“Nice of you to say so, anyway.”
Merlin’s light tone fooled neither of them, and she patted his cheek again before replacing her hand on his shoulder and adjusting her balance. Not so much to help him, as to position herself as comfortably as possible on his back.
Despite her slenderness and the fact that she was a foot shorter than he was, she knew she was no lightweight. Whatever disparaging remarks she might level at her own physical condition, vigorous exercise had always been a part of her life. She’d walked, run, and ridden horses whenever she could, and her Zion mansion, like her Siddar City townhouse, had boasted a well-appointed gymnasium to tide her over the winter months. Part of that was because she enjoyed the workouts, and part of it had been a courtesan’s need to fine-tune—and preserve—her physical attractiveness. But for both those reasons, she was remarkably well-muscled, even more than Sharleyan Ahrmahk, and that made her a solid, substantial weight no flesh-and-blood human being, even one Merlin Athrawes’ size, could have carried so effortlessly.
Or so long. Merlin had landed the recon skimmer on a mountainside above the northernmost of the alpine lakes Safeholdian geographers had named Langhorne’s Tears. It was an inconvenient eight straight-line miles from their objective, which worked out to twice that distance on foot, but the landing spot he’d chosen had the advantage of a cave large enough to accommodate the skimmer. And as he’d been demonstrating for the last two hours, neither her weight, nor the altitude, nor the snow, nor the steepness of the slopes made any difference to him. In its own way, that was more impressive than all the other wonders he and Nimue Chwaeriau had demonstrated to her and Sandaria.
And it never seems to cross his mind that he’s actually better than a flesh-and-blood human, she thought. He comes from a place and a … technology—she tasted the still unfamiliar word carefully as she used it—none of us could possibly have imagined; he has knowledge most of us can’t imagine, really, even now; and he’s potentially immortal. Yet despite all of that, he treats us as his equals—in the privacy of his own mind, not just for public consumption—without even seeming to realize he’s doing it. I wonder if he even begins to understand just how remarkable that makes him?
She’d found Ahbraim Zhevons fascinating when they first met in Zion. She hadn’t known the source of the understanding and compassion she’d seen in his brown eyes, yet they’d been intensely attracting qualities even then. Now that she’d been allowed a glimpse inside the life and soul of Merlin Athrawes, she found them far more than simply attractive. How did someone survive a lifetime’s hopeless fight against the extinction of her entire race and then endure all the human being inside Nimue Alban’s PICA had been through here on Safehold and still feel so deeply, without walling himself off?
Her own life had taught her too much about barriers and the price of survival, and she wondered if perhaps that was the reason she felt such an intense kinship with Merlin. Despite all the centuries in which his PICA had rested in its hidden cavern, experientially he was fifteen Safeholdian years younger than she. Yet his life had demanded even more sacrifice, dedication, and secrecy than her own. More than anyone else she’d ever known, even among the Sisters, he understood what she’d done with her own life … and what it had cost her.
She found herself snuggling more closely against his back—as closely as her parka permitted, at least—and rested her chin on his right shoulder, her cheek against the side of his neck, as he carried her smoothly down the valley.
* * *
There was nothing particularly distinctive about the mountain above them.
It was steep—sheer in places—yet no steeper than many others. Its summit soared well above the tree line, its permanent snowpack gleaming brilliantly in the sunlight, but so did most of the others reaching upward around it. Merlin had gone back over the mapping imagery Owl had collected from orbit once Aivah told him where their destination lay, and the narrow track up from the valley floor could be picked out in the imagery from high summer. So could the gardens the Sisters tended during that brief warmth, yet now all those clues lay hidden under the featureless snow stretching away up the mountainside.
It was ironic, he thought, that the hidden Tomb of Saint Kohdy lay barely five hundred air miles from the cave in which his own PICA had slept away so many centuries. And that it, too, was concealed in a cave. The Church’s lack of SNARCs probably made that degree of overhead cover redundant—these days, at least—yet that might not have been the case when the tomb was first established, for he had no idea what the “minor angels” who’d expunged Seijin Kohdy from the Church’s annals might have been capable of. The fact that they’d commanded sufficient kinetic-energy weaponry to destroy the Order of Saint Kohdy’s original abbey, even after the “Archangels’” departure, was not a pleasant thought, especially when he found himself wondering who else might have been left the equivalent of the Wylsynn family’s Stone of Schueler.
