ALL THAT TRULY MATTERS
Kerry Lindemann-Schaefer
"The past is over. What are you now, today? And what do you wish to be tomorrow? That is all that truly matters."
Kheersa Pentaleri
Pat,
Left town to take care of some personal business. If all goes well, I'll be back by the end of the month.
Francis
Pat read over the note several times before replacing it on the gleaming cedar surface of the Front Desk.
Just like that, he left? No warning, no hint of why? No address or phone number to contact? That wasn't like Francis at all.
Of course, there was no reason he shouldn't take off for a while. It was mid-February and the Atlantic Inn was still closed down for the winter.
Pat went around behind the Desk and unlocked the door to her apartment, mumbling distracted greetings to the two cats who twined themselves around her ankles as if they hadn't seen her for years.
Why hadn't he told her he was planning to leave? And why had he gone while she herself was off on a weekend trip to Eddington with Scarlett O'Hara?
Why indeed? Except that he hadn't wanted her to know he was going.
Troubled, Pat set her overnight bag on her bed and began unpacking.
"If all goes well," the note had said. What was it that was supposed to go well, and what if it didn't?
She was sure that something had been bothering Francis over the last couple of months. Ever since that final confrontation with Piedra Frelani and the Klan, he had been unusually withdrawn and quiet, when he should have been glad their troubles were over.
No, it went back even beyond that, to the night Thanika Lestrei had tried to kill him. There had been something on his mind since then, but she hadn't been able to persuade him to confide in her, despite their friendship.
Pat considered. Bin Thanika had been sent by the New York City branch of the Order to check up on Francis. Why had that upset him so? While he'd been in the hospital recovering from the injuries he'd sustained in the recent car crash, the first thing he'd asked her to bring him was a Celinist prayerbook.
She grimaced, taking a shirt from her bag and shaking out the wrinkles before hanging it in the closet. Did this have something to do with religion? She sincerely hoped not. She'd rejected all that nonsense long ago, after that bastard Reverend Barden had -- well, never mind that. She knew all that religious stuff still meant something to Francis, although they didn't talk about it much. Once he'd realized she wasn't interested, he hadn't brought up the subject again.
Nevertheless, something had been bothering him. His broken ribs and the torn ligaments in his ankle had pretty well healed, but she hadn't seen him smile very often since he'd come home from the hospital. Maybe it was just the winter, which had been particularly dreary and rainy this year. It would soon be spring, time for the trees to bud and the first early flowers to push their tentative way into the sunshine. He'd start feeling better then, and they'd make plans for re-opening the Inn in April.
She shook her head. Stop fooling yourself, girl. If that's all it was, he'd be here right now.
No, it couldn't be that simple. Last week, he'd come back from catalyzing a child for Fisher and Ginny Price and proceeded to drink himself unconscious on sour milk. That was totally unlike the Francis she knew.
On an impulse, Pat reached for her phone and dialed.
"Scarlett? Something's come up and I need some information."
"No bother, honey," the newcomer replied cheerfully. "What is it you want to know?"
Scarlett's voice brought back memories of the weekend they'd just spent together. It had seemed so natural and so easy, the way they had ended up in each other's arms after talking late into the night in the motel room.
Pat pulled her thoughts back into the present. "I need the phone number of the Order in New York City."
Scarlett's voice took on a wary tone. "Why do you want that?"
"Francis left, but didn't tell me where he went. I thought maybe he might have gone to see them." Even as she put it into words, it sounded implausible.
"If he wanted you to know where he was, wouldn't he have told you?"
"Yes, I suppose so," Pat admitted unwillingly. Perhaps this wasn't her business. It was only a hunch, and maybe he wasn't even there, yet the whole thing didn't feel right somehow. "But I think something's wrong. He may be in some kind of trouble."
The other woman didn't answer right away and when she did, she sounded distinctly displeased. "If he is, are you sure you want to get involved?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it may be something he's got to deal with himself. Maybe you don't belong mixed up in it."
Now, why was Scarlett being so unhelpful about this?
"What are you trying to say?"
A faint sigh came over the line. "Francis may not have been the worst or most vicious Overseer, but there was no such thing as a good Overseer."
"Scarlett! I thought you knew him better than that! "
"Are you sure you know him all that well?"
"Yes, I believe I do. Honestly, I'm beginning to think you're jealous of him or something."
Scarlett chuckled. "No, darlin', not hardly. I know you two are just friends. I'll give you the number, if that's what you want. I just hope you know what you're getting into, that's all."
As Pat dialed the number, she hoped the exact same thing.
After a brief conversation, she called U.S. Air and booked herself onto the first available flight out of Willemton the next day. Her lips set into a determined line, she began packing her bag again.
Bin Veylan Arved, Drevny of the New York City branch of the Order, sat behind the polished expanse of his desk, frowning at the newcomer facing him. The sleeves of his ornate robe rustled slightly as he folded his hands and rested them on the desktop.
Trying to conceal his disgust, the Drevny studied his unwelcome visitor. So this was the infamous Treyma #Sendra, known to the humans as Francis Bernardone. Well, he didn't look particularly impressive. Middle-aged, medium height, a bit on the slender side -- put him in a proper robe and he'd look pretty much like any of the other binnaums here at the monastery.
But he isn't like any of the others, the Drevny reminded himself, his frown deepening.
*Do I understand you correctly, Bin Treyma?* he asked coldly. *You want us to accept you as one of us, despite your past?*
The man couldn't be serious. An Overseer in the Order? Preposterous!
Bin Veylan set his face into the expression he used to cow some of his more obstreperous subordinates, hoping it would have the same effect on this – creature -- who had insisted on seeing him. Although the Drevny had put him off for two days, the other man had stubbornly refused to be discouraged from his quest.
*Yes, Drevny,* the visitor replied humbly.
*Do you know what you're asking?* Bin Veylan demanded. *Do you know what you'd have to do to even make it possible for us to consider such a thing?*
*I know the requirements for a case such as mine,* the Overseer replied calmly. *I know what the druvaad# entails. I'm willing to go through it.*
The Drevny shook his head. The man was mad! *Why? You'd never be at home here. I don't think anyone in this area would want someone like you as the binnaum of their child. You'd risk your sanity, even your life – for what?*
*In order not to be a travesty of the real thing! In order to function as I should, not as a renegade and an outcast! In order to --*
Momentarily, the man's face had lit up with a strange intensity. His voice had risen from its steady calm into something which sounded unpleasantly like a person about to lose control of himself. Then the passion faded as fast as it had come and he finished quietly, *In order to truly serve Celine and Andarko, and through them, the Infinitely Holy. Isn't that worth it?*
*Perhaps.* The Drevny sat back in his chair, surprised at the unexpectedly pious sentiments expressed by the Overseer. There was evidently more to this man than would appear at first glance.
He shrugged slightly at the thought. Well, there would have to be, wouldn't there? It was said that Bin Treyma regretted his past and was trying to live a moral life. Bin Thanika had reported some surprising things about him, when he had returned from his investigation, but the Drevny wasn't sure he could believe all that Thanika had said.
Bin Treyma shifted uneasily under the Drevny's gaze. Without seeming to notice what he was doing, he tugged on the bottom of his right sleeve, as if attempting to pull it down further over his wrist.
The Drevny noted the obviously habitual gesture with interest, but didn't remark upon it.
*I'm told you run a motel in a part of this country called the South,* Bin Veylan said.
The sudden change of subject appeared to startle the Overseer. *Uh -- yes, that's right,* he replied uncertainly.
*And you also catalyze children as a sort of a sideline?*
The other binnaum looked as if he were about to jump out of his chair. *It's not a sideline! I don't take money, Drevny. I do it because --* His voice trailed off.
*Go on,* Bin Veylan prompted.
The Overseer had regained his composure by now. *Where I live, there are a lot of Tenctonese who can't afford to come to New York for a binnaum, or pay to have someone come to them. I do it because someone has to and I'm there.*
*And you use the Celinist rituals,* Bin Veylan stated sourly.
Treyma looked down at the desktop while answering. *Yes. The people want it that way.*
*How about you?*
*I want it that way,* the Overseer admitted, looking up at last. *And there was something I wanted to mention in connection with this,* he went on boldly, *if you'll hear me out.*
Now what? Bin Veylan asked himself. Curious, he nodded his head.
