Valdemar Anthology - [Tales of Valdemar 02] - Sun in Glory and Other Tales of Valdemar (40 page)

One and all, the Novices wore simple robes of black, without ornamentation. One by one by they were summoned before Solaris, who administered their vows—surprisingly simple vows—and arrayed them in their black-and-gold vestments. Solaris herself was a glory in her robes of office and crown, covered with bullion, medallions, even plaques of gold, and what wasn't sewn with gold was embroidered with Sun gems. Alberich couldn't imagine how she could stand under the weight of it, yet she moved effortlessly, calling each Priestly candidate forward, taking his—or her, for half of the candidates were
women
—vows, and with the aid of two acolytes, arraying them in their new vestments. So far there was no sign that Solaris had made any special announcement about Talia—her core group of supporters knew, of course, but no one else seemed to. Why was she keeping it all so secret, if this was supposed to be the start of a new alliance?

:Perhaps she's had—advice,:
Kantor suggested. His tone suggested that the advice might have come from a higher authority.

Well, that was certainly possible, but Alberich worried that she had been left to her own devices to orchestrate this, and was playing her game too close.

Or perhaps she didn't intend to announce Talia's origin at all.

That actually made him feel a lot less nervous about this.

Perhaps she just intended to invest Talia without making any fuss about where she was from, and only after they'd gone home would she announce it. There would be no prospect of enraging anyone while the Heralds were still in Karse that way.

That plan would make Alberich a great deal happier than facing the possibility of a riot in the Temple when Solaris announced just what Talia was.

Dirk was equally edgy, actually fidgeting, peering through first one then another of the pierced holes in the stone screen that covered their hiding place. Alberich wished
he
could fidget, but discipline was habit now, and there was nothing he could do to relieve the tension that made him feel as if he vibrated in place. The narrow stone bench on which they sat bit into his thighs, and he wished devoutly that this was all over. . . .

One by one, the candidates approached, said their few words—and he was grateful that nothing in that vow interfered with Talia's pledges to Valdemar and its throne—were bedecked with their heavy trappings, and departed again.

And now, at last, it was Talia's turn.

The sun was at its zenith, and the rays poured down through the skylight above the altar. This was the holiest moment of the holiest day of the calendar and now—

“I summon the last candidate,” Solaris called, in that peculiar, carrying voice of hers that sounded no louder than a simple conversation and yet could be heard in the last rank of worshipers at the rear of the Temple, even though there was a steady murmur of praying and talking. “I call Herald Talia of Valdemar.”

Reaction rippled over the crowd like a wave. Dirk went rigid, and Alberich gripped the stone with both hands. A silence fell that was as heavy as a blanket of lead. Hundreds of heads suddenly swiveled up and forward. Hundreds, thousands of wide, shocked eyes stared at Solaris, at Talia, as the latter bent her head calmly and accepted the vestments of a Priestess of Vkandis. Shock still held them, as Solaris took Talia's hand and turned her to face the crowd so that all of them could hear her take her vows—and could see the Firecat pace slowly down from behind the altar and place himself protectively at Talia's feet, purring, the sound being the only thing other than the two voices that pierced that silence. It did not escape Alberich that Hansa was between Talia and the crowd of worshipers.

Then Solaris spoke, and Hansa muted his purrs. Up until this moment, there had not been real
silence
in the Temple. Now there was, an empty, hollow silence, waiting to be filled. The few words of the vows, spoken in a tone hardly louder than a whisper, echoed at the farthest corners of the Temple.

Then, as the last of Talia's words died away in the awful silence, Solaris spoke again before the silence could be filled by any other.

“The time has come,” Solaris said, in a voice like a clear, silvery trumpet call, addressing Talia, but also the crowd. “The time has come for the ancient enmity between our land and Valdemar to be burned away. It is time for hatred, death, and the taint of spilled blood to be burned away. Will you come with me, and trust to me and to the God to whom you made your vows, Herald Talia?”

