Legends Of Camber Of Culdi - Saint Camber Part 13

But the overriding question in his own mind, at this point, was whether, even for form's sake, he could validly a.s.sist at anyone's Ma.s.s. As a deacon only, in his own right, and one who had not, in some years, exercised that minor but holy office, he had hoped to avoid any religious observances which were not absolutely necessary to maintain his new ident.i.ty. Still, if he could validly a.s.sist-Anscom would be the princ.i.p.al celebrant, after all-he would be one more person who could, at least in his heart, bid proper farewell to the real Alister Cullen. For, unless other arrangements could be worked out later, this would likely be the only funeral which the good vicar general would receive.

He glanced at Joram to find his son's eyes full on him, and knew that Joram must already have guessed what was going through his mind. Now he must trust that he could question Joram without Anscom's knowing what was happening.

"Joram, I will defer strictly to your wishes in this matter," he said softly, making his craggy face look as stricken as he could. "If you had rather keep this smaller and more private, I will certainly understand."

Joram shook his head, a touch of resigned but bitter mirth touching the gray eyes in a way that only Camber could read, after years of intimate acquaintance.

"Thank you for your offer, Vicar General, but I think that my father would have been honored to have you a.s.sist us. Whatever differences he had with our Order were long ago reconciled, and I know he valued your friendship greatly in this last year or so."

"Then I shall be honored to accept," Camber said, inclining his head graciously.

"My thanks as well, Alister," Anscom replied.

"There is one thing which I would ask, Father General," Joram continued. There was something in his tone which alerted Camber to the fact that this, too, was important. "I should like your permission for him to be buried in the habit of a Michaeline. Though not of our Order in his lifetime, he would have made a n.o.ble member, had he chosen so. It is not an uncommon request, and I believe my sister would approve."

Camber lowered his eyes, appreciating anew the skill with which his son so often moved.

What Joram had said, supposedly about his father, was certainly true-but it was also a perfect way to ensure that Camber provided properly for Alister, who most definitely would have wanted to be buried in the garb of his Order. Still, on the outside chance that he had misread Joram's intentions ...

"I have no objections," he said, meeting Joram's eyes squarely. "Unless the Chapter should object, which I would not antic.i.p.ate, I see no reason not to grant your request. Your Grace, have you any thoughts on this matter?"

"It's your Order, Alister," Anscom replied. "However, I suspect that Camber would have been pleased at the gesture. He and I studied together for the priesthood, you know, when we were only boys. After his two brothers died, his father took him out of school at the seminary, and I went on alone." Anscom sighed. "He would probably chide me for saying so, but he would have made an excellent priest."

"Nay, I think he would be flattered, Your Grace," Joram said, shooting a glance at Camber which was totally unnoticed by the archbishop. "If there is nothing more, sir, I should go to my sister."

Anscom came back from his reverie with a start. "Oh, forgive me, please, Joram. I've been most insensitive. And both of you will be tired from your long journey.

"One last thing, Alister, and then I'll let you both go. Perhaps this is not a good time to ask this, either, but I wonder whether you've made any decision yet on your successor as vicar general? While you were en route back, I conferred with Robert Oriss, and we've set a tentative date of Sunday a week for your mutual consecrations. Will that impose any particular strain on you?"

Camber raised bushy eyebrows in consideration. "I don't think so. Joram, do you?" He had no idea who Cullen might have had in mind, or even how the selection was made.

Joram shrugged and shook his head, and Anscom nodded with satisfaction.

"Good, then. I'll tell Robert that you agree, and have the masters of ceremonies begin making preparations." He started to go, then turned back to face them.

"By the way, who are you going to name as your successor?"

I was afraid he'd ask that, Camber thought, glancing at his feet in an effort to gain time.

"In all honesty, I haven't given it much thought for the past week or so, Your Grace," he answered truthfully. "However," he continued, glancing at Joram and seeing no sign of disagreement, "I'll certainly inform you, as soon as a final decision has been made."

"Good enough." Anscom's tone seemed to indicate complete satisfaction. "I'll leave you, then. I know that both of you will have much to do."

When both Camber and Joram had bent to kiss his ring again, Anscom turned and rejoined his secretary to go into the chapel proper. As their forms receded down a clerestory aisle, Camber glanced apprehensively at Joram.

"Well, how did I do?" he murmured under his breath, mentally and visually scanning around them to ensure that they would not be overheard.