*If the Order should decide to accept me, it might be a good idea for me to continue as I've been doing, rather than coming here to live in the monastery. As you've said, people in this area wouldn't want me, and it would serve a definite need in the small-town communities in my part of the --*
The Drevny cut him off with a peremptory gesture. *Such a thing has never been done. It has no basis in the Law of Celine and Andarko.*
*The Law was meant for Tencton, and it may have worked fine there,* the other man objected. *Our situation has changed, and the Law must change also.*
The Drevny smiled contemptuously and asked with intentional sarcasm, *Will you now interpret the Law for me?*
That didn't sit too well with the Overseer. Anger flashed across his face, but, to his credit, it was quickly suppressed. *You are free not to accept my interpretation, Drevny,* he replied evenly. *As I am free not to accept yours.*
*True. But you seem to have forgotten that you're the one seeking acceptance here, not me.*
This obvious fact discouraged Treyma not in the least. *Binnaums need not be sequestered and grouped together,* he persisted. *It serves no purpose.*
*We are protected by our seclusion --*
*No, you are not! On this world, where there are those who would see the end of the Tenctonese people, you have conveniently concentrated yourselves in several locations. Those locations are capable of being destroyed by a few well-placed bombs. Where would we be then?*
*Surely, the humans wouldn't --*
*I've met some who would!* With a nervous smile, Bin Treyma forced his voice back under control. *As the humans say, we have put all our eggs into one basket.*
Bin Veylan spread his hands. *And why not? It would seem the most efficient way to carry them.*
*Unless you drop the basket. Or someone comes along and knocks it out of your hands.*
The Drevny had to admit that there was a certain amount of truth to that. When he didn't reply right away, the other man went on, *I could be like the old-time ministers the humans called circuit riders. In parts of the country where no one church was large enough to afford its own minister, a number of them would get together and share the services of one person. I could do that sort of thing, making myself available to any newcomer community within driving distance of where I now live.*
When Bin Veylan still didn't reply, he continued with gathering enthusiasm, *I'm financially self-sufficient, so the experiment wouldn't cost the Order anything. I would be able to officiate at other ceremonies too, when needed. I could truly be the binnaum of these children, since I would be there to teach them our traditions and follow their progress, rather than being just some stranger from far away. A small community such as ours needs that sort of continuity.*
So that was what the man wanted, Bin Veylan thought to himself. Interesting idea, but not possible.
The Overseer leaned forward eagerly. *It could work, Drevny, I know it could. In fact, it's already working on a limited basis. All I need is the sanction of the Order. I'm the logical one to try this, since I'm already fairly well accepted by my community, despite my past. As you pointed out, I wouldn't be of much use elsewhere. And if anything happens to me --* He shrugged. *Well, I don't imagine the Order would consider that a great loss. You would lose nothing by this experiment, and it would provide insight into a new possibility for the future.*
The Drevny regarded him coldly. *Lose nothing, Bin Treyma? Are our traditions then nothing?*
*We must take from our tradition that which continues to be valuable,* the other man replied carefully, *but we must not allow it to lock us into the past when there are better ways.*
A dangerous concept indeed!
*Would you have us adopt human customs, then?* Bin Veylan asked sourly.
*Only if we find a particular custom to be congruent with our beliefs and practices.* Treyma made a small gesture of dismissal with one hand. *Besides, we've already begun adapting to human society. Look at the Day of Descent ritual. It's based on the human Thanksgiving, but it expresses our feelings accurately also. Surely, many things are common to all peoples, regardless of where they came from.*
The Drevny frowned again. *If we fail to hold to our own traditions, we will soon cease to exist as a people. Besides, I see much on this planet that does not bear emulation.*
*So do I. But there are also many things within our own traditions that are less than admirable. We Tenctonese are highly adaptable. Shall we not use that talent here on our new world? The real question isn't whether we shall adapt, but rather to what shall we adapt.*
Bin Veylan had never looked at it in quite that way before, but he still didn't care for the idea. *I'm not at all sure I like the particular adaptation you're suggesting,* he replied.
Silence spread around the two men, as Bin Veylan glared at his disquieting visitor. No outsider suggested changes to a Drevny. That was unheard of. Yet here was this Overseer, presuming to tell him what should be done.
*Drevny,* the other man said softly, *you are required to let me try the druvaad#. It is the Law.*
Now the man was telling him the Law! This was intolerable! However, the Overseer had it right. The druvaad# was, in fact, meant specifically for circumstances such as this, where serious doubt existed as to the moral fitness of a binnaum wishing to be part of the Order.
Bin Veylan wished sincerely for a way out of the situation. He definitely did not want this person in his monastery.
Perhaps he could be talked out of it. Bin Veylan leaned back and steepled his fingers. *If I agree to let you go through the ceremony and we do not accept you, will you vow to stop practicing on your own?*
Bin Treyma's face went white. *You have no right to ask that.*
*On the contrary. You can hardly expect me to believe that you wish to become one of us out of a sincere desire to conform to the Law of Celine and Andarko if you are unwilling to stop breaking that Law. Such an attitude hardly demonstrates true repentance. Even someone such as yourself should be able to see that.*
Much to the Drevny's dismay, the other binnaum nodded slowly, conceding defeat. *I will so vow.*
Now what could he say? That the Overseer didn't stand a chance? True that might be, but the Law gave him the right to be judged by his peers, and that judgement was meant to be impartial. That being the case, the Drevny could hardly insist that the result was a foregone conclusion.
There seemed to be no help for it.
Bin Veylan's voice adopted a more formal cadence as he asked the required question. *Do you realize you will risk your life and your sanity by taking previdac?*
*I realize the risks,* the Overseer replied firmly.
*You are absolutely certain you wish to do this?*
*I am.*
*Very well, Bin Treyma, you shall have your chance. The Law requires that you have at least one day to think over and consider this decision.* He glanced at the clock on the wall. *We shall therefore begin at I0 AM tomorrow morning.* He stood up, much relieved to end this unpleasant interview.
As the Overseer also rose to his feet, the Drevny said sternly, *May the Infinitely Holy have mercy on you.* Almost as an afterthought, he added, *I'm not sure anyone else will.*
Francis sat cross-legged on the heavily padded mat which covered the entire floor of the small chapel. On the raised platform at one end of the room, four large candles in translucent holders burned on a simple altar, two off to each side of a plain silver cup. The Tenctonese script down the side of each holder told which of the Four Pillars each individual candle represented: Tradition, Love, Spirituality, and Honor. Smaller candles flickered in niches along each wall, naming other values, but Francis kept his gaze fastened on the Tradition candle, meditating on that one.
Or trying to meditate. It wasn't easy tonight. Tomorrow morning, the ones chosen to be his inquisitors would come to question him. He did not know what they would ask, wouldn't know after it was all over what they had asked, but he knew what he would answer. Anything he said would be the truth as he believed it to be. The previdac would see to that.
His hearts pounded and his breath seemed to catch in his throat at that thought.
Previdac was the most effective lie detector known to Tenctonese pharmacology. Under its influence, you could not lie even to yourself. Although Francis had always tried to be completely honest about his past, this would be the ultimate in un-self-censored honesty. He knew the drug's effects, since he had used it once on someone. Truly skilled questioning could make your victim virtually re-live whatever part of their life you chose and describe it in excruciating detail at the same time.
Could he face that? He wasn't sure he wouldn't rather have faced Piedra Frelani instead, and the neural wand she had known how to use with such devastating effectiveness.
He bowed his head and concentrated on breathing slowly and regularly. Panic wouldn't help him now. There was no use worrying about the outcome. They would accept him or they would reject him. Nothing he could do at this point would change that. And if he were one of those who reacted badly to the drug -- Well, there was nothing he could do about that either.
Whatever had possessed him to promise the Drevny that he would not continue to practice outside the Order if he were turned down? Despite the Drevny's logic, it still didn't seem to him that he had been doing wrong. Being binnaum to those children had been the best and most worthy thing he had yet accomplished in his life. If he were to lose that, what would he have left?
But he could never truly lose that. What was done, was done. Like little Sandy Wagner, the good he had created would not suddenly cease to exist, no matter what happened to him. And if it hadn't been strictly according to the Law?
Francis decided to leave such judgements as that to the Infinitely Holy.
He winced as he recalled how he had tried in vain to convince Bin Veylan to send him back to Cartersville if the Order accepted him. He hadn't intended to bring that up until he had actually gained acceptance, but he had gone ahead and blurted it out anyway.
Even if he were to be successful, was that what he really wanted? Wouldn't it be easier to spend the rest of his life here in the monastery as just another binnaum? He'd seen enough of the outside world to realize he wouldn't miss it particularly.
But then what about the Wagners and the Miltons and all the other couples he knew? And not only his community. What about the many other small groups of newcomers that would surely be formed in coming years, as they spread throughout American society and eventually throughout the world?
