How Firm a Foundation (32 page)

“Correct.” Wylsynn nodded.

“Of course it doesn’t.” Merlin shook his head. “That’s
the adapter, Father. It takes the energy you’ve stored in the Stone and feeds it to the memory module. And when it does, the module projects images, doesn’t it?”

“That’s precisely what it does,” Wylsynn said grimly, “and if you hadn’t demonstrated your ‘com’ and its ability to generate ‘holograms,’ I would never have believed a word any of you told me. Because, you see, I’ve
seen
the image of
the ‘Holy Schueler’ himself. I’ve heard his voice. Until this very day, I’ve believed—deeply and truly believed—that my family and I had been directly touched by the very finger of God. And I’d
still
believe that … if you hadn’t just shown me exactly the same sort of ‘vision’ which has lied to my family for nine centuries.”

Merlin sat silent for a long, still moment. It had never occurred to
him that anyone associated with the Temple might possess such an artifact. Yet now that he knew, he also realized the blow the truth had delivered to Paityr Wylsynn was even crueler than anything it had done to anyone else. The young Schuelerite’s faith had been so sure, so total, because he’d
known
he’d been in the very presence of God … or in the presence of one of God’s Archangels, at least.
Now he knew how bitterly betrayed he and all his family had actually been—knew his father and uncle had gone to their deaths seduced and lied to by the very vision which had lied to
him,
as well.

In that moment, Merlin’s own soul cried out against what had been done—what
he’d
done—to Paityr Wylsynn. How could any mortal being be expected to deal with something like this? How could any faith,
any belief, not be twisted into something bitter and cold and hateful after the realization of a betrayal so profound, so complete, and so personal?

“My son,” Maikel Staynair said quietly into the silence, his expression sad, “I understand the reasons for your pain. I doubt I can truly imagine its
depth,
but I understand its cause. And I believe I can at least imagine the extent to which you
must now question all you ever knew or ever believed—not just about the Church, and not just about the ‘Archangels,’ but about everything. About yourself, about God, about how much of the vocation you’ve felt was solely the result of deception. About how you could have been so stupid as to be deceived, and how so many generations of your family could have dedicated themselves—
sacrificed
themselves—to
the lie you’ve just discovered. It can be no other way.”

Wylsynn looked at him, and the archbishop shook his head gently.

“My son—Paityr—I will never fault you if you decide
all
of it was a lie, and that God does not and never did exist. After discovering a deception such as this, it would
take
an archangel not to lash out in the bitterness and the fury it’s so justly awakened within you. And
if that happens, you must never blame yourself for it, either. If you decide—if
you
decide—God doesn’t exist, then you must not punish yourself in the stillness of your own mind for turning away from all you were taught to believe and revere. I hope and pray that won’t happen. The depth and strength of the faith I’ve seen out of you is too great for me to want to see it cast away for any reason.
But I would rather see it discarded cleanly than see you trying to
force
a life into it when it no longer has pulse or breath of its own. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

Wylsynn looked back at the archbishop for several seconds, then nodded slowly.

“I think so, Your Eminence,” he said slowly. “And I’m not sure what’s going to happen. You’re right that I now know the faith which has
carried me so far has been only the shadow cast by a direct and personal lie. Yet that’s true of all of us, I suppose, isn’t it?
My
lie’s been more spectacular than that of others, but all of us have been lied to. So in the final analysis, what I have to determine is whether it’s the way in which the lie is transmitted or the lie itself which truly matters … and whether a lie can still contain
even the tiniest grain of truth.”

“If it’s any consolation, my son,” Staynair said with a crooked smile, “the
Writ
wasn’t the first holy book to say that faith grows like a mustard seed. God works from tiny beginnings to great ends.”

“I hope you’re right, Your Eminence. Or I
think
I do. It’s going to be a while before I can decide whether or not I
want
my faith to survive, I’m afraid.”

“Of
course it is,” Staynair said simply.

Wylsynn nodded, then turned back to Merlin.