"It just may work," Joram replied. He, too, glanced around with a deceptive casualness.

"By the way, even I haven't the foggiest notion whom Alister had in mind for his successor.

Jebediah might, but I don't think you want to spend too much time with him, at least until you learn where he and Alister stood. And the successor is chosen by the vicar general, but ratified by the entire chapter of the Order. At least your answer was sufficiently vague to allow for that-a very good guess."

"Worthy of your own, about the habit," Camber acknowledged. "It's something I never would have thought of, until it was too late-though it's an obvious point that Alister would have appreciated."

Joram nodded curtly. "If it has to be this way, I'll do everything I can to keep things going smoothly. But you know I don't like it, even though it's beginning to look like you might carry it off."

"This is neither the time nor the place to discuss that," Camber murmured, glancing around nervously once again, though he knew there was no one nearby. "However, the conversation we just had with Anscom points up something which is urgent-and that's for me to get Alister's memories integrated with my own as soon as possible. G.o.d knows, there weren't many left, but I need all the help I can get. Besides, I'm starting to get the expected headaches. How soon do you think we dare get together with Rhys and Evaine?"

Joram glanced at the tiled floor. "Getting Evaine to you will be the -main problem. Rhys and I have ample legitimate excuses for being seen going to and from your quarters- which are in the archbishop's palace, by the way. Don't forget and go back to your own."

"I'll remember. Any suggestions?"

"Well, it can't be tonight," Joram said. "That's totally out of the question. What you have in mind will take a lot of energy, and none of us have had a decent night's sleep in weeks."

"I'll grant you that. How about tomorrow night, then?"

"Tentatively, yes," Joram agreed. "In the meantime, I think you should plead extreme fatigue, which is not far from the truth, and take to your bed. I'll send Rhys to see you, and have him order you excused from your official duties for as long as he can get away with it.

I'll also try to arrange for Brother Johannes to be temporarily rea.s.signed or something, until you've learned the ropes well enough not to get him suspicious."

"I don't think he's a problem, but do what you think best. When will you send Rhys?"

"How about after dinner? I think he deserves a little time with Evaine, don't you?"

Camber sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily. "Oh, of course I do, Joram. I'm sorry.

I'm not really that heartless. But there are some scrolls in my old quarters which Evaine should consult before we get together. I have to give Rhys directions on how to find the right ones. That's very important."

"I know it is," Joram replied in a very low voice. "Maybe I overreacted. I know I should be trying to look at the larger plan, but somehow, I keep seeing Alister's body lying in that clearing-and then his changed one, being prepared in there." He gestured vaguely toward the sacristy door. "Sometimes, it almost seems that I'm the only one who really cares."

"You don't really believe that."

"No, but I can't help the way I feel." Joram bowed his head. "I'll send Rhys as soon as I can."

"Thank you. And Evaine?"

Joram sighed. "I'll think of something."

chapter ten.

The father of the righteous shall greatly rejoice: and he that begetteth a wise child shall have joy of him.

-Proverbs 23:24 Early that evening, when Rhys had temporarily left her for the archbishop's palace, Evaine paced the floor of Camber's old quarters and wondered what her father was doing.

She envied her husband, who was with him now, and she could not help feeling resentment that she was being left out of things-though Rhys had a.s.sured her that he would soon be involved all too completely.

She went to the window to peer out toward the archbishop's palace, fancying she could see the very window where her father now lay, but the night air was too chilly, even in summer, for her to stand there for long, clad only in her shift. Pulling a robe from the bed, she settled into the seat in the window embrasure and tucked her legs beneath her. The velvet and fur of the robe felt warm against her back and helped ease the cold and damp of the wall where she leaned against it, as well as the chill of the night air.

She could hardly believe now, looking back over the events of the day, that her world could change so radically in so short a time-though, of course, it had changed thus when she first received word of her father's death, almost a week ago. Then, the summer sunshine had changed to deepest gloom with the speaking of three simple and dread words: "He is dead." The kindly Archbishop Anscom, himself almost like a father to her, had brought the news, and shared her trembling grief for several hours.

She had not believed him at first; and long after she said she believed, she still did not believe him in her inner core. She and her father had been too close in life for her not to have sensed the exact moment of his death, for her not to feel the emptiness occasioned by his pa.s.sing. It could not be true! It must not!