Changes would have to be made and someone would have to be first. That was never easy, but he was in a unique position to create that change. If only the Drevny would see it that way.
Looking up once again at the candles, Francis tried to let their steady glow restore his soul to peace. The soft light brought to mind another dim room, illuminated only by the small candles in Esther Pearlman's menorah. Her words about choosing from tradition that which continued to hold meaning had been what had started the train of thought that had ultimately brought him to this day. Make changes where necessary, but hold to the good and the holy. Esther would have understood why he was here.
He sighed. Now if only he himself understood it better.
Why was he so set on doing this? Was it just to gain approval from others? Did it really matter so much if the Order accepted him or not? Why not simply continue as he had been doing? The Order had no authority to stop him, not on this planet.
But then why say the prayers, why invoke Celine and Andarko, if he was not willing to abide by their Laws? He couldn't honestly say he didn't believe the Law was right, although he might question the interpretations that had been made on some points.
Was it all just his own guilty conscience, striving to be put at peace at last? Would the Order's approval, if he should manage to get it, really set things right? Would it undo the past, and the Ship? No, of course not. Would the Order's acceptance even guarantee forgiveness before the Infinitely Holy? Also no. Everyone knew that no mortal could truly speak for the Infinitely Holy. It would be absurd to make such a claim.
Looking beyond the candles and beyond the silver bowl, Francis contemplated the blank gray Wall behind the altar, which was the only representation of the Infinitely Holy permitted by Tenctonese tradition. Everything -- and Nothing. There -- and Not There. Now -- and Eternity.
He flung himself forward onto his face, fingers pressing his temples. To the soft carpet beneath him and the blank grayness of the Wall, he prayed fervently, *I no longer know my own mind. Send me understanding, that I may choose the right path.*
"What do you mean, his sanity and his life?" Pat demanded incredulously. "What are you going to do to him?"
Her airplane had landed ten hours late at Newark Airport, after being delayed and re-routed due to a blizzard. Although she had wasted no time in getting a taxi to take her to the Order's Chapter House, located just across the river on Staten Island, it had been after midnight when she'd finally arrived.
So far, she hadn't liked what she'd seen of these religious fanatics. Although they had been courteous enough to show her to a guest room, they had politely but firmly told her she'd have to wait until the following morning to see the head honcho, who was supposedly meditating and not to be disturbed. Fast asleep would probably have been closer to the truth!
After tossing and turning for hours, she'd finally fallen asleep, only to be awakened abruptly by a summons to Bin Veylan's office, where she now sat. This so-called Drevny with his fancy regalia and pompous attitude didn't impress her at all.
The newcomer spread his hands placatingly on his desktop. "Ms. Fisher, please. May I remind you that your friend came to us asking for this? It was not our idea."
"You sent someone after him --"
"That was months ago. I sent Bin Thanika to find out what he was doing and to see whether the rumors we had heard were true. That's all."
And I suppose you had no idea Thanika would try to kill Francis, did you? she thought resentfully. But she had no proof that the Drevny had been involved in that, so didn't say it aloud.
"So what is this druvaad# ceremony all about?" she asked instead.
If the Drevny had had eyebrows, they would have been lifted in surprise. *You pronounced that fairly well. Do you speak Tenctonese?*
*Yes, a little,* she answered in kind. *But better do I understand than speak.*
"Ah! Then we'll continue to use your language."
"Are you going to tell me what happens to Francis or not?" she persisted, not really caring if she sounded rude.
"Put very simply, we ask him questions. Based on his answers, we decide whether or not to admit him to the Order."
Too easy. There had to be more to it than that.
"Who asks the questions?" she persisted.
"Four inquisitors of my choosing."
"So where's the risk you mentioned?"
"He must first take previdac, a drug which prevents him from lying to us."
"Sort of a truth serum?"
"Yes. But a very dangerous one. If the person has too great a difficulty admitting and accepting the truth, the psychological pressure can cause permanent insanity. There have also been cases of death from cerebral hemorrhage and cardiac arrest."
The situation was looking worse all the time. Could these people be serious?
"If this drug is so dangerous, why would anyone take it?"
"No one does without grave cause. There are no pleasant effects to counteract the risk. Quite the contrary, in fact. This is a drug no Tenctonese would want to take."
"Oh." Pat thought for a minute. "But if it's truth you're after, why not just douse your victims with the gas used on the Ship and then order them not to lie?"
"The gas can be resisted, or immunity can be built up against it. In Bin Treyma's case, it would be ineffective anyway. He bears the tattoo of the Kleezantsun#. That makes him immune."
"But it's only a tattoo," Pat objected. "How could it --"
"Along with the pigment, they embed a time-release chemical that counteracts the gas," he explained. "Haven't you wondered why he still has the tattoo, when he claims to repudiate all it stands for? Or why other Overseers haven't had theirs removed so they could pass as ordinary Tenctonese?"
"Well, yes," she admitted reluctantly.
"After a number of years, the Overseer's body grows accustomed to this counteractant. Remove that tattoo, and he or she will very likely die."
"I wasn't aware of that."
The Drevny waved away her disclaimer. "No reason you should be. But there may be other things involved in all this that you similarly are not aware of, Ms. Fisher. Perhaps it would be best if you left this to us and returned to your home."
Oh no. You're not getting off the hook so easily, you overdressed ass.
"Francis is my friend. I can't just walk out on him."
"I respect your concern, but you can do nothing to help him. The choice was his."
"Couldn't you discourage him?"
"I tried. Please believe me when I say I do not look forward to this."
The newcomer was obviously sincere, and Pat believed she knew why. "You don't think he'll make it, do you?"
"Ms. Fisher, he was an Overseer. I don't believe he can face his past at the level the drug will make necessary. Perhaps he thinks he can, but I don't. I'll be surprised if he comes out alive, not to mention sane."
Pat read something more than that in the man's voice. "Even if he survives, the Order won't accept him. Right?" she asked quickly.
"His four judges will make that decision. For him to be accepted, it must be unanimous."
The answer seemed entirely neutral, but there was just a hint of self-righteous smugness in the man's tone. For a brief moment, he reminded her of -- No, she corrected herself hastily, that was silly. This newcomer didn't look at all like Reverend Barden. Why would she even think of that?
"You don't believe there's much chance he'll be accepted?"
"Ms. Fisher, he was an Overseer." The Drevny spread his hands as if no further explanation were necessary.
Pat folded her arms across her chest and glared at Bin Veylan. "Fine. Francis has already been judged and found guilty. Tell me, do you make every binnaum who wants to join your Order go through this sort of thing?"
The Drevny looked truly appalled at that suggestion. "Oh no! Only in the case of someone who has done something so terrible that there exists considerable doubt as to his fitness to be one of us. Such cases are extremely rare. Even on Tencton, if it happened once in a generation, it was remarkable."
"Is this how you want to start your history on this planet then?" she challenged. "With an antiquated ordeal ritual?"
"No," the Drevny replied, his forehead creasing in a frown. "Ms. Fisher, we are going around in circles. I don't want this. I sincerely wish Bin Treyma had never come to me, but since he has, I have little choice. I tried to dissuade him already."
"Can't you stop it?"
The binnaum spread both hands in a gesture of helplessness.
"He demanded it. It is his right."
"And if he changed his mind now? Would it be too late?"
"Not at all. He can withdraw at any time, right up until he actually takes the drug. After that, it's too late."
"Then let me talk to him. Perhaps I can convince him to back out."
The enthusiasm of the Drevny's reply surprised her.
"You are more than welcome to try. If you'll come with me, I'll take you to him."
The door opened behind him and Francis rose to his feet, smoothing the fabric of the plain white robe he wore. Could it be time already? He turned, seeking for a calm he did not feel.
Pat Fisher stood just inside the chapel door, staring into the semi-darkness.
He blinked once in surprise as he recognized his friend.
"Francis?" she asked uncertainly. Her slow human reflexes and limited night vision must be making him nearly invisible to her in the dimly-lit room.
"Pat, what are you doing here?" he asked, crossing over to her and taking her arm. As they spoke, he led her across the room and drew her down to sit beside him on the padded floor in front of the altar platform.
"I -- I came to talk you out of this."
Smiling at her impetuousness, he shook his head. "How did you even know where to find me?"
She clasped his hand. "That isn't important now. What matters is that I convince you this isn't necessary."
"Wait a minute. How do you know what it is you're trying to talk me out of?"
"The Drevny told me," she replied impatiently. "Francis, you don't have to do this. It doesn't matter to anyone back home if you're part of the Order or not. It's not worth risking your life --"
He cut her off, saying gently, "I know you're concerned for me, but you don't understand what's involved here and what it means to me."