“At any rate, Merlin, your description of how the Key works was accurate. When Father showed it to me, it projected images, visions—holograms—of the Archangel Schueler himself, instructing us in our family’s responsibilities.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I sometimes think that was one reason my family’s always supported
a … gentler approach for the Inquisition. The Schueler of the Key isn’t the grim and terrible Schueler who prescribed the Question and the Punishment. Stern, yes, but without the demeanor of someone who could demand such hideous punishment for a child of God who was merely mistaken.”

“I never knew the real Schueler,” Merlin said. “Nimue may have met him, but if so, it was after she’d recorded
 … me.” He smiled sadly. “Because of that, I’ve never seen any reason not to assume
The Book of Schueler
was written by the ‘Archangel Schueler,’ but we really don’t have confirmation of the authorship of
any
of the books of the
Writ
, when you come down to it. For that matter,
The Book of Schueler
wasn’t part of the original, early copy of the
Writ
Commodore Pei left in Nimue’s Cave. The entire
thing was extensively reworked after Langhorne took out the Alexandrian Enclave—inevitably, I suppose—and
The Book of Schueler
and
The Book of Chihiro
were both added. I don’t know if it’s any consolation, Father, but it really is possible the actual Schueler never wrote the book credited to him. And if he didn’t, then he isn’t the author of the Question and the Punishment, either.”

“I would
like to believe that was the case,” Wylsynn said softly after a moment. “I’d like to believe not
everything
I thought I knew was a lie. And if it’s true my family actually is descended from the real Schueler, it would ease my heart to know he wasn’t capable of decreeing such hideous penalties in defense of a ‘religion’ he knew was nothing but a lie.”

He was silent again for a moment. Then he
gave himself a shake.

“However that may be,” he continued more briskly, “what my family’s referred to as ‘the Vision of the Archangel Schueler’ for as long as we can remember instructs us not simply in our duty to keep Mother Church untainted, without stain, focused on her great mission in the world, but also charges us with a special responsibility. A Key within the Key, as it were.”

“I beg
your pardon?” Merlin asked.

“There’s a chamber under the Temple,” Wylsynn told him. “I’ve never actually been there, but I’ve seen it in ‘the Vision.’ I know the way to it, and I can picture it in my mind’s eye even now. And within that chamber is an altar, one with ‘God lights’ set into its surface. There are also two handprints, one each for a right and a left hand, on either side of a small,
circular recess. According to ‘the Vision,’ if one truly dedicated to God and His plan places the Key in that recess and his hands in those imprints and calls upon Schueler’s name, the power of God Himself will awaken to defend Mother Church in her hour of need.”

Merlin felt the heart he no longer had stop beating.

“According to ‘the Vision,’ it may be done only once, and only in the hour of
Mother Church’s
true
need,” Wylsynn continued. “Knowing Father and Uncle Hauwerd, there’s no way they would have viewed the Reformist movement as a genuine threat to Mother Church. The Church of Charis has made no demands which actually conflict with the
Writ
in any way, and they would have realized that as well as I do. I’m sure the schism distressed them deeply, and that both of them were profoundly
concerned about the implications for the unity of God’s church and plan, but the Temple would have had to be threatened with actual physical invasion before either of them would have felt the time had come to awaken God’s power in the Church’s defense. There’s no doubt in my mind that both of them agreed with the Reformists’ indictments of the vicarate and believed the Reformists were truer
sons of God than the Group of Four could ever be. I don’t know where that would have led them in the end, but there’s no way they would have presumed to beseech God to strike down men and women they believed were simply attempting to live the lives and the faith God had ordained for them from the beginning.”

The others were all looking at Merlin, and Cayleb cleared his throat.

“Is that ‘altar’
what I’m afraid it is?” he asked carefully.

“I don’t know … but it certainly could be,” Merlin said unhappily. “I don’t know what would happen if someone obeyed Schueler’s commands. It might simply trigger some sort of reaction out of the bombardment platform. Or, for that matter, one of the things I’ve been afraid of for some time is that Langhorne—or whoever built the Temple after Langhorne
was dead—could have included an AI in the master plan. Something like Owl, but probably with more capacity. Only I’d decided that couldn’t be the case, because if there were an AI monitoring what the vicarate’s been up to for the last two or three centuries, it probably would’ve already intervened. But if there’s something like that down there that’s on standby, waiting for a human command to wake
it up.…”

His voice trailed off, and Cayleb, Staynair, and Waignair looked at one another tautly.

