Fey 02 - Changeling (20 page)

He had lost everything then.
 
Now all he had was the religion itself, and even that was changing.
 
The 51st Rocaan seemed to have no understanding of the important things in Rocaanism.
 
He lacked the gentleness that his predecessor had, gentleness that made its way to all the lower echelons of the religion.
 
Instead, the 51st Rocaan was concerned with small tricks of language and loopholes in the canon, ways to give himself power, ways to lord himself over the King.

Putting King Alexander's body in the Tabernacle was just one way of doing this.
 
Titus suspected things would get worse now.
 
King Nicholas would probably be no match for the 51st Rocaan.

Power.
 
Amazing that it all boiled down to power.
 
To Titus, Rocaanism was about faith, not power.
 
Titus had survived the Invasion.
 
He had survived being in the Fey's lair, and he had survived the ghastly attack on the 50th Rocaan.
 
Titus knew the Holy One was watching over him.
 
He knew that he had God's Eye.

The 51st Rocaan sometimes acted as if God did not exist.

Simon, one of the other Danites, walked over to Titus.
 
Simon was almost twice Titus's age.
 
He had been a Danite for a decade, and would probably remain one for the rest of his life.
 
He was slender and short, his black robe always impeccably groomed, his feet encased in expensive sandals.
 
Most Danites went barefoot to imitate the Roca's experience in his youth.
 
It was an unspoken idea that only the non-believers wore shoes.

Like Titus, Simon was a second son.
 
Only he had never understood the traditions of the church.
 
He had seen it only as a font for his ambitions.
 
He had snapped at Titus when he learned that Titus headed the burial detail for the King.
 
For some reason, Simon had thought it would go to him.

"Are you sure we're on the right road?" Simon asked.
 

His voice was thin and raspy, a disadvantage when he performed Sacrament at kirks outside of Jahn.
 
One of the Officiates, the men who actually administrated the Tabernacle and the kirks, had told Titus that Simon's voice and ambition were the main reasons he would never go higher in Rocaanism.

"This is where the Elder told us to go," Titus said.
 
He struggled to keep his voice calm.
 
He too had been wondering if he got the location right.
 
Somehow he had expected the funeral procession to be waiting for them.
 
But traveling across the Isle took time, particularly in the spring when the parties could run into all sorts of unexpected occurrences.

"Perhaps you misheard him," Simon said.

"Leave the boy alone," said Gregor.
 
He was an elderly Danite and should, by rights, have been the real leader of the burial detail.
 
But Danites past a certain age served only as assistants and traveling clerics.
 
They were considered to have no ambition and no beliefs, both of which were important in the Tabernacle.
 
"Your carping will make no difference.
 
You'll need to accept that he is a favorite of Matthias."

"The Rocaan."
 
Simon corrected Gregor in a sullen tone.

"Yes," Gregor said, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
 
"The Rocaan."

Titus understood that smile.
 
Gregor had once been one of The Rocaan's instructors, decades ago.
 
Now the Rocaan had risen to the position of God's Beloved, leaving Gregor far behind.
 
"I am not a favorite," Titus said.
 
"Elder Eirman told me to come here."

"At Matthias's instruction," Gregor said.

"The boy is a believer."
 
Simon said the words as if being a believer were a sin.

Gregor looked down at Simon's clad feet.
 
Of all the Danites on burial detail, he was the only one wearing sandals.
 
"Matthias has a fondness for believers," Gregor said.
 
"He always has."

Titus frowned.
 
He thought back to the changes in the Tabernacle since the death of the 50th Rocaan.
 
One of them was that believers often held positions of importance.
 
Titus had always thought that because the believers struggled to fill positions vacated by the scholars, hoping to protect the Tabernacle.
 
He had never thought that believers held those positions because the Rocaan wanted them to.

"He's doing this wrong," Titus said.
 
He flushed as he spoke.
 
He knew it wasn't wise to speak against the Rocaan, but he couldn't hold it in any longer.
 
"We should be taking the body to the palace burial grounds."

"Believers," Simon muttered and walked away.
 
He stood by some Auds, far enough away to be out of the conversation, but close enough to hear every word.

"What makes you so certain?" Gregor asked.
 
His voice, unlike Simon's, was deep and resonant.
 
He would have made a great Elder, standing before the congregations every morning and midnight, speaking the words of the Roca.

Titus glanced at Gregor.
 
The older man was watching the road, his time-worn features calm.
 
He seemed more intent on the emptiness before him than on Titus's answer.

"It's ceremony," Titus said.
 
"Ceremony developed by the first Rocaan based on the Roca's wishes."

"Based on what the first Rocaan
thought
the Roca's wishes were.
 
Remember that Matthias is a scholar, one of our best.
 
He may have uncovered information that showed him that the first Rocaan did not follow the Roca's wishes."

Titus shook his head.
 
"The first Rocaan knew the Roca.
 
He would have known what the Roca wanted."

"The way you know what the 51st Rocaan wants?"

Titus stiffened.
 
He hated lessons taught in this manner.
 