And yet, as the days pa.s.sed and the news did not change, even she began to doubt. The cortege which entered the castle yard that morning had touched her heart with icy fingers, as though to underline the awful truth which she dared deny no longer. Then, just when hope was at its lowest ebb, there was Rhys in her arms, and his quick, hard kiss, and the two reviving words: "He lives!"

She could weep for joy, then, though those around her mistook it for grief which she had not been able to show in all the long days of waiting for her father's return. As soon as was decent, she and Rhys retired to the rooms in which Evaine had taken up her domicile while awaiting the dreaded confirmation of Camber's death. The next hours were spent in joyous reunion with him who, with her father, she had come to regard as the most important person in her life. As they spoke and loved and drank each other's sight, he told her of the past weeks' tidings, and how Camber came to live and Alister to die. When, as dusk was falling, a servant finally came with food, they at last parted long enough to sit before the fire and eat. After that, Rhys left her to go and receive instructions from her father.

She thought she understood the urgency with which her father bade Rhys come. From what her husband had told her, Camber's a.s.sumption of Alister Cullen's form and memories had been extremely arduous, especially after the stresses and fatigues of an all- day physical battle. Her brief conversation with Joram, just after his arrival, had also hinted at other measures which their father had had to employ in resolving all the details of Ariella's death. Even Joram and Rhys, younger by thirty years than her father, had not yet fully recovered from the experience of that day and night-and Camber was not yet finished.

According to Joram, their father had yet to complete the process he had started in the clearing there at Iomaire, for he had not yet had a chance to a.s.similate the memories gleaned from the dead Alister's mind. Now those memories festered, a continuing drain on his strength-a process which would only stop with the facing and whole a.s.sumption of those memories, or with madness and death.

She shivered as she thought about that, and not because of physical cold. She knew that Camber had the ability to do what must be done, and she even suspected she knew where he had gotten the knowledge, though she had never seen it herself. He had mentioned, in pa.s.sing, certain scrolls he had which purported to give guidance in many varied and difficult arcane procedures, not the least of which had been the abortive scrying experiment which they had attempted only weeks before. If these scrolls were the source of his knowledge-and she thought she knew where he kept them hidden-then she ought to read them before she tried to help him.

She would not wait for Rhys to come back. She need not waste precious time. Leaving the window seat, she padded over to the canopied bed and climbed up on it, kicking aside the rumpled pillows so that she could lift the heavy tapestry hanging at the head and wriggle underneath. Not bothering with light, she ran her hands across the bare rock until she found what she was looking for, mentally articulating a series of syllables highly unlikely to be combined at random. After only a second's hesitation, a portion of the rock hinged aside.

The wood-lined cupboard behind contained half a dozen carefully rolled scrolls, each wrapped in an oiled-leather casing and bound with silken cords. Sweeping the scrolls into her arms, Evaine brought them out from under the tapestry and let them fall in a heap on the rumpled bedclothes, staggering a little as she struggled out from under the heavy hanging. As she sank down on the bed, tucking her robe around her bare feet, she took up the first of the scrolls and untied its cords, absently flaring to life a rack of candles in a standard by the bed. She held the ancient parchment to the light to scan the opening lines.

It seemed like hardly an hour before Rhys returned. Throwing off his cloak, he leaned over to kiss her and then sat beside her on the bed. The bedclothes were littered with scrolls and wrappings and partially unrolled ma.n.u.scripts. Two of the scrolls had not yet been opened.

"What are those?" Rhys asked, glancing at the sight in dismay.

Evaine put aside the one she had been reading and sighed. "I don't think they're the right ones, Rhys. I haven't gotten to the last two yet, but these first ones are just the Pargan Howiccan ma.n.u.scripts-valuable from an artistic standpoint, but they can't be the ones Father meant us to see."

"Where did you find them?" Rhys asked, with an easy grin coming across his face.

"Well, obviously not in the right place," she replied with a chuckle, "though, by your expression, you know where I should have looked. These were behind the arras. I thought all his important doc.u.ments were here." She gestured toward the tapestry and leaned against the headboard with a sigh.

Rhys said nothing-merely smiled and leaned forward to touch one fingertip to her nose.

Then, with a gesture for her to follow him, he went into the dressing chamber adjoining the room and began pulling a trunk from behind several layers of clothes on wooden pegs.

With Evaine's help, he turned the trunk on its side and laid his hands on the two front corners near the feet. There was a tiny click as part of the bottom of the trunk dropped slightly, revealing a crack.

