Four Roads Cross (Craft Sequence #5)(75)
He didn’t know why. No doubt Cardinal Librarian Aldis could offer three or four bookcases on the ethical underpinnings of his decision. But given the grumpy owl’s glower she directed at him from the benches, he doubted she was inclined to help. Her downward-curving mouth suggested the texts topmost in her mind were those at best embarrassing volumes—especially the bits with detailed diagrams indicating where one should apply the clamps, and at what speed the pincers should be spread.
At least this was better than the last time he’d been dragged before the tribunal. God wasn’t dead at the moment.
As it could be worses went, even Abelard had to admit this was less than compelling.
“You have been privy to many discussions concerning our church’s, and our Lord’s, vulnerability where Seril is concerned.”
“That is correct, Your Grace.”
Abelard took a shallower pull on the cigarette this time. Back during God’s death, or near-death, he’d felt himself sicken with every drag. The Lord’s blessing prevented cancer and heart disease and other problems. Abelard took small comfort in His presence now.
“You know the dangers we face.”
“Some of them, Your Grace.”
He heard an argument outside the hall—raised angry voices punctuated by a heavy blow that threw the double doors wide to admit Tara Abernathy and a man Abelard did not recognize. A protesting cloud of novitiate flunkies followed, trying without success to impede their progress. Cardinal Librarian Aldis stood; the city priests on the right wing squawked at the interruption. Tara looked furious. For a second Abelard allowed himself to hope the room would dissolve in, well, not violence, but at least a good old-fashioned shouting match that would distract the tribunal from him.
Cardinal Evangelist Bede thought fast on his feet.
“Brothers and Sisters,” he said, arms raised, “be calm.” He had the pulpit trick of voice that let his words silence a crowd. “Ms. Abernathy, welcome.”
She sometimes smiled when she was angry—not so much a display of joy as a baring of teeth. “You won’t try to throw me out?” With emphasis on the word “try.”
“Were this a formal proceeding, I would ask you to respect our rites, which limit the chamber to priests. But since this is not a formal proceeding, and you are a trusted advisor, you’re welcome to remain. As for your companion…”
“I vouch for him. As a trusted advisor.”
Bede spread his hands beneficently. Wide sleeves draped from his arms to form a fabric wall. Abelard risked a wave and a smile, neither of which Tara acknowledged. “I was just asking Brother Technician Abelard why, though he knew the danger God’s aid to Seril would pose to our city, church, and Lord, he nevertheless advised Him to help Her.” Bede revolved, slow as a planet, to face Abelard, and the room’s focus followed him.
Dear God. Abelard had joined the Technical Novitiate because he never liked preaching, always felt naked on the stage. Silent seconds spiraled to centuries. But through all the centuries, a fire burned.
He stood.
“Because my Lord trusted me,” he said. Bede opened his mouth, but Abelard pressed on, like running: falling forward to catch himself word by word. “My Lord showed Himself to me, though I did not see Him at first.” Tara stopped moving. He didn’t know how to read what he saw in her. “Last night, by asking my advice, by giving me a chance to choose, He led me to understand Himself: Lord Kos loves, and He must fight to defend those He loves. He would not be Himself if He let Seril fall, any more than I would be myself if I abandoned my friends, or my church. To turn from that truth is to turn from Him, as did Cardinal Gustave—to deny our living God and satisfy ourselves with the worship of His dead image, of a picture on a wall that does not change or ask us to change. We must accept that He needs Her, that He was less in Her absence. In Her return, we come to know a face of Him hidden for fifty years. You say I have endangered our God. I say I have grown to know Him, and the greater danger that lies in deafening ourselves to His purpose, in abandoning His truth for a version of Him that may seem comfortable. Faith is a state of constant examination and openness. In faith we must be vulnerable. Only in this seeming weakness do we live with God.”
No one spoke. Bede’s mouth closed.
Abelard breathed out a long thin sigh of smoke. “If I am wrong, I submit myself for guidance. But I do not think I am.”
*
Tara despaired of understanding the religious mind, but she knew how to read a room. When she entered that strange almost-court (no Craft circles to be seen, no judge, not even a bowl to catch shed blood), she’d pegged Abelard for dead.
Then he spoke, and many in the audience made the three-fingered triangle sign of the Flame and lowered their heads in an attitude that looked like prayer.
His argument didn’t even hold, unless the words had different meanings than she thought. Faith, for example: How could one’s fiduciary duty to church and God compel one to act against the interests of both? Yes, God and priests had goals beyond their own survival, but survival had to be prior certainly?
Her mind groped around the edge of a question she did not know how to ask. She wasn’t alone: Cardinal Evangelist Bede stood stunned. “Thank you, Brother,” he said. “Cardinals. I have no further questions, and must consider the Technician’s words.”
He bowed stiffly and swept out.