"I don't have to understand. I know you could end up dead or insane. You mean too much to me, and to everyone back home. You don't have to prove anything to anyone. Forget this mumbo jumbo and let's get out of here."
Francis sighed. "This 'mumbo-jumbo' as you call it, is very important to me. This isn't your business and you shouldn't have come."
"I had to try to help you --"
"You can't help me. There's nothing you can do."
"Boss, please. You're not thinking straight. You've barely recovered from that accident you were in, and you're still weak. You should wait --"
If I wait any longer, I may lose my nerve," he interrupted. He really didn't need this just now. It was hard enough trying to figure out his own mind, much less have to explain it to a human. If he admitted to any uncertainty, she would surely use it to weaken his resolve. "I know you don't understand why I'm doing this, but I have thought about it long and hard. I appreciate your concern, but this is my choice. You can help me most by accepting it."
"You can't mean you really believe all this?!" With a sweeping gesture, she managed to encompass the altar with its candles, the chapel, and the entire monastery.
There was too much anguish behind that question for Francis to accept it at face value. "You don't even understand what 'all this' means," he pointed out gently, "so how can you judge its worthiness to be believed?"
"I don't have to understand it. It's just like human religion. There's nothing to it but power trips and hypocrisy. It's a way to manipulate people and make them do what you want them to."
"Don't you think you're being a little too simplistic? Any system of belief or philosophy can be used to control people. Does that make them all the same? Or all unworthy?
"Francis, I don't want to argue religion with you."
"Then why are you here?"
That stopped her.
"I guess I wanted to save you from these people," she replied slowly.
"You can't save me. I'm the only one who can do that."
Pat shook her head in frustration. "Don't you understand? They have no intention of letting you be one of them."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know what religious people are like, damnit! They're full of pretty words about forgiveness and love and high ideals, but when it comes right down to it, it's all bigotry and hatred if you won't follow their orders."
Yes, he supposed it could seem that way, from a certain point of view.
From some prior discussions they'd had, he knew Pat wasn't much interested in religion. He'd never attempted to question her disbelief, since he had not felt it was his right to do so. However, her present distress seemed based on more than a simple intellectual rejection of religious precepts.
He asked gently, "Was the fault in what you were being taught, or in the one who was teaching you?"
Pat's face contorted in what almost seemed a grimace of pain and he knew he had struck a nerve.
She replied through clenched teeth, "Both."
"Would you like to tell me about it?"
"Aren't you supposed to be praying or meditating or something, instead of playing psychiatrist?"
"You're avoiding the question."
"So are you."
Francis shrugged. "I'm not playing psychiatrist. You've objected to my going through a religious ritual on the grounds that religion can't be trusted, yet you refuse to give me the facts that support your claim."
"You really want to know?"
"Yes." But not nearly as badly as you want to tell me.
She shook her head, as if to dismiss the whole thing as meaningless. "It was nothing, really. Just a young girl foolish enough to trust a --"
He cut her off abruptly. "Pat, if it wasn't important, why are there tears in your eyes?"
Wiping them hastily away with the back of one hand, she began hesitantly, "Oh, all right. It was back when I went to college. I had never been terribly religious as a child. My parents took me to church and all that, but it didn't mean much to me. Then when I went off to college, there was a really good campus ministry program. Somehow, I found myself at one of their services. There was a young minister, Reverend Paul Barden, and he was full of enthusiasm for doing God's work --"
She stopped and cleared her throat. "Well, to make a long story short, before I knew it, I was quite involved, and I loved it. For most of that first year, I was happy as could be, with all sorts of new friends and activities." Pat smiled crookedly and shook her head. "Of course, I should have known better. Even then, I was attracted to girls, not boys. I knew the church's teaching against such a thing, so I guess I was only fooling myself. But I thought I could trust Reverend Barden to understand. Gathering all my courage, I confessed my secret to him, hoping for sympathetic guidance and advice."
She fell silent, staring down at the carpet.
"I take it that's not what you got?" Francis prompted gently.
"Damn right! The bastard threw me out of his office. The following Sunday, he denounced me in front of the entire congregation, demanding that I come up to the altar, confess my sins, and swear never to so much as think such thoughts again."
Her head came up, eyes blazing. "I ran out of that church sobbing, but I'd be
damned if I'd repent something that never seemed sinful to me!"
No wonder Pat had been so upset when she'd thought he'd been lying to her after that incident with Thanika! It must have reawakened old memories of that betrayal.
Francis said gently, "That hurt you very much."
"Sure it did! I looked up to that man; I trusted him. I thought he'd at least try to understand." Then she smiled a vicious smile. "You want to know the real kicker, boss? A year later, Reverend Barden was accused of molesting two little girls in his Sunday School class. That's the kind of morality he lived by! Do you really wonder why I don't trust religious folks anymore?"
"Because one person betrayed you, it doesn't automatically follow that all others will," Francis pointed out.
"Suuuure. And you really think this Order of yours can be trusted? There's nothing particularly holy about them, as far as I can see. What makes them able to pass judgement on you? After all, they're only human. Well, I mean Tenctonese. What makes you think you can trust them to accept you?"
"I'm not trusting them to accept me. I'm trusting them to do what they truly feel is right in my case."
"But they don't know you! They don't know what you've done back home."
"Don't worry," he said grimly. "They'll have the opportunity to find out whatever they want to know about me."
Pat slumped back on the soft mat in defeat. "I don't get it. Why can't you just go on the way you were doing before? What was wrong with that?"
That was the question he'd been turning over and over in his mind all night. How could he answer Pat, if he could not even answer himself?
But he had to try. He owed her that much. As he studied his friend's face in the candlelight, wondering where to begin, he saw her briefly in his mind's eye as she had been the night she'd escorted him down the stairs and into the Wagners' living room for the coupling ceremony.
Something about that memory was important. It flickered at the edge of his awareness, but he didn't quite grasp it. What was it? What?
"Francis?" Pat asked. "Something wrong?"
"No. It's just --" Frowning, he shook his head. Maybe if he could put it into words, it would become clear. "Remember that night with Jane? The first time I --" The words ran out. He started over again. "If the Order can accept me, I'll be able to be a legitimate part of the tradition that I've come to value. The first time I catalyzed a child with the proper ritual, it was little more than a charade, an act I put on to please the others. But it came to mean far more to me each time. The prayers and invocations struck deeper into my soul at every repetition."
Yes, that was it. Even as he struggled for the words, something clicked into place in his mind.
"Finally, it became too painful to feel myself a phony. I want to be the real thing. I want to represent the tradition I have come to value, to lend my voice to the chorus of those who seek for the Holy. I can't do that as a renegade practicing outside the Law." He shook his head before admitting raggedly, "I've been a lot of awful things in my life, but I've never been much good at being a hypocrite. I've done plenty of very sincere evil. Now I want to do some sincere good."
"I can't argue with that, boss. But are you absolutely certain this is the best way to go about it?"
Francis smiled. Yes, he was certain. "You humans talk about doing things halfheartedly. Well, we have a saying to the effect that you cannot survive if your hearts do not beat in harmony. I can't stand to live any longer divided against myself this way. I can't say one thing while doing another. Either I've got to be a part of the Order, or I've got to stop pretending to be entitled to perform the ceremonies as if I were."
"It doesn't matter --"
"It does matter!" he interrupted vehemently. "Remember you told me about the human who wrote that song, 'Astonishing Grace'?"
"You mean, 'Amazing Grace,' boss."
"Whatever. Anyway, you said he was the captain of a slaveship. He later repented and became a clergyman. He could have lived a moral life as a layman, but he must have wanted to do more than that. I imagine he'd have understood why I want to do this."
"It's not the same. That guy didn't have to risk his life to join the clergy. This druvaad# of yours is barbaric."
"No, it's the prescribed method for someone like me to seek absolution. It is just. You do not gain redemption simply by saying you're sorry, genuine though that sorrow may be. It's not that easy -- and it shouldn't be that easy. That's a human belief, which has no part in Tenctonese tradition."
"Sounds a lot like the old 'eye for an eye' routine to me," Pat said sourly.
"No, not quite. If it were, I'd probably be put to death very slowly and painfully over the course of the next few weeks."
That shocked her into a long and thoughtful silence. Francis glanced up past the altar to the Wall. Let her understand! he begged.
"These traditions mean a lot to you, boss?"
"Yes." What could he say to convince her? "It's especially important on this new planet that our traditions be maintained. I don't mean blind obedience to the past, of course. But that which is still of value to us in our new situation must be carefully determined and then passed on to the next generation. I've seen a large number of our people who are literally without foundations on this planet, unable to maintain their own identity in the face of human culture. Some have chosen to adopt various human belief systems, but many are simply lost and drifting, without purpose or standards or values."