At least Merlin had ample evidence that the Group of Four possessed no aerial reconnaissance assets. If it had had them, the Great Canal Raid could never have succeeded and the trap Duke Eastshare had sprung on the Army of Shiloh would never have worked. So presumably the only way the present-day Church could spot the Tomb of Saint Kohdy would be for someone to literally stumble over it on the ground, and that made the Abbey of the Snows, sixty-odd miles to the west on the Stone Shadow River, the Tomb’s true protection.
Like the Tellesberg Monastery of Saint Zherneau, the Abbey of the Snows, overlooking the largest of Langhorne’s Tears, had existed since the days of the War Against the Fallen. The imagery and radar mapping Owl’s SNARCs had amassed since Aivah told them about it confirmed that it had been built on the site of an even earlier structure, although the Abbey contained no lingering trace of the technology Safehold had been forbidden to develop. The evidence of that technology was clear enough from the arrow-straight approach road cut up to it through the steep sides of the Stone Shadow’s narrow valley and from the ceramacrete of which its ground floor had been constructed, however. It also accorded well with the Abbey’s own traditions that it had been built on what had once been an earthly dwelling place of the Archangel Langhorne himself. The lakes took their name from his traditional association with them as a spot to which he’d retreated when he needed solitude and the severe serenity of their beauty to refresh his soul. They’d been called Langhorne’s Joy before the Fall; they’d been renamed the Tears after his mortal body was destroyed by Kau-yung’s treachery.
Despite the spike of anger Merlin always felt when he encountered yet another charming legend about Langhorne, he understood exactly why an austere, contemplative order would find this the ideal place to build an abbey, and the Chihirite nuns who lived here and maintained the Abbey with loving devotion found a deep, sincere joy in sharing it with others.
During the summer months, it wasn’t at all unusual for pilgrims to trek up the winding, narrow, steeply climbing Stone Shadow Valley to spend several five-days in retreat and introspection in the Abbey’s guest quarters. Of course, by September, the snows for which the Abbey was named were already falling this high in the Mountains of Light. By mid-October, the only route in was closed by snow and ice, and it stayed that way until June. The nuns of the Abbey passed those winter months in study, prayer, and the calligraphy of the beautiful hand-lettered copies of the Holy Writ for which their scriptorium was famed.
What no one outside the Abbey knew was that for all its long association with the Order of Chihiro, the Abbey of the Snows had been thoroughly infiltrated by the Sisters of Saint Kohdy over six hundred years ago. Indeed, the process had begun even before that … about the time a forethoughtful abbess of the Order of Saint Kohdy had enlisted the assistance of the abbess of the Sisters of the Snows who’d happened to be her second cousin. The Sisters of the Snows had been instrumental in the secret construction of Saint Kohdy’s first, simple tomb in the mountains east of Langhorne’s Tears. Only a handful of them had known what was
actually hidden there, but gradually, over the years, that had changed. By now, the entire Order of the Sisters of the Snows had been absorbed into the Sisters of Saint Kohdy. Or perhaps it would be equally accurate to say that the Sisters of the Snows had extended their membership—and their protection—over the Sisters of Saint Kohdy.
In either case, every Sister of the Snows was also a Sister of Saint Kohdy, and the Abbey of the Snows served as the protective gatekeeper of the cavern sanctuary which shielded the saint’s mortal remains.
It was, Merlin acknowledged, a remarkably effective defense in depth, yet the Abbey of the Snows was too remote and inconveniently located to serve as the Sisters’ operational headquarters. That was why the current mother superior had based herself in Zion—prior to her move to Siddar City—although Merlin doubted the majority of her predecessors had. Everything he’d learned from Aivah so far seemed to confirm his suspicion that young Nynian Rychtair had seen the Order’s role rather differently from those who’d come before her.