“I will,” Talia replied, in a voice as firm, if not with the same clarion sound. And she put her hand in the one Solaris stretched out to her. Together they turned to face the altar.

As they turned to the altar, flames sprang up upon it all in an eyeblink with a roaring sound; golden flames as high as a man and seemingly born of the rays of the sun falling on the white marble.

The crowd gasped, then stilled again.

No one had been there to kindle those flames. There was nothing there to feed it; no wood, no coal, no oil, and yet the flames leaped and danced and even from here Alberich could feel the heat of them, hear the crackle and roar. Solaris and Talia approached the altar, hand in hand, an Dirk shook like an aspen leaf.

There were stairs built onto the side of the altar. Had they always been there? Alberich hadn't noticed them before, but now Solaris led Talia toward them—toward the flames—

They were climbing the stairs.

The golden flames lapped around them, and Alberich stared, waiting for Talia to start screaming, waiting for their robes to burst into flame, waiting, with his throat closed with horror—

The flames enclosed them gently, like loving hands, or a shower of flower petals. The flames caressed them but did not consume them.

Talia was smiling.

Solaris was not smiling, but on her face was an expression that Alberich could not put a name to. Something ineffable—something beyond his understanding.

And the same stillness that filled the Temple entered Alberich's heart.

Feelings, not words; a peace deeper than anything he had ever felt before, even when in profound communion with Kantor. From Talia? Perhaps; she
was
a projective Empath, and strong enough to have sent this out to the entire Temple if she thought it needful.

His tension vanished, and something else took its place. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dirk's hands drop from the stone screen, and knew that his fellow Herald felt it, too.

Cradled lovingly in the heart of the flames, Solaris remained unchanged in her golden robes, but something was happening to Talia.

No, not to Talia, but to her robes, he vestments. They were changing.

He couldn't say they were
bleaching,
because there was nothing in the transition to suggest the process of bleaching. There was no fading to gray—no, Talia's robes were
lightening,
not fading, they were becoming full of light, growing lighter and lighter until they glowed with a white intensity that outshone the flames.

Then, all at once, the flames were gone.

Solaris and Talia stood atop the altar, Talia looking a little embarrassed, as if she had been given some incredible honor all unlooked-for that she felt unworthy of.

Talia's priestly vestments, the robes of a Sun-priest, were no longer black and gold.

They were white and silver.

Heraldic colors.

“In the long ago,” Solaris said, her voice floating above the crowd like a subtle melody, “There was a third order of Sun-priests. These were the White-robes, whose duty was to serve as Healers, to solve dissension, to keep the peace.”

:Whose duty was also to serve the Goddess—but she won't mention that at the moment,:
said Kantor absently.

Goddess? What Goddess? When had there ever been a Goddess in Karse?
:What are you talking about?:
he demanded, but Kantor wasn't answering, and more than half of his attention was on the two women anyway. . . .

“Vkandis has chosen this woman to be the first of the new White-robes,” Solaris continued, her voice stronger, as in a call to arms. “Vkandis has burned away all the hatred, all the death, all the evil that has passed between our lands! Vkandis has sent His purifying fire to show us the way, to give us this new, living bridge, of understanding between His land and Valdemar! I, Son of the Sun, now charge you—cry welcome to Talia, White-robe Priest of Vkandis!”

The cheering that erupted vibrated the very stone beneath Alberich's feet and left him momentarily deafened. But that was all right, for the cheers went on so long that no one would have been able to hear anything anyway.

 

The three Heralds and their Companions stood in front of the arched doorway into Solaris' private courtyard that would serve as the framework for the Gate. Hansa stared fixedly at the arch—presumably, in the little clearing in Companion's Field, Karchanek was doing likewise. Alberich was as tired as if he'd been running training exercises for a day and a night without a rest. Dirk looked stunned, as if all of this still hadn't quite sunk in yet. Well, Alberich didn't blame him.
He
didn't feel as if it had all quite sunk in yet either.

