How Firm a Foundation (23 page)

“I’m not going to tell you that’s what you’re doing. I could point out any number of factors in your life which could account for stress, for worry, for outrage, even for the need
to punish yourself for surviving when your father and your uncle and so many people you’ve known all your life have been so cruelly butchered. I believe it would be completely valid to argue that all of those factors combined would be enough to push anyone into questioning his faith, and that’s the basis of any true vocation, my son. Faith … and love.

“But I don’t believe your faith
has
wavered.”
Staynair shook his head, tipping his chair further back. “I’ve seen no sign of it, and I know your love for your fellow children of God is as warm and vital today as it ever was. Still, even the most faithful and loving of hearts may not hold a true priest’s vocation. And despite what the Office of Inquisition may have taught, I must tell you I’ve known men who I believe had true and burning
vocations who
have
lost them. It can happen, however much we may wish it couldn’t, and when it does those who have lost them are cruelest of all in punishing themselves for it. Deep inside, they believe not that they’ve lost their vocation, but that it was taken from them. That they proved somehow inadequate to the tasks God had appointed for them, and that because of that inadequacy and failure
He stripped away that spark of Himself which had drawn them into this service in the joy of loving Him.

“Only it doesn’t work that way, my son.”

Staynair let his chair come forward, planting his elbows wide apart on his desk blotter and folding his hands while he leaned forward across them.

“God does not strip Himself away from anyone. The only way we can lose God is to walk away from Him.
That is the absolute, central, unwavering core of my own belief … and of yours.” He looked directly into Paityr’s gray eyes. “Sometimes we can stumble, lose our way. Children often do that. But as a loving parent
always
does, God is waiting when we do, calling to us so that we can hear His voice and follow it home once more. The fact that a priest has lost his vocation to serve
as a priest
doesn’t
mean he’s lost his vocation to be one of God’s children. If you should decide that, in fact, you are no longer called to the priesthood, I will grant you a temporary easing of your vows while you meditate upon what it would then be best for you to do. I don’t think that’s what you need, but if
you
think so, you must be the best judge, and I’ll go that far towards abiding by your judgment. I implore
you, however, not to take an irrevocable step before that judgment is certain. And whatever you finally decide, know this—you are a true child of God, and whether it be as a priest or as a member of the laity, He has many tasks yet for you to do … as do I.”

Paityr sat very still, and deep inside he felt a flicker of resentment, and that resentment touched the anger which was so much a part of
him these days. It was like the breath of a bellows, fanning the fire, and that shamed him … which only made the anger perversely stronger. It was irrational of him to feel that way, and he knew it. It was also small-minded and childish, and he knew that, too. But he realized now that what he’d really wanted was for Staynair to reassure him that he couldn’t possibly have lost his vocation. That when
the
Writ
said a priest was a priest forever it meant a true vocation was just as imperishable as the Inquisition had always insisted it was.

And instead, the archbishop had given him this. Had given him, he realized, nothing but the truth and compassion and love … and a refusal to treat him as a child.

The silence stretched out, and then Staynair sat back in his chair once more.

“I don’t know
if this will make any difference to what you’re thinking and feeling at this moment, my son, but you’re not the only priest in this room who ever questioned whether or not he had a true vocation.”

Paityr’s eyes widened, and Staynair smiled crookedly.

“Oh, yes, there was a time—before you were born; I’m not as young as I used to be, you know—but there
was
a time when a very young under-priest
named Maikel Staynair wondered if he hadn’t made a horrible mistake in taking his vows. The things going on in his life were less cataclysmic than what you’ve experienced in the last few years, but they seemed quite cataclysmic enough for his purposes. And he was angry at God.” Their eyes met once more, and Paityr felt a jolt go through his soul. “Angry at God the same way the most loving of children
can be angry at his father or his mother if that father or mother seems to have failed him. Seems to have let terrible things happen when he didn’t have to. That young under-priest didn’t even realize he was angry. He simply thought he was … confused. That the world had turned out to be bigger and more complex than he’d thought it was. And because he’d been taught it was unforgivable to be angry
at
God
, he internalized all that anger and aimed it at himself in the form of doubts and self-condemnation.”

