Finally they reached the last stair, and above Sorcha’s head was the closed circle of stone that should lead into Rictun’s chamber. She turned back to Merrick, and caught the faint impression of Raed’s face behind him. “Here’s hoping the Arch Abbot is not asleep right now. Merrick, you did this last time.”
Her partner smiled, then pressed his hand against the smooth surface and whispered one word in Ancient, “Taouilt.”
“You always were the better scholar than I,” she murmured into his ear, as she watched the stone begin to move. They had to go back up a little as the stone steps slid out from the wall. Sorcha led the way into the Arch Abbot’s private bedchamber.
She let out a little sigh of relief. Rictun was not at home, though five small oil lamps were burning in his chamber. She padded around the room investigating while the others clambered out of the tunnel. The last time she had been there, it had been Hastler’s room, and as sparse as a hermit’s abode. Now it was cluttered with all kinds of little gleaming objects. She couldn’t help but grimace as she saw a Harthian coil of gold made into a representation of the little snake god Histo. Such things had no place in any Abbey, since the Order had given up religions nearly a thousand years ago. Also the lush wall hangings were displays of wealth she did not care to see from her Abbot.
Merrick stood at her side and looked at what she was eyeballing so angrily. “It’s not a crime, Sorcha. He is still allowed some possessions of his own.”
She hated it when Merrick reminded her of the truth. So Sorcha grinned rather grimly. “You might be right, but let’s say we try and find him instead of his possessions.”
Merrick’s eyes slid away from her, and she sighed just a little as he shared his Sight with her. By the Bones, she had missed it. He offered his Center and she took it. The world unfurled before her, like an unrolled map, and her senses were flooded with light; every sound filled her ears, from the ants scurrying on the floor, to the cooing of the doves sleeping in their nests under the roof. Without her partner as her anchor she would have been swept away.
Every creature that lived came alive in her mind, and so it didn’t take much to find the other Deacons. They were all in the Devotional, and such a gathering burned as bright as ten signal fires in her vision. They were all there; every single one of them, even the lay Brothers.
That cannot be good. Merrick’s voice in her head was sweet, even when it carried bitter words.
And the Emperor? she responded.
Look, he’s there too. And more. His Center directed her attention. Yes, there was the Emperor, the dull red pulse of command running through him, but there, to his right, was someone else. For some reason it was hard for Merrick to concentrate on the person. The color of his presence kept changing from gray to a flickering gold, and then to something else, something woven and dangerous.
That’s him. Del Rue. Merrick’s outrage flooded her. He has almost given up hiding his true nature. Deceiver. Conspirator. And look he has her.
Yes, Zofiya was there, but her etheric appearance was dire and strange. Like her brother, the shreds of power clung to her, but they were run through with a gleam of gold. It was impossible to taste her emotion among all that confusion.
Merrick brought her back to reality with a jolt, by the simple method of hauling back his Center. He looked around at the three other pairs, and his voice was grim. “We must form a Conclave to stand any chance against del Rue.”
“Sounds impressive,” Raed muttered.
The others were struck dumb for a moment, but Deacon Lujia voiced their concerns adequately enough. “A Conclave can only be made by the Presbyterial Council. None of us have any experience with forming one and…”
Her voice trailed off, and Sorcha jerked around, in something verging on horror. She’d just caught the tail edge of it; Merrick’s wild talent working on her fellow Deacons. Despite everything that they had been through together, she never would have thought he was capable of doing such a thing to members of their own Order.
Her eyes locked with his, while Raed stood by, completely unaware. She should have said something—reprimanded him at the very least—but then she saw the effect on the others. Calmness washed over them, and all doubt and fear drained from their faces. Although she didn’t know much about Conclaves, she knew one important thing—they forged Deacons into one unit with one purpose. Merrick was doing that very thing.
“I know how to do it,” her partner said softly. “The Conclave will be strong, and we will prevail.”
The look he turned on her was harder and darker than any she’d seen on his face before. She did not like it. Thus a unit is made, came his reply.
Many times Sorcha had wished that her young partner would grow up a little, but now that he was doing it, she found it deeply disturbing. She knew he was right, that things were dangerous, and that they had to work together, but to twist their own brothers in such ways felt wrong.
Some things you couldn’t walk away from unscarred. Some things there was no going back from. The chill of the Pattern against her back grew deeper and more profound.
Merrick was no fool; he knew about consequences and had decided to take them on. So Sorcha stepped back to observe what he would do next.
He did it all far too easily. He held the rune Kebenar before him, the one that showed the truth of a situation, and wove it between them. Something else was in there though, the strand of his wild talent binding them, calm and determined, to him.
It was similar to creating a Bond, but he was a Sensitive, not an Active. Yet there he was combining their powers, their runes and their spirits together. It was a beautiful and terrifying thing to watch her young partner create a Conclave.
When he was done, Merrick turned to her. His shoulders sagged a little, and she could feel the darkness in his soul was a little deeper than before. Sorcha couldn’t untangle her feelings of pride and fear however. He was much changed from the raw recruit of last year, full of hope and honest dreams. She would have seen him keep some of that in his life—but it was obviously not to be.
“It wears us all down in the end,” Raed muttered, though she could not tell if it was in response to her thoughts. “This has to be a fool’s errand. What can we accomplish by facing this del Rue?”
Merrick’s smile was bright.
“Everything,” he replied. “Del Rue is dangling us all like puppets from the shadows. He moves us about to achieve his aims. So tonight we drag him kicking and screaming into the light and expose him for what he truly is. Everyone in Arkaym should know the danger, and that the Order of the Circle of Stars has returned. The time for subterfuge is over.”
Raed held his gaze for a spell and then dipped his head in consent. “As always you show your elders the truth of things, Merrick.” He went to the door. “Shall we be about it then?”
The Deacons, as one, nodded. Sorcha opened the door, and gestured Merrick out into the light.
TWENTY-FIVE
An Unholy Enterprise
Merrick, with his Conclave at his back, walked down the corridors that seemed now very unfamiliar. Though he led the way, his heart was racing. His own body felt lighter and more insubstantial than even the Bond with Sorcha. The emotions of so many people in his head distracted him. The strands of the Bonds he had crisscrossed and tangled within him, and he felt as though if he let any of them slip he would be lost.
He had made a Conclave. Something only the Presbyters did, and yet he had gone and done it. Now he held the lives of seven other people in his hands. One wrong move and they could all forget to breathe.