people who get too caught up in the breathless, everyday race of trying to see to God’s business in His world can step back and put their hands to His work for a time, instead. Where they can participate in the simple pastoral duties that called them to God’s service in the first place. That’s one reason the brethren of Saint Zherneau make no distinction between the other orders. We’re open to Bedardists, Pasqualates, Langhornites…” He shrugged. “I’m sure you’ve seen representatives of almost every order during even your relatively brief stay with us.”
“Yes, I have, Father,” Paityr replied, but his eyes had narrowed, and he sounded like a man picking his words-possibly even his thoughts-with care. “I’ve noticed, and I’ve also noticed that I’ve seen no Schuelerites.”
“No, you haven’t.” If Zhastrow was taken aback by Paityr’s observation, he showed no sign of it. Instead, he cocked his head to one side and smiled gently at the younger priest. “However, Father Paityr, you’ve probably seen many more Schuelerites than I have. I mean no disrespect, but do you really think the majority of them would find the atmosphere of Saint Zherneau’s… congenial?”
“Probably not,” Paityr acknowledged, and shook his head sadly. “I think my father and Uncle Hauwerd would have, but you’re right about most of the order, I’m afraid. Which rather leads me to the question of why Archbishop Maikel thought this would be a good place to send me , I suppose.”
“I won’t presume to speak for the Archbishop,” Zhastrow replied, “but it might be because you’re not very much like the majority of Schuelerites. Again, I mean no disrespect to your order, Father, but it seems to me there’s a rather authoritarian mindset to much of what it does. I’m inclined to think that’s probably inevitable, given the nature of the Inquisition’s duties, of course. But I hope you’ll forgive me for pointing out that you-and from what I’ve heard, your father-believe the basis of true discipline has to be love, and that it must be tempered by compassion and gentleness. And from what I’ve seen of you during your visit with us, that’s almost certainly what drew you into the priesthood in the first place. For that matter,” he looked directly into Paityr’s eyes, “it’s also the reason you were so angry when you first came to us, isn’t it?”
The question came so gently it took Paityr almost completely unawares, and he found himself nodding before he’d even truly digested it.
“Yes, it is,” he admitted. “Archbishop Maikel recognized that before I was willing to admit it even to myself. And you and Father Zhon-all the brothers-have helped me to realize just how foolish that was of me.”
“Well, now I suppose that depends in part on the reasons for your anger,” Byrkyt said.
The librarian had come into the room from behind Paityr, and the intendant turned on his bench as Byrkyt made his slow and creaky way across the floor, leaning heavily on a cane. Paityr started to get up to offer his own place, but the librarian rested a gnarled hand on his shoulder and shook his head.
“Oh, stay where you are, youngster! If I decide I need somewhere to sit, I’ll move one of these other idle layabouts out of my way. In fact-”
He poked Fauyair with the end of his cane, and the far larger and far younger almoner rose with a chuckle.
“ I have to check the kitchen,” he said, elevating his nose. “Which, of course, is the only reason I will so meekly yield my place.”
“Oh, we all know how ‘meek’ you are!” Byrkyt said. “Now run along. I need to talk to young Paityr.”
“The Writ devotes a great deal of attention to the tyranny of power,” Fauyair observed to no one in particular. “I wonder why it gives so much less attention to the tyranny of old age?”
“Because it’s not tyranny. It’s just an excess of common sense.”
Fauyair laughed, touched Byrkyt affectionately on the shoulder, and took his leave as the librarian settled his increasingly frail bones into the vacated spot.
“As I was about to say,” he continued, turning back to Paityr, “whether it’s foolish to be angry or not depends on the reasons for the anger. And who it’s directed at, of course. Being angry at God is fairly foolish, when you come down to it, which I suppose is the reason all of us spend so much time doing it, whether we realize it or not. But being angry at those who pervert God’s will, or who use the cover and excuse of God’s will to impose their own wills on others?” He shook his head, ancient eyes bright as they gazed into Paityr’s. “There’s nothing foolish in that, my son. Hatred is a poison, but anger- good, honestly-come-by anger, the kind that stems from outrage, from the need to protect the weak or lift the fallen or stop the cruel-that’s not poison. That’s strength. Too much of it can lead to hatred, and from there it’s one slippery step to self-damnation, but never underestimate the empowering strength of the right sort of anger.”