"I don't know him."

"You know him better than you know the Roca," Gregor said.
 
"The Roca is a figure of myth to you.
 
You see Matthias daily."

"But I never speak to him."

"It's not your job to speak to him, or to guess at his motives.
 
If he wants the body taken to the Tabernacle, he has a good reason."

"Other than ambition?" Titus's flush grew.
 
He couldn't keep quiet about this.
 
The Rocaan's actions had been bothering him for months now.
 

"Ambition?" Gregor chuckled.
 
"Matthias was never ambitious.
 
Only bored.
 
Besides, what kind of ambition could he have?
 
He's Rocaan.
 
One cannot go higher in the Tabernacle."

"What about King?"
 

The nearby Auds gasped.
 
Simon glanced in Titus's direction, then quickly looked away.
 
Gregor turned away from the road.
 
Age had blunted his features, made his blue eyes watery, his nose flat.
 
He was the only one who did not seem upset by Titus's comment.

"Young Nicholas is our King now."

"I know," Titus said, "but —"

"No," Gregor said, his voice firm.
 
"You don't know.
 
It all seems so simple to someone of your age.
 
A man wants to move on.
 
He wants power.
 
He wants to control the world around him.
 
Once he becomes powerful, he will want more power."

Simon stopped pretending to ignore them.
 
He came closer.
 
The Auds had turned in their direction as well.
 
The breeze seemed cooler.
 
Titus resisted the urge to wrap his arms around his waist.

"Matthias turned down the position of Rocaan," Gregor said.
 
"He turned it down many times, claiming that a scholar had no place in the job.
 
The 50th Rocaan said that Matthias was Anointed.
 
Matthias is the one who discovered the powers of holy water.
 
Matthias has discovered secrets behind the beliefs that no one in all the centuries could discover.
 
The 50th Rocaan knew this.
 
He appointed Matthias Rocaan twice, first by giving him the secret to holy water early and second by putting him in power before the meeting with the Fey.
 
When you question the 51st Rocaan's motives, you question the wisdom of the 50th Rocaan for appointing him to the post."

The breeze grew strong.
 
Dust kicked up on the road, making tiny swirling eddies around Titus's bare feet.
 
The flush in his cheeks felt permanent despite the growing cold.
 
"I didn't know that," he said finally.

Gregor put a hand on his arm.
 
"We all question our leaders, especially after we realize they're as human as the rest of us.
 
The 50th Rocaan had been in power so long he seemed the embodiment of the Tabernacle.
 
But when he became Rocaan, two Elders left the church.
 
Were they right to do so?
 
God knows.
 
But we never will."

Titus swallowed.
 
His mouth was dry.
 
He understood the lecture.
 
Never question, always listen, believe that God knows best.
 
But it seemed to him that the 51st Rocaan was walking the wrong path.
 
Wouldn't God be speaking to Titus then?

"So we shouldn't question the Rocaan?" Titus asked.

"Never behind his back," Gregor said.
 
"Only to his face, and then only when you are alone.
 
Belief is more than believing in God and the Roca, Titus.
 
It also requires faith in God's anointed."

Titus nodded.
 
Even his ears felt hot.
 
He wanted this conversation to end.
 
Quickly.
 
Simon was grinning at him.
 
Simon, who would never make this mistake.
 
Simon was too ambitious.

A thought that Titus shouldn't have.
 
His mother had always said a man should have charity in his thoughts.
 
He had lacked that, even with Simon.

As quickly as it arose, the wind died back.
 
Over the rise, horses appeared.
 
Seven horses with six riders.
 
The center horse, a black stallion, carried a large wooden box on its back.
 
Most of the riders were guards, but Titus recognized one of them as Monte, head of the King's guards.
 
A Danite rode a good distance behind them.
 
He must have been a roving Danite, because Titus did not know him.

A thread of nervousness ran through Titus's stomach.
 
Perhaps Gregor had a point.
 
Titus shouldn't question.
 
To have a body on a horse was considered bad luck as well, but the Words Written and Unwritten stressed that a body must be in the ground within the week of its death.
 
Either the King would have had to be buried in the Marshes, or he would have to come Jahn by horseback.
 
Both traditions could not have been observed in this case.

With a movement of his arm, Titus gathered his Auds.
 
He had chosen them all for their youth and strength.
 
The Danites were Elder Eirman's choice.
 
Simon would sprinkle the casket with sacred herbs, Gregor would make the chant, and Titus would say the Blessing upon arrival in the Tabernacle.
 
The Officiates were supposed to have blocked the road all the way to the Tabernacle so that the King's body would have privacy in its passage.
 
Titus hoped so.
 
He did not believe that the Isle needed any more misfortune.

The riders pulled up a few feet from the Auds.
 
Monte dismounted.
 
His clothes were mud-covered, and he had deep lines in his face.
 
His skin was sallow and sunken against his bones.
 
His hair fell lank and listless over his brow.
 
He nodded to Gregor who turned to Titus in a silent correction.
 
Monte nodded again.
 
Titus returned the nod.