“I have far too little grasp of this ‘technology’ you’ve described to even guess whether or not there’s an ‘AI’ involved,” Wylsynn said. “I only know that if ‘the Vision’ is telling the truth and the ritual is properly performed,
something
will respond.”

“But no one beyond your family even knows
about the ritual?” Cayleb asked, and Wylsynn shrugged.

“To the best of my knowledge, no, Your Majesty. On the other hand, so far as I know, none of the other families in the vicarate were aware of what
my
family knew, either. We always believed on the basis of what ‘the Vision’ told us that we’d been chosen, singled out, as the only guardians of that chamber and altar, but there may have actually
been others. The Stone’s existence was known, of course, although most people believe it was lost forever at Saint Evrahard’s death. So far as we knew, no one else had ever been informed of the Key’s existence, although, in more recent years, Father came to fear from some things he’d heard that perhaps someone else
did
know at least something about the Key and the Stone’s continued existence.
He never said who that someone might be, but I know he was concerned by the possibility of one or both of them falling into hands which might well misuse them.”

“I wish
we
could get our hands on that damned Key!” Merlin said forcefully, and Wylsynn surprised him with a chuckle.

“What?” Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “I said something funny?”

“No,” Wylsynn said. “But when I said Father and Uncle Hauwerd
wouldn’t have petitioned God to strike the Reformists, I suppose I should really have said they
couldn’t
have. When Father suggested I should take the post as Archbishop Erayk’s intendant here in Charis, he sent me on my way at least in part to keep certain things out of Clyntahn’s reach. With the Stone, of course, but also with a family keepsake. A paperweight.”

“The ‘Key’ is here in
Charis?
” Cayleb demanded.

“Sitting on the corner of my desk in the Patent Office, Your Majesty,” Wylsynn confirmed.

“With your permission, Father, I’d like to have one of Owl’s remotes collect that from you and take it back to Nimue’s Cave where we can examine it properly,” Merlin said, watching Wylsynn’s face carefully.

“Of course you have my permission … not that I imagine there’s much I could do
to stop you,” Wylsynn replied with a half smile. Then his expression sobered once more. “Just as I’m reasonably confident that if it turns out you were … ill-advised to tell me the truth about the Church and the Archangels, there wouldn’t be much I could do to stop you from correcting your error.”

The silence was sudden and intense, lingering until Wylsynn himself broke it with a small, dry chuckle.

“I’m an inquisitor, a Schuelerite,” he said. “Surely you didn’t imagine I could hear what you’ve told me and not recognize what you’d have to do if you thought I might betray you? I’m sure all of you—especially you, Your Eminence—would deeply regret the necessity, but I’m also sure you’d do it. And if you’re telling me the truth, which I believe you are, you’d have no choice.”

“I hope you won’t
be offended by this, Father, but at this particular moment you remind me rather strongly of Prince Nahrmahn,” Merlin said.

“Yes, I’m sure it would’ve occurred to the Prince, as well,” Wylsynn said thoughtfully.

“And to his wife, too,” Cayleb said. “I think she’s just as smart as he is, and she hasn’t lived with him that long without recognizing necessity when she sees it.”

“All I can tell you
is that at this moment I feel no inclination to betray your confidence, Your Majesty.” Wylsynn shrugged. “Obviously, I’m still in something of a state of shock. I don’t know how I’m going to feel about it tomorrow, or the next day. I will promise this, however. Archbishop Maikel’s always extended me his trust, and I won’t abuse that now. With your permission, Your Eminence, I request permission
to withdraw to Saint Zherneau’s again for the next five-day or so. I truly do need to spend some time in meditation and thought, for obvious reasons.” He grimaced. “But I’d also like the opportunity to examine Saint Zherneau’s journal for myself, and to spend some additional time speaking with Father Zhon and the rest of the Brethren who’ve grappled with the same issues rather longer than I have.
That should keep me out of the public eye while I do some grappling of my own, which will also spare you the necessity of returning me to the genteel confinement I enjoyed immediately after Archbishop Erayk’s departure for the Temple.”