An unfamiliar emotion flickered in the back of those cold, clear eyes. Fear? “They haven’t done anything to you yet.”
“Not yet,” he agreed. “But for how long?” To Damien’s surprise he sighed heavily; the action was disturbingly human.
He walked the length of the room, then stopped; Damien thought he saw his shoulders tense. “Do you know, sometimes I pray to them? Not as a worshiper to a god, but as servant to an angry master. I try to make them understand that in seeking Calesta’s destruction I’m only ensuring my own survival, the better to serve them. If such an act happened to benefit the Church I founded, or humankind in general... that would be an unfortunate side effect, nothing more.” He shook his head. “I wish I believed that myself.”
Damien chose his words carefully. “You think it isn’t true?”
The Hunter hesitated. “I was so sure of myself, once. I lived in a world without doubt, without any need for introspection. My soul was as pure in its darkness as the night-fae itself, which is banished by the merest hint of sunlight. Then you came into my life. You! With your questions and your warped logic and your bonds of mutual dependency and purpose ... and I changed. Slowly, but I did change. No human soul could fail to do so, under the circumstances—and the core of my soul is human, Vryce, despite what Karril would call its “hellish trappings.” That was both the source of my strength and my greatest weakness. In the end, thanks to you, it will be my destruction.” The sharp eyes narrowed. “But that was what you hoped for, wasn’t it? After all this is over, I could do you no better service than to die and be damned.”
“Gerald, please—”
He waved a hand, cutting short his protest. “I don’t blame you, Vryce. I blame myself for letting it happen. You did no more or less than your nature demanded. I only wonder what the price will be, when I’m finally called to answer for my actions.”
“Surely a few months of weakness won’t outweigh the record of nine hundred years.”
“The Unnamed has no compassion, and nothing to lose by injustice.. Its judgment is as much the result of momentary structure as of logic. Divided into parts, it can be petty and fickle and unpredictable; unified, it’s the most ruthless evil this world has ever known. Thank God the latter state rarely endures for long.”
“What do you mean, divided! I don’t understand.” The cold eyes fixed on him: black now, and empty as the true night. “Better that you don’t,” he warned. “That force has a habit of devouring anything which touches it; better men than you have fallen to it in the past, for no greater sin than seeking to understand its nature. And I wasn’t the first to court it for its power, you know. But I may be the only one to come through such negotiations with my soul intact. It delights in corrupting humanity, and will toy with its victims like a cat tortures prey. Also its servitors,” he added grimly. “Anyone who gives it an opening.”
“Maybe it despises Calesta as much as you do,” Damien suggested. “Maybe it regards your current attempts as a kind of service.”
“Doubtful.” His brow furrowed as he considered the thought. “One would think Calesta’s habits would be to its liking.”
“Rivalry, perhaps?”
“The Iezu are petty demons. The Unnamed is ... beyond that.”
“Petty demons who can’t be Banished, or otherwise controlled. Independent spirits who mean to remake the Unnamed One’s domain.”
“Perhaps,” he said dubiously. “At least that might explain—”
He stopped then. And did not proceed. “What?" When the Hunter didn’t respond, he pressed, “Tell me, Gerald. What is it?”
“I Divined our conflict,” he said softly. Eyes shut, recalling the Working to his inner vision. “It’s an imprecise art at best, as you know, and in this case all it conjured was chaos. I watched the corruption of the
Church proceed from a thousand beginnings, and in none of them could I see any hope of change. I witnessed both our deaths a dozen times-yes, yours and mine-in a dozen different forums. I saw worlds in which Calesta triumphed, and such change was wrought that our human ancestors wouldn’t have recognized Erna’s children as their kin. All tangled together, Reverend Vryce: a skein of futures so enmeshed that even my skill couldn’t pull the threads loose. But there were patterns even in that chaos, things which recurred time and time again.” He looked at Damien. “The interference of the Unnamed was one. I had assumed it would strike at me directly, in vengeance for my many transgressions, but who can know what passes for vengeance in a mind that knows no permanence? And more than once I saw a sorcerer at the head of the Church, a man whose power was equal to my own, who might lead that body down the one safe path among millions. But what sense does that make? Even if such a man existed, the Church would cast him out.” He shook his head tightly, frustrated. “Too many futures, Vryce, and nearly all of them lead to failure. I can’t make out anything useful.”
He managed to keep his voice steady, though suddenly his heart was pounding. “There is a sorcerer in the Church, Gerald.”
“What? Where?” Then he waved a hand, dismissing the thought. “This was a man in control of things, Vryce. They would never give a sorcerer such authority.”
“They would if he were the Patriarch.” The look on Gerald Tarrant’s face was one he never thought he would see: pure, unadulterated astonishment. “The Patriarch? But how-?”
“He doesn’t know it. And I’m sure no one else has guessed. But I worked a Knowing in his presence once....”
And he told him about his conversations with the Holy Father. About the way the fae responded to the man, even though he couldn’t See it. About how it served his unconscious will even while his words denied its power.
“He’s a natural,” he concluded. “I’m sure of it.” Tarrant reached for the nearest chair and dropped himself heavily into it. It was clear that he hadn’t been braced for this kind of news. And how could he be? His own damnation had been assured by the Church’s rejection of any such power. How could he accept that suddenly the rules might change, without questioning his own existence? “An adept?” he breathed. “Could he be that also?”
“Is it possible?”
“You mean, could a man be bom with Sight and deny it? Block it so utterly that he never even knew it existed?” He hesitated. “It might be. So many infants die or go insane each year, that we think might have been fledgling adepts. Is it unreasonable to think that a newborn might learn to deny its fae-visions, when no other family member acknowledges their reality? God of Earth and Erna,” he whispered. There was a new note in his voice. Awe? “If so ... that would explain more than one Divination.”
“You think he would help us?” He tried to keep the doubt out of his voice, but it was hard. “Is that what you saw?”
“What I saw,” he said slowly, “was Calesta subverting a powerful man. I saw great vision and great stubbornness, that might be harnessed for a thousand different purposes. I saw a man destroying himself, unable to face his own potential... and that would make sense, if it is who you suggest. But I also saw this: in any future where the Church stood the least chance of survival, this man’s actions were pivotal.” He looked up sharply at Damien. "Pivotal, Vryce. In its literal sense. The man I saw could save the Church, but he could also destroy it.”
“Can you tell where those paths diverge?” he demanded. “What’s the catalyst? We can go after that.” Tarrant’s eyes were unfocused as he tried to remember what he’d Seen. At last he shook his head, clearly frustrated. “It was all too tangled to make out clearly.
He’s not even aware of his own power yet; how can ] read a future that depends upon such awareness?”