi's early tribulations with his vocation and final selection of the rule under which he had chosen to live. It was only when Rinaldi revealed the nature of the Order of St. Sylvester that the priest recaptured Sam's full attention.
"You're part of an order of magicians? " Sam asked incredulously.
"I said that the Sylvestrines gather the cream of the
Church's magical talent, but not all members are magically active and most of the rest are adepts or students. I myself have but a small gift."
"Which is?"
"I have astral senses."
Rinaldi looked embarrassed, or perhaps, troubled. Sam felt sympathy for him. Any magical talent set a person apart from ordinary folk. But to see the magic and not be able to use it? What frustration! Sam didn't think he would be able to deal with that kind of limitation.
"That's a valuable talent," Sam said.
Rinaldi shrugged, giving Sam a weak smile.
"I am primarily a scholar. My specialty is totemic shamanism, but I have studied several hermetic traditions as well. While I have done some investigations of other more esoteric traditions, I would hesitate to claim any particular expertise. There is so much knowledge, and so little time to acquire it.
' 'I have spoken long enough about myself and fear I shall have to confess my prideful indulgence. You seem more relaxed now. Perhaps you feel secure enough to tell me what tradition you follow.''
"Can't you tell?"
"Without you actively using your magic? Of course not."
Sarn felt stupid. With his limited experience, he already knew that a person's aura only snowed strength. While those with strong auras were often magically capable, it didn't show unless they were actively manipulating mana. Even then, the tradition they followed might not be clear unless the nature of the magic was strongly allied in the form of manipulation.
"I appear to be a shaman."
Rinaldi looked surprised. "Appear to be? I should think that someone with your level of power would be quite aware of his orientation."
"It's what people tell me I am," Sam said sheepishly. "Honestly, father, I find the idea uncomfortable. I'm a Christian. All the business about totems is very disturbing to me. I mean, didn't primitive people worship totems as gods? I can't do that. It just doesn't seem right that my magic is hedged around with such pagan symbolism."
Sam's breathless admission seemed to shift Rinaldi's mood. His expression became more serious. "Do you believe in angels?" "What's that got to do with anything?" "Do you?" Rinaldi insisted. "They are in the Bible," Sam snapped. "Some people do not believe the Bible is literal truth," Rinaldi said calmly. "Do you believe that angels are real?" Sam hesitated. "Yes." "And what are they?"
"How should I know? I'm not a theologian." Rinaldi smiled. "If it makes you feel any better, theologians argue over angels, too. Most agree that an: angel is a being, a spiritual entity of a different order Jthan man. I believe that true knowledge of these beiings is something that is denied to us as long as we wear flesh.
"In our mortal state, we cannot know the mind of God. Though we each have a sliver of him within ourselves, we are hampered by our physical nature from seeing the truth as it is. For all the wonder and glory of God's creation, we perceive only a part. You, as a magician, are able to perceive more than the vast majority of mankind. You used your astral senses earlier. Didn't you see more than your mundane senses revealed? Of course you did. A small proof that what is available to mundane senses is not all there is to the universe. You have assensed spirits that have no physical presence, haven't you? Aren't they real?"
"They're just energy forms," Sam protested. "It's not the same thing." "E=mc2. Energy is as real as matter." Rinaldi's answer was smug, and troubling. "Are you telling me that totems are angels?"
The priest shook his head. "No. Yet I know of no shaman who does not believe in their existence."
So, was Sam supposed to believe that totems had independent existence? "Then totems are not just psychological constructs, tricks to let a brain do magic?" "I didn't say that either."
"You're making me crazy, father," Sam said exasperatedly. "What are totems? Are they real or not?" "I wish I could give you the answer you want, Twist. I'm not a shaman, so I can never experience a totemic contact or visit the realms where shamans learn the secrets of their magic. The ability to experience such has not been given to me, and the shamanic magic is so very experiential. While in this flesh, I shall never personally know the answer, but all those I have spoken to agree that whether totems are real or not, the effects of totems are real. A shaman must conform to the attitudes and strictures of his totem or lose power.'' "You're telling me that I must follow my totem's decrees. What about God's commandments? What about false gods, priest?"
"A totem is suited to your nature, or your nature to it. The order is unclear. Like the very ability to do magic, or the type of magic of which a person is capable, totems are not something that is chosen. A person is as God has made him, gifted or burdened as He wills. We must use our gifts and shoulder our burdens as we attempt to find our way nearer to Him. He has given us free will that we may choose, and He has given us His love to guide us in choosing wisely. Accepting your shamanic nature will not drive you from Him. Your gift comes from Him. How could He make you so that you are unacceptable to Him?"
Sam felt the wisdom in the priest's words. He said thoughtfully, "I should have spoken to you sooner, father.''
Rinaldi smiled warmly. "Regrets gain nothing, son.