As Rhys widened the crack with his fingertips, they could see the ends of four scrolls, yellowed with age. Evaine caught her breath as the panel slid back the rest of the way, revealing most of the length of all four scrolls.

"Did he say which one we want?" Evaine breathed, reaching out a hesitant finger to touch a cord of vermilion binding one of them.

The cords on the others were black, green, and golden yellow, and it was to the last of these that Rhys pointed.

"It's this one. He also said that we were, under no circ.u.mstances, to read the other three.

He wouldn't say why, but he did mention that the scrying information is in one of them, and that even he doesn't feel qualified to cope with some of the information that's in the other two,"

Evaine touched the green cord, the black, then looked up at her husband wistfully. "The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil?"

"Your name is close, but it isn't Eve," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"True." She took the yellow-bound scroll and cradled it delicately against her breast.

"Close up the rest, then, so we won't be tempted. If he kept this one in with those, I have a feeling we'll have sufficient to keep us quite busy without asking for trouble."

With a grin, Rhys slid the panel back into place and resealed the trunk. When he had replaced it and rearranged all the way it was before, he returned to the main chamber.

Only the yellow-bound scroll lay on the bed now. He sat on the edge and pulled off his boots and doublet, picking up the scroll as Evaine emerged from behind the arras and settled down beside him.

"Here, you open it," he said, handing it to her and arranging the pillows against the head of the bed. "If something's going to happen when we untie the cord, it's probably safer if you do it."

"If I do it?" Evaine's hand, which had been about to untie the silken cord, froze in mid- motion. "Rhys, it's only a scroll."

"Probably. However, one can never tell, where Camber is concerned," Rhys said respectfully.

She looked at him curiously for a moment, as though trying to decide whether he was serious, then could not control a grin.

"That's true."

She kissed him lightly on the mouth, then untied the yellow cord and laid it aside, settling back in the curve of his arm to unroll the parchment. The script was of an ancient form, black and authoritative, the language archaic. Evaine's blue eyes skimmed across the first few lines, then skipped back to the top. She wondered how good Rhys was at reading ancient texts. Deciphering the material would be almost like translating.

"Let's see. Herein is contained much knowledge with which a greedy man might lose his soul and wreak his will upon the weak. But for the prudent man, who loves and fears the G.o.ds, here is meat to help him grow, and drink to lift his spirits to the starry skies.

"Know, O my son, that what thou shalt read can slay as well as save. Therefore, be not tempted by the Evil One to use such blessings as thou shalt receive for thine own gain. All deeds, and all their consequences, come back threefold upon the doer. Therefore, do good, that thy bounty may increase."

She glanced at Rhys. "A timely warning. Did you follow all that?"

"I understand the language. Some of my healing texts are from the same period. This scribe's hand is a little difficult, though. Keep on reading, and I'll try to follow along."

"All right. Part the First, being a treatise upon the taking of a dead man's shape, and the dangers therein. I guess that's where Father got the idea."

"And then combined it with the trading of shapes, as he did when Joram and I left Crinan and Wulpher with our shapes at Cathan's funeral," Rhys agreed. "What's the second heading? Something about the minds of the dead?"

Evaine nodded. "Part the Second, being wise words upon the reading of the memories of the dead, and grievous dangers inherent for the unwary."

Rhys nodded. "He's already done that, too. As nearly as I can tell, he drew out what he could and blocked off the information for later a.s.similation, since there wasn't time to digest it then. And unless the integration of those memories is done correctly, he could go mad trying to keep track of which part is himself and which part is Alister."

"That's what this third section would indicate," Evaine agreed, reading on. "Part the Third, being instruction upon the safe a.s.similation of another's memories, with especial attention to the danger of madness, and how to avoid it."

"So we need the last section in this scroll," Rhys said, helping roll up the earlier portions as Evaine worked her way past the first two headings.

The third heading came up, an exact duplicate of the indexing lines. There followed several handspans' worth of closely s.p.a.ced script, in a much finer hand than the earlier lines. As Evaine bent closer to the writing, Rhys reached out and moved the candle sconce closer to the edge of the bed. He could feel Evaine relaxing and, at the same time, becoming more alert and aware, as she began reading the words of the text.

"The man sufficiently driven as to wish the memories of another is a man driven, indeed.

But if there be no help for it, then one must do what is necessary to secure those memories at minimal cost to himself and those around him.