"They're not alone, boss. Huge chunks of the human race are in the same boat."
"That may well be true, but why would anyone wish to be, as you say, in that boat?"
"Maybe because all those religions and philosophies are a bunch of malarkey dedicated to keeping people obedient to their outmoded ideas!"
"It doesn't have to be that way --"
"Maybe not, but it is!"
At the far end of the room, the door opened quietly. The Drevny stood framed in the brighter light of the hallway. Francis knew he had to end this quickly.
"If the teachings of your church had seemed to you to be right, would you have abandoned them just because someone failed to live up to them?" he asked.
"People will always fail to live up to impossible ideals. All they create is frustration," she rasped.
He could hear the swish of the Drevny's ornate robe as the other binnaum crossed the room towards them. Give me the right words! Francis pleaded silently, knowing his time had run out.
"Ideals create hope, and striving. The miracle comes when we do live up to them," he said softly to Pat, as he rose to his feet.
Bin Veylan was loathe to interrupt what was going on between Ms. Fisher and Bin Treyma, but it was time to begin the druvaad#. He hadn't been able to avoid hearing what had been said, but he walked slowly across the chapel, giving them a chance to notice his presence and conclude their discussion in relative privacy.
"This is worth your life, boss?" the human woman asked softly as she stood up."
"It's worth far more than that."
"You're sure?"
"I am."
Much to the Drevny's surprise, the human wrapped her arms around Bin Treyma and hugged him tightly.
After a moment, Bin Veylan cleared his throat. The woman released Treyma quickly and stepped back, as if she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have.
When no one said anything, Bin Veylan broke the silence. "I take it you had no more luck dissuading him than I had, Ms Fisher?"
"You take it correctly," she replied. "I guess I've got to leave now, right?" The Drevny nodded. "May I stay here at the monastery until it's over?"
"Do you wish your friend to remain?" Bin Veylan asked, turning to Treyma.
"If possible, yes," he replied.
"Very well." He returned his attention to the human. "Ms. Fisher, my secretary is out in the hall. He'll show you back to your room."
The woman started toward the door. At the last minute, she turned and gave them a bright smile. Displaying a fist with one thumb pointing up in the air, she said, "Knock 'em dead, boss."
When the door had closed behind her, the Drevny asked, *She wishes you to kill us?*
For a brief moment, Bin Treyma looked as if he might laugh. Then the serious expression returned to his face and he explained tersely, *Figure of speech. It means she wishes me success. *
*Oh.* Bin Veylan shook his head. *Humans are hard to understand sometimes. Combined with that gesture, I thought it was some sort of threat display.* He shrugged and then went on, *We are ready to begin. Take your place.*
With a nod, Treyma turned to face the altar. Bin Veylan lifted his hand, signaling the four chosen inquisitors to approach. As they stepped up onto the platform and arranged themselves behind the altar, the Drevny came around to stand in front of the candidate. Reaching up to the altar, he took the silver cup in his hands, suppressing a shudder as he did so. The vile purple liquid in the cup glistened with an oily sheen in the diffuse light from the candles. Previdac was nasty stuff and Bin Veylan hated the circumstances that had forced him into having to use it on someone.
He looked Bin Treyma in the eyes, hoping even now to find some indication that the man would back down and make this unnecessary, but the Overseer's eyes were riveted on the silver cup. He seemed not even to notice the man holding it.
Reluctantly, the Drevny began the ritual. *Bin Treyma #Sendra, these are the ones chosen to be your inquisitors.*
Only then was Francis able to tear his eyes away from the cup that held the drug. Four hooded figures faced him from their places behind the altar, their faces entirely hidden by opaque veils.
The first one extended his hands over the top of the first candle and recited formally, *By the light of Tradition, shall I judge you.*
Francis nodded fractionally in acknowledgement, and the next one said, *By the light of Honor, shall I judge you.*
As the third inquisitor spoke in his turn, Francis only had half his mind on the ritual words, so apprehensive was he over what would come next. But the final inquisitor's words pulled him back into the present With a vengeance.
*By the light of Love, shall I judge you.* That voice could only belong to Bin Thanika Lestrei, and there was very little of love in it.
Francis had to stop himself from reacting to the shock he felt. Thanika, his boyhood friend. Thanika, who had tried twice to kill him and whose parting words the last time he had seen him had been, *I still hate you, Treyma, and I'll get revenge, one way or another. That hasn't changed.*
The Drevny spoke next. *Bin Treyma, you are required to affirm that you submit yourself to the druvaad# of your own free will and in full knowledge of the possible consequences.*
This was his last chance to back out. Francis hesitated. The odds had just shifted significantly against him. He doubted there was anything he could say that would inspire Thanika to accept him, and the verdict had to be unanimous for him to succeed.
Had the Drevny hoped to dissuade him by appointing Thanika one of the judges? Or had he done it to insure that Francis would fail? Perhaps Pat was right after all and the verdict was a foregone conclusion.
For a moment, Francis studied the Drevny's face, but it was impossible to read his thoughts from his expression.
No, he would not assume the Drevny acted dishonestly. If this man and all he stood for was unworthy of trust, then it made no difference if he himself failed in his quest, for it was already lost.
*Bin Treyma?* the Drevny prompted.
Francis cleared his throat, as if his hesitation had only been due to nervousness. He resolved to take the risk. There would be no second chance. Better to try and fail than to give up now and hate himself for the rest of his life.
Lifting his eyes beyond the Drevny, and beyond the four who held his fate in their hands, he focused on the blank greyness of the Wall behind them. Here I am -- if you'll have me.
*Of my own free will, I affirm that I will drink the previdac. I will accept your judgement, as if it came from Celine and Andarko.*
Although he could not see his face, Francis imagined Thanika was smiling.
*So shall it be,* the Drevny intoned. He held the silver cup out to Francis, with its carefully measured dose of the truth drug.
Francis took the cup and drained it. The liquid was sour on his tongue and almost made him gag, but he suppressed that reflex. He sank down to the floor, reclining against the padding. Even as he lay back, he felt the previdac begin to affect him. His arms and legs grew heavy, his eyes drooped closed. It would have taken an insurmountable effort on his part merely to stand up again. Very soon, his mind would fade out and he would not be fully conscious of what they asked or what he answered. He knew he'd be told to drink again, and again, as long as there were still questions to be asked. The limit was ten hours, but he'd be lucky if there was anything left of his mind if it went on that long.
He shivered despite the warmth of the room, blood pounding in his temples as he felt his mind beginning to slip. This had been a mistake. He never should have agreed to it. The ideal was an impartial judgement, but was such a thing even possible to mortals? Considering his past, how impartial could these people be? He was a fool to have trusted anyone. He knew better than that. He knew what previdac could do to a person. He remembered vividly the screams of his own victim, even after so many years.
Francis fought the urge to cover his ears with his hands, trying to tell himself it was imagination. The light from the candles seemed to slash into his brain with flickering, improbable colors. He clamped his eyes shut, but the relative darkness wasn't much better. Hideous images clamored for his attention, seeping around the floodgates that strove to contain them.
*No, oh no,* he moaned, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice.
Then he heard Thanika say smugly, *Tell us about Dalvi Valens.*
Francis willed his mouth to stay closed, although he knew full well that was useless. Pain lanced through his head even as the world spun in sickening circles. He heard his traitor tongue form the words and knew he would babble out whatever came into his mind, but he was helpless to stop it.
*Dalvi was my teacher --*
The darkness coalesced around an image of Bin Dalvi, speaking hastily, secretly, to a group of young binnaums. The Holy Gas made it hard to concentrate on the older man's words, but the boys tried valiantly, forcing the words of the Teachings through their numbed minds.
They loved Dalvi. He was the only glimmer of hope, the only light in the unrelenting dreariness and sorrow they had lived with all their lives. They would have died for him, and done it gladly.
A harsh voice raked over this glowing image. *Tell us how you betrayed Bin Dalvi, Treyma. Tell us about Piedra Frelani.*
The images shifted like the inside of a kaleidoscope, and left him with --
Pain. Pain so intense he thought he couldn't bear it -- until it got worse. Agony that burned through his body and his mind, surrounded, coated, smothered by Piedra Frelani's coaxing voice.
*It doesn't have to be this way, Treyma. There are other possibilities for you. Yield to me, boy. I'll make you into something you've never dreamed of becoming. Forget Celine and Andarko and all that nonsense. They cannot help you. Forget the Teachings. They do not matter here.*
The pain eased a little. He could almost think coherently in the brief lull. Why was he doing this? Did he really think he could resist the Kleezantsun#? But Dalvi. He couldn't betray Dalvi. He couldn't.