Paityr’s jaw tightened as he felt the echo of that young Maikel Staynair’s experience in himself. Until this moment, he wouldn’t have thought Staynair could ever have felt what the archbishop was describing to him now. Maikel Staynair’s faith and love burned with a bright, unwavering flame.
That flame, that unshakable inner serenity, was the reason he could walk into a hostile cathedral in a place like Corisande and reach out even to people who’d been prepared to hate and revile him as a heretic. Not only reach out to them but inspire them to reach back to
him
in response. It was who and what he
was
. How could a man like that, a
priest
like that, ever have been touched with the darkness
and corrosion Paityr felt gnawing at his own soul?

“What … May I ask what that young under-priest did, Your Eminence?” he asked after a long, aching moment, and to his own surprise, he managed to smile. “I mean, it’s obvious he managed to cope with it somehow after all.”

“Indeed he did.” Staynair nodded. “But he didn’t do it by himself. He reached out to others. He shared his doubts and his
confusion and learned to recognize the anger for what it was and to realize it’s the people we love most—and who most love us—who can make us angriest of all. I wouldn’t want to say”—the archbishop’s smile became something suspiciously grin-like—“that he was a
stubborn
young man, but I suppose some people who knew him then might have leapt to that erroneous conclusion. For that matter,
some
people
might actually think he’s
still
a bit stubborn. Foolish of them, of course, but people can be that way, can’t they?”

“I, ah, suppose they can, Your Eminence. Some of them, I mean.”

“Your natural and innate sense of tact is one of the things I’ve always most admired in you, Father Paityr,” Staynair replied. Then he squared his shoulders.

“All jesting aside, I needed help, and I think you could
use some of that same help. For that matter, I think you’re probably less pigheaded and stubborn about availing yourself of it than I was. As your Archbishop, I’m going to strongly suggest that before you do anything else, before you make any decisions, you retire for a retreat at the same monastery to which I retreated. Will you do that for me? Will you spend a few five-days thinking and contemplating
and possibly seeing some truths you haven’t seen before, or haven’t seen as clearly as you’d thought you had?”

“Of course, Your Eminence,” Paityr said simply.

“Very well. In that case, I’ll send a message to Father Zhon at Saint Zherneau’s and tell him to expect you.”

.VII.

HMS
Dawn Star
, 58, Hannah Bay, and Ducal Palace, Carmyn, Grand Duchy of Zebediah

It was even hotter than the first time he’d been to Hannah Bay, Merlin thought. And while that might be of primarily theoretical interest to a PICA, it was of rather more pressing relevance to the flesh-and-blood members of
Dawn Star
’s still breathing ship’s company. Particularly to those—like Empress Sharleyan
herself—who’d been born Chisholmians and not Old Charisians.

“Dear God,” Sharleyan said, fanning herself as she stepped out onto the awning-shaded quarterdeck with Sergeant Seahamper, “you warned me it would be hot, Merlin, but
this
—!”

“I’ll admit I didn’t expect it to be quite this warm,” Merlin said. “On the other hand, you
are
almost directly on the equator, Your Majesty.”

“A point which
has been drawn rather sharply to my attention,” she replied tartly.

“At least you’re not the only one suffering from it,” Merlin offered helpfully, eliciting a glare of truly imperial proportions.

Crown Princess Alahnah had been a happier baby since the stormy weather had eased, but it would appear she had not yet developed her father’s tolerance for warm temperatures. “Cranky” was a frail description
of her current mood, as Sharleyan was better aware than most.

“Perhaps I’d better rephrase that, Your Majesty,” he said, and heard something suspiciously like a chuckle from Seahamper’s direction. He glanced at the grizzled sergeant, but Seahamper only smiled back at him blandly.

“Perhaps you had,” Sharleyan agreed pointedly, reclaiming his attention from her personal armsman. “Unless
you’d
care to go see if you can get your goddaughter into a more cheerful mood yourself, that is.”