Talia's new vestments and robes were packed up into a saddlebag on Rolan's back; on the whole, given all of the bad blood between Karse and Valdemar, Solaris deemed it wise for them to leave now, before this first flush of good feeling faded and people began looking for the Demon-riders and their Hellhorses to have a few choice words with them. Few even among the Priest-Mages knew that a Gate was even possible, and those few were in Solaris' ranks; the arrival and departure. of the Queen's Own would seem miraculous, as miraculous as the transformation of Talia's robes from black to white.

Was it magic—or a miracle?
Alberich knew which his heart wanted it to be. And he wished he could recapture a little of that wonderful stillness, that
peace,
that had come over him. But that was, after all, the nature of miracles. They were evanescent, and left little or nothing behind to prove where they had come from. It all could have been magic—illusory flames, and Talia projecting that stillness under Solaris' guidance. It could have been a well-orchestrated series of magic spells, set up by Priest-Mages in hiding just as Alberich had been. Who knew how many of those little niches overlooking the sanctuary there were.

Alberich didn't want to question it, though. His rational side said he should, and when he got home, Myste almost certainly would want to know why he hadn't. And he didn't have a good answer for her—
:And you will continue to believe in the face of her questions, even though at times doubt overcomes that belief,:
Kantor said.
:That, after all, is the nature of faith. And perhaps that is as it is intended to be, and the reason why miracles so seldom leave tangible evidence of their origin behind.:

:What—:
Alberich replied.
:So that we have nothing to rely on but belief?:

:That would be the “free will” part, I think.:
Kantor replied, with just a touch of impishness.

There was no time for further discussion. The Gate sprang into uncanny life. The stones of the archway began to glow; the brightness increased, and suddenly, instead of the room beyond the door, there was an empty blackness within the arch that made Alberich's eyes ache.

Then crawling tendrils like animate lightning crept across the blackness, tendrils that crisscrossed the darkness and multiplied with every heartbeat.

Then, with a jolt he felt somewhere in his chest, the blackness vanished, and the arch opened up on Companion's Field on the twilight, and his waiting friends, and Karchanek in front of them all.

“Time to go,” said Dirk, and suited his action to his words, riding straight through without a backward glance. Poor Dirk! This had not been easy for him. . . .

“Thank you for your trust,” Solaris said to Talia, and held her in a momentary embrace that Talia bent down from her saddle to share.

“And you for yours, Radiance,” Talia replied, smiling, some of the peace that Alberich wistfully wished for still lingering in
her
gaze. Then it was her turn, and she rode through to the welcoming committee on the other side.

Alberich would have followed, but a restraining hand on his stirrup made him pause.

“Here—” Solaris said, handing him a basket that smelled of home. “I told you that Karse would come to you.”

She smiled up at him—once again, the ordinary-extraordinary woman that she was when she was not encased in the Sunlord's gold. “This could not have been done without
your
trust as well.”

He coughed. “It was little enough, for so great a result, Radiance,” he replied, shifting the basket uneasily.

“It was greater than you will admit,” she retorted. “And I think you had better not say anything more that would indicate you disagree with your spiritual lord. I
might
arrest you for heresy.”

“The day
you
arrest anyone for heresy will be the day that the sun turns black, Radiance,” he responded, earning another smile from her. He hesitated a moment, poised on the brink of asking all those questions that quivered on the tip of his tongue.

But she was having none of it.

“Go!” she said, with a playful slap to Kantor's rump. “Hansa wearies and Karchanek cannot wait to quit your soil and its plague of
eyes!
”

Kantor leaped forward without any urging from Alberich, and as he fell through the arch in that moment of eternal darkness, he felt something brush past his leg—Karchanek, taking advantage of the fact that the Gate would not close immediately to escape back into his own land and place.