*Treyma, don't make me do this. Just tell me the name of your teacher, to show that you trust me. I know who he is already, foolish child. I only need to hear you say it and this unpleasantness will come to an end.*
He clamped his teeth shut, but the wand in Piedra's hand blazed purple and familiar hideous agony spread outward from where its tip touched his naked body. He screamed and screamed -- and at last the scream became a name.
Francis was vaguely aware that he was still screaming when another voice asked, *What happened next?*
The terrible kaleidoscope shifted again.
The time of discipline and training, under Piedra's watchful eyes. Fiercely determined now to win her approval, he struggled ruthlessly to mold himself into her image. Her words rang through his mind, awake or asleep.
*Love is weakness. Compassion is weakness. If you can see yourself in the place of your victim, you are lost. You are one of the Chosen. You must be strong.*
Then the final test: Dalvi, bound and helpless on the floor, with the candles flickering around him.
Francis' voice, dead and cold, as the double-bladed knife in his hand plunged down into his erstwhile teacher's breast: *I have learned to kill love.*
The hard metal rim of a cup was held to Francis' lips. Commanded to drink more of the previdac, he did so without resistance. If there were spoken questions after that, his mind wasn't fully aware of them. Memories filtered through his tortured brain, as vividly real as if he were dreaming them. They came and went with a volition not his own.
Row after row of bedracks full of cargo, their blank faces watching nothing. As they saw him, recognized the new tattoo on his wrist, they turned quickly away or stared at him in mindless terror.
If not for the Holy Gas, they could have swarmed down upon him like a plague of rats, tearing him to pieces.
He smiled. If not for the Gas --
The cold, bright room, the trays of instruments.
The females strapped down on those tables, helpless terror in their eyes. The males, when Piedra removed half-developed babies from their poaches, in order to see if they could be kept alive in her fancy machines. The artificial insemination that went against all Tenctonese traditions. Even the routine live couplings of selected genetic strains, performed with Gas-sodden zombies who had no voice in what was done to or with their bodies.
Over and over, time after time, until it all meant less than nothing to him.
And worse: until he came to enjoy what he did.
The one and only time he'd gone to watch the Game with Piedra. As the losers writhed and died screaming under the blast of saltwater, he had shaken his head in disapproval, not at the cruel deaths, but at the waste. The Overseers were supposed to maintain and transport the cargo, not destroy it indiscriminately.
The glaring light of the alien desert. The Ship wrecked, dangerous, soon to explode. Cargo wandering free, dazed and without guidance. The slave who had glared at him with such hatred and tried to stop him when he stripped the tunic from a nearby corpse to cover his naked shoulders.
Knowing that same hatred would be reflected in other eyes as well, he had carefully pulled the right sleeve down to be sure it covered his tattoo.
The ones he struck down, maybe killed, in that harsh desert, so he could take scarce food and water for his own need.
The hideous haze of memories shifted and blurred. For a merciful time, there was only darkness. Then consciousness reemerged into raw terror.
He lay helpless, bound and spread-eagled naked on a cold hard surface, a glaring light in his eyes. He wanted to struggle, to break free, at least to scream, but could not. He was surrounded by figures whose faces could not be seen. Slowly, deliberately, they began to slit him open, remove sections of his skin.
It should hurt but, strangely, it didn't. With every movement they made, he expected pain, flinched away from the cold, cold instruments they used, the casual way they cut him apart and left him oozing blood and soundless tears onto the sterile surface beneath him.
There was no caring, no feeling, behind those faceless ones. They cut him apart as if he were an animal to be butchered. He forced himself to look at the raw, exposed mess they had made of his torso. He saw the blood was congealed, the muscle putrefying. He was foul, a thing of horror and disgust. His living flesh had hidden this corruption, but it had been there all along. They had only stripped him of his disguise, that was all.
Then they came toward his head, set a sharp-edged chisel to his skull. A hand was raised, a hammer fell, driving the chisel deeper and deeper, as he fought uselessly to scream, to plead for mercy.
No, no! Not that! Leave me my brain. It's all I have left. Please don't! Oh please!
But they didn't listen. His skull shattered with a sharp crack, leaving his inmost self exposed to the harsh light. His brain would be as putrid as his flayed body. He knew it, but could not face it. It would be awful to look upon. Such things should never be exposed to the air and the light, or they would --
*Or they would what, Bin Treyma? Shrivel up and die? So what?*
It was the familiar voice of an old woman: Kheersa's voice. She stood beside the dissecting table, hands on hips.
*So honest you are, Treyma. So willing to admit your past. You refuse to run from what you've done. You pride yourself on that, don't you?* The way she said it made it seem to be a thing to be ashamed of. But he had tried his best to accept responsibility for what he had been. What more could she expect? He could not undo the past.
Kheersa smiled. Reaching out a hand to touch his wrist -- the tattoo was still there, although the flesh was gone! -- he invited, *Come with me, Treyma. See if you dare look at who really lies on this table.*
*No,* he whispered. *No. It's too awful. Don't make me --*
Her hand tightened. She drew him out and up, away from the foul thing he had become.
He kept his eyes locked on her smile. If he watched her, he wouldn't have to turn, wouldn't have to see --
Kheersa gripped his shoulders, spun him around. Panic and loathing filled his soul, but he could not stop his eyes from tracking. The white room, the searing light, the faceless figures gathered around. And on the table --
Only a young boy sobbing, with no one to comfort him.
*But--* he stammered, *the stinking flesh, the seeping blood, the shattered brain --*
Her hand, fingers curled together, reached out to touch his temple, her compassion and caring soothing the raw hurt that was his mind. *Illusions, Treyma,*she whispered. *All illusions. None of this is real.* Her lips quirked in a curious half-smile. *Or perhaps it is real, truer in its own way than so-called reality.*
He met the old woman's eyes. *I'm not sure I know what you mean.*
*Think about it. Perhaps someday you'll understand.*
She withdrew her hand and stepped back. *Goodbye, Bin Treyma. I promised to be with you until you didn't need me anymore. That time has come.*
*Kheersa --* He started after her.
*No.* Her hand lifted in a gesture of stern forbidding. *The boy down there is crying. Comfort him.*
She faded and was gone into a swirling mist that had begun seeping in from somewhere.
He moved hesitantly down toward the table. Gathering the child into his arms, he carried him past the faceless figures and away from that awful room.
The fog closed in thickly around them. It swirled around his ankles like a nest of snakes and wrapped his shoulders in a crushing mantle so that he could barely stand upright. His legs felt confined, shackled by tendrils of mist. The boy's body lay heavily in his arms, threatening to tear his shoulders from their sockets.
Resolutely, he pushed forward through the viscous atmosphere, wanting only to put distance between himself and that horrid bright room. The child weighed him down. Soon he struggled on hands and knees, dragging himself painfully along, clutching the boy to his breast with one aching arm.
The fog grew thicker, filling his lungs with chill dampness. Choking, gasping for breath, Francis still struggled forward.
As a crazy, shrieking darkness closed in on him, he held the boy closer, protecting him with his own body.
When Bin Veylan came into her room, Pat leapt up from the chair in which she had been half-dozing.
"How is he?" she demanded.
"Your friend is alive, Ms. Fisher. That's all I can tell you right now."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank heavens!"
"He's in the infirmary. Bin Charobi has begun administering the antidote, but it will be several hours before he'll be conscious."
"May I see him?"
The Drevny spread his hands. "There's nothing you can do."
"I know. I still want to see him."
"Very well. Come with me." He didn't sound pleased.
Pat's first glimpse of Francis wasn't encouraging. Still unconscious, he was strapped down on a bed, with an IV running into his left arm. His cheeks were sunken and the skin around his eyes was puffy and dark. Potted plants filled an entire wall of the little room, and two cats lay curled up on the bed next to the patient.
Seeing all the live things, Pat hoped fervently that this was merely standard procedure and not an indication of how bad off Francis was.
Hesitantly, she took his hand and whispered, "Boss?"
"He can't hear you," a young binnaum said gently as he injected something into the IV line. "He's shown no signs of consciousness yet."
"Ms. Fisher, this is Bin Charobi, our healer," the Drevny said in brief introduction.
"May I stay with Francis?" Pat asked, not sure which of them she should appeal to.
"You really ought to have something to eat and get some rest," the Drevny pointed out.
"I can eat here, if you'll have food sent in. And I can rest in that chair."
The newcomer sighed. "Yes, if it will please you, you may stay."