“It’s always my honor to undertake even the most difficult of tasks in your service, Your Majesty,” Merlin replied with a bow. “
Impossible
tasks, however, are beyond the abilities even of
seijins
.”

“Don’t I know it!” Sharleyan said feelingly.

The empress walked to the rail and the officers and seamen
whose station was the quarterdeck moved back to give her space as she stood gazing out across the bay’s blue waters. They looked seductively cool as they sparkled and flashed in the relentless, brilliant sunlight, and she wished fervently that she could take advantage of that coolness. Unfortunately, she had other things to deal with, and her mouth tightened as she looked at the six Imperial Charisian
Navy galleons anchored in company with
Dawn Star
. Twenty more galleons—transports flying the imperial banner—lay between them and shore, with lighters and longboats ferrying their cargo of Imperial Army troops ashore. She doubted very much that those reinforcements were going to be necessary, given Tohmys Symmyns’ unpopularity with the people of Zebediah. In fact, she’d argued against bringing
them along, but that wasn’t an argument Cayleb or the Duke of Eastshare, the Army’s commander, had been willing to entertain, and Merlin had voted with them. Rather enthusiastically, in fact, if her memory served.

“I hope none of the Zebediahans are going to take the wrong message from this,” she said now, quietly enough that only Merlin’s ears could hear her.

“I’m not sure there
is
a wrong
message they could take from it,” he replied sub-vocally from behind her, and she smiled slightly as she heard his voice over the com earplug. “I think it’s as important for the lesser nobility and the commoners to understand you and Cayleb aren’t going to put up with any more nonsense as it is for any of Zebediah’s more nobly born confidants to get the same message. Nobody in a place like Zebediah
is going to stick his neck out in support of what may be a simply transitory regime. Unless they’re pretty sure you plan to hang around—and to enforce the new rules—people are likely to keep their heads down. Especially when you add in the fact that coming out in favor of Charisian rule is going to get them on the wrong side of the Inquisition and Mother Church, as well.”

“I know,” she murmured
back. “I just can’t help thinking about Hektor’s efforts. These people haven’t had a lot of good experiences with foreign troops, Merlin.”

“No,” he agreed, enhanced vision watching the first squads of Army troops debarking onto Carmyn’s wharves. “It’s time we changed that, though, and Kynt is just the man to make a good start in that direction.”

Sharleyan nodded. Kynt Clareyk, the Baron of Green
Valley, was an ex-Marine. Although only a recent addition to the inner circle, he’d cherished his suspicions for some time where
Seijin
Merlin’s role in the innovations which had made Charis’ survival possible were concerned. He was also one of the new Imperial Army’s most highly regarded officers. Even his Chisholmian-born fellows, who tended to regard Marines as excellent for boarding actions
and smash and grab raids but fairly useless for extended campaigns, listened very carefully to anything Green Valley had to say.

“I can’t help wishing we had something which more immediately demanded his talents, though,” she said after a moment. “Or perhaps I should say I hope nothing happens
here
which immediately demands his talents.”

“Until we figure out how somebody with an army our size
invades something the size of the mainland, I think this is probably the best use for his talents we’re likely to find,” Merlin said philosophically. “Thank God. For a while there I was afraid we might really need him in Corisande after all.”

“That could still happen,” Sharleyan pointed out.

“Not with Koryn Gahrvai and his father sitting on the situation,” Merlin disagreed. “The only real chance
Craggy Hill’s lot had was to convince the Duke of Margo and the Temple Loyalists to support them against the Regency Council’s ‘traitorous ambition to replace our rightful Prince with their own tyrannical despotism in the service of traitors, blasphemers, and heretics.’ When that appeal fell flat, I knew we had them. For now, at least.”

“I wish you hadn’t felt compelled to add the qualifier,”
she said dryly.

“To quote a truly ancient aphorism from Old Terra, ‘Nothing’s sure but death and taxes,’ Your Majesty.” Merlin smiled as the empress’ straight, slender shoulders quivered with suppressed laughter, then cleared his throat.