Part 2 (2/2)

'Yes, Elder Brother,' replied Braygan, mystified.

'I came from such a town. Men would walk their dogs close to the sheep, and there would be no trouble. Occasionally, though, a few dogs would gather together, and run loose. If they went into a field of sheep they would suddenly turn vicious and cause great harm. You have seen this?'

'Yes, Elder Brother. The pack mentality a.s.serts itself. They forget their training, their domesticity, and they turn . . .' Braygan stammered to a halt. 'You think the people in the town are like those dogs?'

'Of course they are, Braygan. They have come together and indulged in what they are led to believe is righteous anger. They have killed. They feel empowered. They feel mighty. Like the dogs they are glorying in their strength. Aye, and in their cruelty. These have been harsh years - crop failures, plagues, and droughts. The war with Datia has sapped the nation's resources. People are frightened and they are angry. They need to find someone to blame for their hards.h.i.+ps and their losses. The church leaders spoke out against the war.

Many have been branded as traitors. Some have been executed. The church itself is now accused of aiding the enemy. Of being the enemy. The mob will come, Braygan. With hatred in their hearts and murder on their minds.'

'Then Brother Lantern is right. We must leave.'

'You have not yet taken your final vows. You are free to do as you wish. As indeed is Brother Lantern.'

'Then you are not leaving, Elder Brother?'

'The Order will remain here, for this is our home and the people of the town are our flock.

We will not desert them in their hour of need. Think on these things, Braygan. You have perhaps a few days to consider your position.'

CHAPTER TWO

ABBOT CETHELIN FELT HEAVY OF HEART AS THE YOUNG PRIEST, Braygan, left the study. He liked the boy, and knew him to be good-hearted and kind. There was no malice in Braygan, no dark corners in his soul.

Cethelin moved to the window, pus.h.i.+ng it open and breathing in the cool Tantrian mountain air.

He could taste no madness upon it, nor sense any sorcery within it. Yet it was there. The world was slipping into insanity, as if some unseen plague was floating into every home and castle, every croft and hovel. A long time ago, close to his home, Cethelin recalled seeing a host of rodents scampering towards the distant cliffs. He and his father had walked to the clifftops, and watched as the rodents hurled themselves into the sea. The scene had amazed the boy he had been. He had asked his father why these little creatures were drowning themselves. His father had no answer. It happened every twenty or so years, he had said. They just do it.

There was something chilling in that phrase. They just do it.

Ma.s.s extinction should have a better reason. Now, at sixty-seven, Cethelin still pondered the reasons behind the madness -not, this time, of rodents, but of men. Had it begun when Ventria invaded the Drenai? Or had that merely been a symptom of the madness? War had spread like an unchecked bush fire through the heartlands of this eastern continent. Civil war still raged in Ventria, as a result of the Ventrian defeat at Skein five years before.

Rebellions had spread throughout Tantria, only to be followed by war with the country's eastern neighbours Dospilis and Datia -a war that continued still.

In Naashan to the southeast the Witch Queen's forces had invaded Panthia and Opal, and even the peaceful Phocians had been drawn in to help defend against the invaders. To the northwest the Nadir had spread into Pelucid, crossing the vast deserts of Namib to raze and plunder the cities of the coast. War was everywhere, and in its wake came the carrion birds of hatred, terror, plague and despair.

Cethelin felt the last worst of all. To spend a lifetime offering love to all, only to see it brutally transformed and twisted -obscenely reshaped into a blind, unreasoning hatred - was hard to bear. His thoughts swung to Brother Labberan. The children he had nurtured had turned on him, kicking and screeching.

Cethelin took a deep breath, and fought for calm.

Kneeling on the bare boards of the study floor the abbot prayed for a while. Then he rose and walked down to the lower levels and sat for an hour at Labberan's bedside. He spoke soothingly, but the old priest was not comforted.

Cethelin was tired by the time he climbed again to his own rooms, and he took to his narrow bed. It was still early afternoon, but Cethelin found that short naps at such times helped maintain his vigour. Not so today. He could not sleep, and lay upon his back, his mind unable to relax. He found himself thinking of Lantern and Braygan; opposites in so many ways. I should have sent Lantern across the water to found an order of the Thirty, he thought. He would have made a fine warrior priest.

A fine warrior priest.

A contradiction in terms, thought Cethelin sadly.

Unable to take comfort from rest he rose from his bed and made his way to the east wing of the monastery, moving past the kitchens and through the silent weaving rooms.

Mounting the circular steps he climbed to the First Library. His right knee was aching by the time he reached the top, and he felt his heart thudding painfully.

There were several priests present, studying ancient tomes. They rose as he entered and bowed deeply. He smiled at them, and bade them continue with their reading. Moving through the aisles, he ducked beneath the last arch and entered the reconstruction room.

Here also there were priests, meticulously copying decaying ma.n.u.scripts or scrolls. So engrossed were they in their work they failed to notice him as he continued through to the eastern reading room. Here he found Brother Lantern sitting by a window. He was reading a yellowed parchment.

He glanced up and Cethelin felt the power in his sapphire gaze. 'What are you reading?'

asked the abbot, sitting opposite the younger man. He winced as he sat, then rubbed his aching knee. Lantern noticed his pain.

'The apothecary said he would have some fresh juniper tisane for your arthritis within the month,' Lantern told him, then suddenly smiled and shook his head.

'We may yet have another month,' said Cethelin, sensing the irony that caused the smile.

'If the Source wills it.' He pointed to the parchment and repeated his question.

'It is a listing of little-known Datian myths,' replied Lantern.

'Ah. The Resurrectionists. I recall them. The stories are not Datian in origin. They come from the Elder Days, the days of Missael. The hero Ens.h.i.+bar was resurrected after his faithful friend, Kaodas, carried a lock of his hair and a fragment of bone to the Realm of the Dead. There the wizards grew Ens.h.i.+bar a new body and summoned his spirit back from the hall of heroes. It is a fine tale, and resonates through many cultures.'

'Most myths contain a grain of truth,' said Lantern warily.

'Indeed they do, Younger Brother. Is that why you carry a lock of hair and a fragment of bone within the locket round your neck?'

For a moment only Lantern's sapphire eyes glinted with anger. 'You see a great deal, Elder Brother. You see into men's dreams, and you see through metal. Perhaps you should be reading the dreams of the townsfolk.'

'I know their dreams, Lantern. They want food for their tables, and warmth in the winter.

They want their children to have better and safer lives than they can provide. The world is a huge and terrifying place for them. They are desperate for simple answers to life's problems. They fear the war will come here and take away all that they have. Then the Arbiters tell them it is all our fault. If we were dead and gone everything would be fine again. The sun would s.h.i.+ne on their crops, and all dangers cease. However, at this moment I am more interested in your dreams than theirs.'

Lantern looked away. 'You do not believe in this . . . this hidden temple of the Resurrectionists?'

'I did not say that I disbelieved. There are many strange places in the world, and a host of talented wizards and magickers. Perhaps there is one who can help you. On the other hand perhaps you should let the dead rest.'

'I cannot.'

'It is said that all men need a quest, Lantern. Perhaps this was always meant to be yours.'

He leaned back in his chair. 'If I asked a favour of you would you do it?'

'Of course.'

'Do not be so swift, young man. I might ask you to put aside your search.'

'Anything but that. Tell me what you need.'

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