After Bin Veylan had left, Pat sat holding Francis' hand until someone brought her a cup of tea and a plate of fresh greens and insisted she eat. Then she returned to her vigil.
Time flowed by in a leaden stream. Every so often, Francis would moan or try to move, but the restraining straps held him down securely. Each time, she clutched his hand and whispered his name, but there was no response.
As the hours dragged by, her worrying increased. Was it her imagination, or did Bin Charobi also seem to be getting more anxious? She wouldn't allow herself to lose hope. He'd be all right. Francis wasn't as easy to destroy as they all thought. She'd seen him face his past before. This may have been more intense, but it was only the same thing he'd been doing for several years now.
And if he couldn't handle it?
She leaned back in the chair and closed her weary eyes, forcing back tears. Life wouldn't be the same without Francis. She'd go on running the Inn, of course. She'd have her other friends, both Tenctonese and human. Dear Jane, whom she still loved but was coming to accept as just a friend. And Scarlett, who showed every sign of becoming more than just a friend, especially considering last weekend.
It would all go on, but without Francis. Well, she could do it if she had to. It was not impossible.
As her mind drifted, she once again saw Francis standing in the dimly-lit chapel and heard him asking, "Was the fault in what you were being taught, or in the one who was teaching you?"
Whatever had possessed her to tell him about Reverend Barden? Why had she bothered with her own troubles at such a crucial time? She should have left him alone, so he could prepare himself for what was coming. She had disrupted his concentration and placed an unfair burden on him when he'd already had enough to worry about.
Besides. he hadn't listened to her anyway. She might as well have been talking to the wall. Nothing had changed.
No, that wasn't quite right, she realized with surprise. Something had changed. When she thought of Reverend Barden, the memory didn't hurt anymore. It was past and it was over -- and it didn't matter! Barden had been one person in one religion at one time. That didn't mean the incident was applicable to all times and all people.
Maybe she had closed too many doors too soon, as a result of that unfortunate experience.
She found strange thoughts running through her head, half-whimsical, yet half-serious. Astonished, she realized she was almost praying!
Francis believes in You. He thinks You're something other than the God of my childhood. What have I heard him call You -- the Infinitely Holy? Well, that sounds better than any of the titles I was taught to use.
I don't know What or Who You are. I don't even know if You are. But if You're really there and You can hear me, all I ask is this: that Francis' faith in You be vindicated.
She shook her head and rubbed her stinging eyes. Then she chuckled softly. Now she knew she was losing it, if she'd actually been driven to pray for something after all these years. Whatever had possessed her to do that?
"Pat?"
She jumped and opened her eyes to find Francis looking at her blearily.
"Yeah, boss, it's me," she replied. "You okay?"
He tried to smile but it turned into a grimace. "Okay, no. Sane, perhaps. But I'd be more sure of that if my head didn't feel as if it were being split open."
Bin Charobi was next to her, stethoscope already pressed to Francis' chest. "Severe headache is an aftereffect of the previdac," he mumbled distractedly. "Nothing to worry about."
"Easy for you to say," Francis remarked tartly.
Pat breathed a sigh of relief. "You look like something the cat dragged in," she said with a smile.
"Oh? Can a cat carry this much weight?"
Pat managed a laugh. Then Francis asked what time it was. Glancing at her watch, she replied, "Almost 1 PM. Why?"
"When did they finish questioning me?"
Pat was about to say she didn't know exactly, when Bin Charobi spoke up. "Eight last night."
Francis winced. "It went on for ten hours then?"
"Yes."
"Celine! I'm lucky my brain isn't scrambled."
"Very lucky," the other binnaum agreed, as he unfastened the straps that had held Francis to the bed. "Don't try to get up yet."
"You don't have to worry about that," Francis assured him.
"Good. I'll mix up something for that headache, then you should try to sleep." Bin Charobi went to the small medicine cabinet in a corner of the room and busied himself with an assortment of bottles and packets, picking up the receiver of the phone on the wall and talking softly into it at the same time.
Pat turned her attention to Francis. "If they refuse you, you will come back to the Inn with me, won't you?"
"I'm not sure. I promised the Drevny I wouldn't practice outside the Order. I'd be of no use to anyone --" He raised his right wrist, staring at the jagged black mark that encircled it.
Pat grabbed his wrist, closing her fingers around the tattoo that she had never dared to so much as touch before. Pitching her voice low, she said, "You have friends, Francis. Friends who don't care about this, no matter what the Order decides. Come home, boss. We want you."
"I'll see," was all he answered. Gently freeing his hand from Pat's grasp, he patted the cat that lay curled at his side.
The Drevny hurried down to the infirmary, in response to Bin Charobi's call. It seemed that the Overseer had survived, despite the length of the questioning. That was almost a shame, considering what he was certain would be the final verdict.
Bin Veylan frowned, remembering how he had tried several times to cut things short, only to have Bin Thanika insist on further interrogation. If he had been aware of the depth of hatred Thanika bore for Treyma, he would not have chosen him to take part in the druvaad#.
For that the Drevny blamed himself. He should have been more perceptive. Thanika had had nothing good to report about the Overseer after he'd returned from his investigation several months ago, but that was only to be expected. He hadn't so much as hinted that he had known Treyma on the Ship. That had only come out during the questioning.
He wondered what else Thanika hadn't told him about, even as he reached the door. He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. The last couple of days had been extremely difficult. He wanted nothing more than to retire to his room for a few hours of badly needed sleep, so his mind would be fresh and he could think clearly about what was to be done with the Overseer. All morning he had searched his soul for answers and come up with nothing new.
Bin Veylan rubbed his aching temples with his fingertips, straightened the fall of his robe, and went into the room.
Just as Bin Charobi had reported, there was the Overseer, conscious and apparently rational. Ms. Fisher sprang to her feet as the Drevny came through the door. She had evidently been talking to her friend.
Bin Veylan strode over to the bed, keeping his face carefully neutral. The Overseer was scratching one of the cat's ears with his free hand. That was a good sign. *Greetings, Bin Treyma. How are you feeling?*
*Terrible, Drevny. But I think I might live.*
Yes, the patient obviously knew who he was and could make a coherent answer.
*Do you remember what happened?*
*Yes. And I am anxiously awaiting the verdict.*
*Pardon me, Drevny,* Bin Charobi interrupted softly. *My patient really should be left alone now to rest.*
*Very well.* He turned to the human. "Ms. Fisher, are you satisfied that your friend is doing all right?"
"Yes."
"Then perhaps you would be willing to leave him in our care for a time?" he said, with a slight touch of sarcasm.
The woman smiled. "All right. I could use some sleep myself."
No sooner had they left the room than Ms. Fisher rudely grabbed the Drevny's sleeve and demanded, "What happens now? When do you decide? Or have you already decided?"
He glared at her coldly. She released his sleeve. "As I told you earlier, it isn't up to me. It's up to the four judges."
He started down the corridor. Perhaps if he accompanied her to her room he could get rid of her gracefully there.
They had descended the stairs and were almost to the guest wing when she came up with another challenge.
"If you have no say in the matter, why were you there?"
"Although a Drevny may interfere in such a judgement only rarely, he must always witness the proceedings." He waved her hostility aside, and continued, "The verdict will be made known exactly one day from the time the questioning ended. That will be at eight o'clock this evening. The judges will spend most of the day in prayer and meditation, considering their decisions. Bin Treyma should be sufficiently recovered by then to be advised of the result in the prescribed manner."
"I suppose there's a ceremony for that too?" she asked sourly.
"As a matter of fact, yes."
Her hand was already on the doorknob to her room. Good. He'd soon be free of this distraction.
She pushed the door open, but didn't go inside.
"You folks are awfully fond of ceremonies, aren't you? I don't suppose you'd consider just telling him to his face?" Then she slumped against the doorframe and scrubbed her eyes with one hand, as if she were trying to wipe away her exhaustion. "No, forget I said that. I don't mean to be rude. I'm just tired and worried."
"I respect your concern, Ms. Fisher. I too am not exactly at my best." Almost unwillingly, he asked the question that had been niggling at his mind ever since she had first appeared in his office. "I must admit to a certain curiosity about why you care so much for one of us, and especially one of us like Bin Treyma."
"You mean that Overseer business?"
"Exactly."
She thought about it for a moment, her eyes straying longingly toward the bed in the far corner of the room.
"Drevny," she said, smiling brightly despite her obvious desire for sleep, "would you like to know more about Francis?"
"I know quite a bit about him already." Bin Veylan allowed a small measure of his distaste for the subject to creep into his voice.
