Quite the opposite, his brother had never shown much interest in, or ability with, the Ring Stones. Mars was a brawler, and often spoke of Marcalo De’Unnero as the epitome of dedication within the Abellican Order. Often had the brothers argued over the respective, and colliding, philosophies of Avelyn and De’Unnero. Those arguments had become so heated that Arri had supported his brother’s decision to leave St. Gwendolyn those five years before.
“The window of Brother Avelyn will be rebuilt,” Arri replied, and he saw that his remark had stung his brother. “Perhaps it will be dedicated to St. Avelyn when it is finished anew.”
He studied his brother hard as he made that statement, and he saw no resistance there, no surprise, even. Was it resignation, he wondered? Or an honest epiphany?
“Why have you left St.-Mere-Abelle?” Arri asked. “Did you fight beside Marcalo De’Unnero?”
Beside him, Sister Mary Ann sucked in her breath in shock, and more than a little budding anger.
“No, of course not!” Mars replied. “I served on a catapult crew, throwing stones and pitch at the approaching army of King Aydrian.”
“Then why are you here, without your robes?”
“They know,” Mars admitted, lowering his gaze. “Or think they know.”
“Know?” Sister Mary Ann asked.
“They believe me loyal to De’Unnero and I fear Bishop Braumin’s retribution,” Mars admitted. “He is an angry man. There has been much tragedy and will be more, I fear.”
“And are you?” Mary Ann pressed, her jaw tight as if she meant to lash out at the man at any moment. “Loyal?”
Mars shot her an equally hostile stare.
“Denounce De’Unnero,” Master Arri insisted, stepping between them. “Here and now, to me, your brother.”
Mars looked at him incredulously.
“Can you?” Arri asked.
“Of course.”
“Then do it,” said Mary Ann. “Renounce the man who led to the murder of many of my friends at St. Gwendolyn. Renounce the man who murdered many who had been friends to Brother Mars — or did you leave any friends behind, brother?”
“Enough, sister,” Master Arri demanded.
“I renounce Marcalo De’Unnero,” Brother Mars said simply, never blinking and never turning his gaze from Sister Mary Ann as he spoke. “I was not part of his heresy, nor is there any evidence contrary to that claim.”
“Yet you ran from St.-Mere-Abelle,” Sister Mary Ann pressed.
“Sister, you have your own…situation, to consider,” Arri reminded, silencing her. He stepped more fully between the two and turned to face his brother directly. “You accompany me to the mother abbey. I will speak for you.”
Mars stared him doubtfully.
“I intend to return to St. Gwendolyn. I will ask Bishop Braumin and the others to grant me the abbey as my own. I would like my brother by my side in that endeavor.”
Mars leaned to the side to stare at Sister Mary Ann one last time, then met his brother’s gaze and nodded.
“Dancing?” Master Viscenti said skeptically, shaking his head as he stared at the chessboard and Bishop Braumin’s toppled king. He looked up at Pagonel. “Our answer is dancing?”
“Your answer lies in harmony,” the Jhesta Tu explained. “I have studied your martial training techniques, and they are quite good, though quite limited.”
Viscenti stiffened uncomfortably at that slight, and Braumin Herde turned his gaze over the mystic.
“Your monks train to fight, and fight very well,” Pagonel went on. “Matched up singly, they would prove a formidable opponent to any of the other warriors I have known throughout the lands. I have no doubt that the best of your warrior monks could ably battle the average Jhesta Tu in single combat, even without the gemstones.”
The two monks glanced at each other then back at Pagonel, neither appearing certain if they were being insulted or not.
“But a group of Abellicans would fall quickly before a similar group of Jhesta Tu,” Pagonel explained. “We train in harmonious combat.” He pointed to the chess board. “We train to assume different roles in the battle, working in unison to uncover our opponents’ weaknesses. You do not, and that is a major flaw in your techniques.”
“There are examples of groups of brothers working in unison to bring forth great power from the Ring Stones,” Viscenti argued.
“Such would do little for a group of monks engaged in close combat against a band of powries,” Pagonel said. “A fine defense behind your high walls, I agree. Has your Church that luxury now?”
Viscenti started to counter, but Braumin Herde held him back. “What do you suggest?” he asked the southerner.
“Train teams of monks to work in unison, like a singular weapon possessed of deadly options.”
“Our methods date back centuries,” Viscenti argued.
“Have you the luxury to adhere to tradition in this time?” Pagonel asked. “Are there not, even now, disciples of Marcalo De’Unnero roaming the countryside or claiming chapels as their own? Do you doubt that they will come against you, and in short time? New King Midalis’s kingdom is no less in disarray than your church, good monks. Fix that which is near to home and the King will be forever grateful.”
“You speak of altering our training,” Braumin said, shaking his head doubtfully. “Yet, regarding your last statement — and I do not disagree — if you are correct, it would seem that we have weeks, not years!”
“The sooner you begin to change, the sooner you will arrive at your goal.”
“We haven’t the time!” said Viscenti. He held up his hands helplessly. “We do not even know how many brothers remain after the purge of De’Unnero. We haven’t the time and we haven’t the bodies!”
“Look to the future as you battle the present,” the Jhesta Tu advised. “You must bring many into the Church, and quickly.”
Bishop Braumin sighed profoundly. He looked to Viscenti, both reminded of their long years of preparation and testing before they were even allowed within St.-Mere-Abelle. “It takes years to determine which young hopefuls have affinity to the stones,” he explained to the foreigner. “Even with all that the land has endured in the last years, there are hundreds of young men, some barely more than boys, gathered in academies — convents — and being tested.”
“Convents? I do not know this word.”
“It is like a chapel, but for women who wish to serve the Church,” Viscenti explained.
“I thought the women of your Church served at St. Gwendolyn, mostly, as Sovereign Sisters.”
“Some,” Braumin replied. “But only a very few, and even that practice is not without strong opposition in the Church. Now that St. Gwendolyn-by-the-Sea is, by all reports, vacated, I doubt the practice will continue.”
Pagonel smiled and nodded as if he understood something here the others did not. “So these sisters…”
“They are not sisters,” Braumin interrupted, and adamantly. “They are missionaries. Their role is to serve the towns and to teach the young hopefuls who would be brothers in the Church.”
“And to judge this affinity you speak of?”
“Yes.”
“So these missionaries in the convents understand the Ring Stones?”
“Yes.”
“Possess some stones and can use them?”
“Soul stones, mostly,” Braumin confirmed. “It is not uncommon for the women of the convent to offer some minor healing to the community about them in times of illness.”
The Jhesta Tu flashed that grin again and nodded knowingly.
“And many cannot use the stones?” the mystic pressed. “Even many of those attempting to join the Church? And this is disqualifying?”
“The Ring Stones are the gifts of God, given to the Order of Abelle,” Viscenti said, his tone showing that he was growing somewhat annoyed with Pagonel’s prodding, and seemingly superior attitude. “A man who cannot use the Ring Stones…”
“Or a woman who can,” Pagonel added, and Viscenti narrowed his eyes.