The others were listening now, more than one of them nodding in silent agreement, and Paityr felt himself nodding back.
“You’re in a unique position, Father,” Byrkyt said after a moment. “Of course, all of us are in unique positions. It comes with being unique human beings. But the consequences of your position-or, rather, of the actions of someone in your position-are going to be greater and affect far more people more profoundly than most priests ever have the opportunity to accomplish. You’re aware of that. In fact, I’m fairly confident that your awareness of it was one of the things helping to get your own spiritual balance out of balance. You’ve been spending too much of your time and strength trying to shoulder your responsibilities, trying to reach ahead and figure out what those responsibilities were, rather than simply letting God show you. He does that, you know. Sometimes directly, by laying His finger on your heart, and sometimes by sending others of His children to pull you out of the ditch you’ve fallen into. Or to point you in a direction which wouldn’t have occurred to you on your own.”
“I know.” Paityr smiled at the old man, then turned his head, allowing his smile to take in all the brethren seated about them. “I know. But do you think He sent me to you simply to be pulled out of the ditch, or to be pointed in another direction, as well? You wouldn’t happen to have any spiritual road maps in your library, would you, Father Zhon?”
“Now that’s a profound sort of question, the sort of thing I might have expected out of a Schuelerite!” Byrkyt smiled back and cuffed the younger priest gently on the side of his head. “And, like any profound question, I’m sure it has a profound answer… somewhere. But only time will tell, I suppose.” His smile turned softer, and the hand which had smacked Paityr’s head so lightly moved to cup the side of his face, instead. “Only time will tell.”
MAY, YEAR OF GOD 895
The Temple, City of Zion, The Temple Lands
“Well, you were right, Rhobair,” Zhaspahr Clyntahn said caustically. “I know I feel a whole lot better now that we’ve gotten the complete report. Don’t you?”
The Grand Inquisitor’s sarcasm was even more biting than usual… not that it came as a surprise. In fact, if Rhobair Duchairn was surprised by anything it was that Clyntahn wasn’t throwing a full-fledged tantrum.
Of course there’s time for that still, he reminded himself. We’re only just getting started. Langhorne knows where he’s going to go before we get finished this afternoon!
“No, Zhaspahr,” he said as calmly as he could. “It doesn’t make me feel much better. It does confirm some things, though… including the fact that Allayn’s plan to misdirect the Charisians seems to have worked. I can’t believe someone like Cayleb would have sent less than thirty of his ships to intercept a hundred and thirty of our own if he hadn’t been caught completely on the wrong foot.”
“Why not?” Clyntahn demanded bitterly. “Their ‘less than thirty’ seem to’ve kicked our hundred and thirty’s ass pretty damn thoroughly.” He glared at Maigwair. “They didn’t need to send any more ships than they did. God! It’s pathetic! ”
“Zhaspahr,” Duchairn said, “you can’t blame men for losing a battle when they suddenly come up against a weapon that causes their own ships to blow up under them. Especially when they didn’t have any idea it was coming! I don’t know about you, but if I expected someone to be firing round shot at me and instead they were firing some kind of ammunition that exploded the minute it hit my ship, I’d find that fairly disconcerting. In fact, I’d find it downright terrifying! ”
“The fucking cowards were supposed to be Temple Guardsmen!” Clyntahn snarled, his face darkening dangerously. He seemed even angrier than the failure of one of his plans usually made him feel. “They’re God’s own warriors, damn it, not little children seeing fireworks for the first time!”
Duchairn started to fire back a quick, angry response, but he caught himself in time. Pushing Clyntahn over