"Yes, I'm sure you do. But I'll bet you don't know much about what he's done in Cartersville, despite what Bin Thanika may have reported. Wouldn't you like to hear the rest of the story?"
No, not particularly, was his immediate response. All he really wanted right now was the quiet of his modest chamber and a few hours of sleep to revive his flagging brain. But duty compelled him to hear all the available evidence. Perhaps this woman did have something new to add. He owed it to his own sense of integrity to listen.
He sat down on the single chair in the small room. "If you can make me understand how an Overseer has earned the sort of caring and loyalty you seem to feel for him, I am, as you humans say, all ears."
The woman smiled strangely. "All ears. Yeah, so I notice." She sat down on the bed. "It all started about a year and a half ago, when the Ku Klux Klan decided to terrorize two newcomers by the name of Jane and Richard Wagner," she began.
By the time she reached the end of her story two hours later, her voice was hoarse and cracking. "So you see, Francis is very important to me," she concluded. "And not just to me, but to the entire Tenctonese community in and around Cartersville. I want him back. We all want him back. We've forgiven him. Can't the Order do so also?"
Bin Veylan rubbed his forehead, which now seemed to ache as sharply as if he himself had been the one to take previdac. "This has been most informative, Ms. Fisher. I had no idea what the situation was like in your part of the country. Did I understand you to say the Klan disbanded when its leader was killed?"
The human grimaced distastefully. "Only that particular part of it. The Ku Klux Klan itself is still going strong, I'm afraid. And so are all the other hate groups."
The Drevny shook his head. "Such things never die, do they?" He stood up, smoothing the creases out of his robe as he did so. "If you'll excuse me, I've got to get some sleep, as I'm sure you must also."
The woman's face crumpled into an expression of tired despair. What had she expected him to do, run out and declare Bin Treyma's virtues? Her story had cast a new light on the man, but it was only one factor out of many. He needed to consider this new information from all angles before deciding on its significance.
As he turned to go, Ms. Fisher caught hold of his sleeve. "Drevny? May I ask a favor?"
"What is it?" he replied warily.
"May I be with Francis when he hears the decision?"
"That would be quite irregular --"
"Please! I won't do anything but watch, I promise."
"It means so much to you?"
"Yes."
"Very well. If it's all right with Treyma, you may accompany him to the chapel. Bin Charobi will be in attendance, so just stay with him."
"Thank you."
He touched her hand hesitantly, still unused to the color of her skin. "You're welcome. Now go to bed and get some sleep, or you'll be in worse shape than your friend when it comes time to hear the verdict."
Pat decided it would be wise to follow the Drevny's advice.
Francis entered the chapel, leaning heavily on Bin Charobi's shoulder. At the other end of the room, four shadowed figures stood behind the altar, each carrying an unlighted candle in a holder.
The Drevny met Francis inside the door, asking *Can you make it on your own or do you need assistance?*
*I can make it,* Francis replied, loosing his hold on Charobi, who moved to stand beside the door, drawing Pat over next to him. The black woman flashed him a bright smile but said nothing.
Bin Veylan started down the length of the room. Francis followed close behind him, willing his knees not to shake. His judges stood motionless, awaiting him.
What had they asked and what had he answered? Had he told them all about every one of those brief flashes of his past that he could almost remember? Surely not. There wouldn't have been time. He must have imagined some of it. But what had he talked about? What had not been hallucination?
He didn't know and couldn't ask. What they knew, they knew. And on that basis, they would judge him. That thought sent panic coursing through him, the pain pounding in his head as if his skull were once again being split open. His eyes burned as if seawater had been dashed into his face, his flesh crawled as if a million fire ants covered him, preparing to bite.
No! This was surely illusion. No more real than the visions that had scrawled across his vulnerable brain. It was the aftereffects of the drug, nothing more. He had spent too many hours confined within the cage of his own mind. Now he must concentrate on outside realities.
The solid bulk of the altar loomed ahead of him at almost eye level. The Drevny had stepped aside, leaving him to stand alone before his fate. The four judges eyed him impassively as the Drevny said, *It is time to make your decisions known. What says the keeper of the Pillar of Tradition?*
The man who held the candle representing Tradition stepped forward. Placing the candle upright on the altar, he took up a small lamp and lit the wick. Then he bowed slightly toward the Drevny and moved back to his place.
That was one in Francis' favor.
*What says the keeper of the Pillar of Honor?* Bin Veylan inquired.
The candle of Honor was lighted, followed by that of Spirituality.
With bated breath, Francis heard the final request and saw Thanika step forward. The verdict must be unanimous before he would be accepted. He was surprised to have gotten this far, but Thanika's would be the deciding vote.
Bin Thanika Lestrei turned the candle of Love upside down and placed it unlit upon the altar.
Francis slumped in defeat. Telling himself it was only what he had expected, he blinked back the tears in his eyes. Three candles burned in the dimness of the chapel, but that would not be enough to dispel the darkness that filled his hearts.
*Treyma #Sendra, you see the verdict before you,* said the Drevny, not unkindly. *Will you now vow before Celine and Andarko and in the name of the Infinitely Holy to honor your promise not to practice outside the Order, as was previously agreed?*
Should he protest? Say it was not fair, since Thanika had not been an unbiased judge? Repudiate his former promise and refuse to be bound by this oath?
For endless seconds, Francis considered that.
But no. He had known the rules and the possible outcome, and had insisted on playing the game regardless. Too late now to get out of it. He tried to tell himself that he hadn't lost everything. He still had the Inn and Pat's friendship. He could go on.
Yes, but his life would be as dark as that inverted candle on the altar without his role as binnaum. Couldn't they see that? Couldn't they understand what they were doing to him?
Enough! This is the judgement you asked for, and you have been found unworthy.
*I do so vow,* Francis said brokenly.
Bin Veylan nodded, allowing a small smile of satisfaction to play over his lips as he heard the other man's reply. Treyma was clearly devastated. All things considered, it was surprising he was still on his feet. Leaning close to the stricken ex-Overseer, the Drevny said softly, *Had you replied otherwise, I would not now do this.*
He mounted the raised platform and stood before the altar. *In the druvaad#, it is a Drevny's privilege to reverse one, and only one, of the candles. Rarely has this privilege been invoked, but I shall do so today.*
Taking the candle of Love, Bin Veylan set it upright and proceeded to kindle the flame. Looking directly at Thanika, he said gently, *A time comes when there must be an end even to justified hatred.* Then he turned to face the astonished candidate. *Be welcome among us, Bin Treyma.*
The Drevny noticed the other man go pale. Stepping quickly down from the altar, he took Treyma's arm, motioning Bin Charobi to attend him also.
*No, I'm all right,* Treyma managed, waving away the medical attendant. *It just wasn't what I expected, that's all.*
*Then I'm afraid I'm about to shock you even further.* The Drevny glanced over at Treyma's human friend, who stood stock-still by the door. "Ms. Fisher, would you join us please?"
She hurried over to stand at Treyma's other side,
*Did you understand the ceremony?* he asked slowly in Tenctonese.
*Yes. You did the right thing.*
*I'm glad you approve.* The Drevny allowed only a slight tinge of amused irony in his reply. *Bin Treyma, I did what I did in part because of a little talk I had earlier today with your friend here. Among other things, she made me see more clearly what your presence means in Cartersville. I have therefore decided that a time also comes when there must be changes even in ancient ways.* Treyma stared at him blankly. *I'm going to let you try that little 'experiment' you suggested when you first arrived,* the Drevny explained. *Go back to your community with my blessing. And may the Infinitely Holy go with you.*
Bin Treyma's face went a ghastly shade of white as he collapsed in a dead faint. Fortunately, the Drevny was able to catch him before he could hit the floor.
Two days later, Francis walked out the front door of the monastery with Pat close beside him. The crisp, cold air smelled marvelous. Even the piles of dirty grey snow, which were all that remained of the previous week's snowstorm, seemed to Francis' eyes to glitter like bejeweled hills in the bright sunlight. The lead weight that had settled heavier and heavier on his shoulders in recent months was gone. The world was new and possibilities seemed endless, for he was -- at last! -- a true servant of the Infinitely Holy.
Squinting her eyes against the sun, Pat turned to Francis, pleased to see that he looked well and happy.
"I think I'd like to hear about this Celine and Andarko of yours. Maybe there's something to all this after all," she said thoughtfully.
Francis stopped right where he was on the steps leading down from the monastery. "Celine and Andarko lived back in the days when --"
"Whoa! I didn't mean immediately," she interrupted, laughing. "For right now --" she linked her arm through his and drew him towards the taxi that stood waiting to take them to the airport --"Let's go home, boss."