The Sisters had been a persistent, quiet force for good within Mother Church from their inception, but Nynian had … radicalized them. That was the best way to put it, he supposed. It was possible some of her predecessors would have made the same decisions she’d made, if they’d lived to see the corruption of the vicarate Nynian had seen, yet he rather doubted that any of those previous mothers superior would have spent thirty years training a cadre of assassins and saboteurs in the name of their patron saint. The sheer size of the Order’s network and its deeply embedded traditions of secrecy and anonymity had offered superb cover, concealment, and a support structure for Nynian’s more … proactive preparations, although he had to wonder if she’d ever truly believed she’d be in a position to make use of those assassins and saboteurs.
Now he set her on her own feet—or, rather, on the second pair of snowshoes he’d towed behind them the entire way here—and gazed up that bleak, bare mountainside.
“Back on Old Earth, they used to say that real estate value was all about location, location, location,” he remarked.
“The Sisters would certainly agree with that, Seijin Merlin.” Aivah’s eyes twinkled, but her tone was serious. “When the Angels themselves decree your extermination, there’s no such thing as a location that’s too remote.”
“I can see how that might be the case.”
“I’m sure you can, given what you’ve said about the bombardment platform and the capabilities of your own SNARCs. Of course, our true first line of defense hasn’t been hiding from the Inquisition; it’s been preventing the Inquisition from realizing we exist.” She smiled thinly. “People don’t look for things they don’t know exist, and we’ve been careful to keep it that way where the Inquisition is concerned.”
“Makes sense to me,” Merlin acknowledged, and took her elbow as they began making their way up the steep slope. “I suppose that’s the reason for the Bédardist chapel in the same cave?”
“Of course it is,” Aivah replied, although the combination of thin air and exertion left her rather breathless.
He arched an eyebrow at her, and she chuckled.
“Like I said, there’s no such thing as being too remote, Merlin, but we have to have some traffic in and out of the Tomb. And we normally have a dozen or so Sisters here, where their official job is to care for the Holy Bédard’s chapel and live lives of deep meditation and prayer. We call them the Keepers, and you might not believe just how sought-after that duty is. Our veneration for the Saint’s never precluded sharing his tomb with the Archangels, and the Sisters’ve always felt a strong kinship with the Bédardists, so there’s nothing fraudulent about our devotion to her chapel. And few other houses of religion, including the Abbey of the Snows, offer such a wonderful opportunity for contemplation and prayer. All of us treasure that, and this is the very heart of what our Order was created to accomplish, a place where we can be who and what we truly are without fear of giving away the secret of our existence. It’s a refuge we can return to, a place where we can be with our Sisters and rejuvenate both our purpose and our faith.”
“The Brethren of Saint Zherneau feel the same way about their monastery in Tellesberg,” he told her, and she nodded.
“We’re like them in an awful lot of ways, I suppose, although I have to say that the way they accomplished so much … preparation in Charis before you ever arrived is more impressive than anything we’ve achieved. And I envy their ability to accept the truth about you so much more readily than many of my Sisters will be able to.”
“Don’t sell yourselves short!” Merlin shook his head and then half lifted her over a particularly difficult section of the putative trail they were following. “You’ve been at least as active for four hundred years longer than they have, and you’ve done it in the belly of the beast, as it were. Right here on the Mainland—even in the heart of Zion, for God’s sake!”
“Oh, I know that.” She smiled up at him and patted his parka-covered breastplate in thanks as he set her back on her feet. “What I meant is that they not only managed to survive after learning the truth—the full truth about the Archangels and the Church, which we never did—but to hang on to their own faith in God despite all the lies they knew had been told in His name. That’s impressive, Merlin.” It was her turn to shake her head. “I hope the Sisters can do the same thing.”
“Really?” He gazed down at her, sapphire eyes dark.
“Of course I do.” She met those eyes levelly. “I think Archbishop Maikel’s entirely correct. Your waking up here, the corruption of the vicarate, the Group of Four’s actions, the rise of the Reformists, King Haarahld’s readiness to accept your help and defy Clyntahn, and the creation of the Charisian Empire—for that matter, the existence of two people as remarkable as Cayleb and Sharleyan to lead that empire … I genuinely believe all of that truly is God working to reveal the truth to His children once again, Merlin. I don’t pretend to understand all His purposes, or why He’s waited so long to act, and as an intellectual exercise, I’m prepared to admit I may believe all of this is part of His plan because I’m not brave enough to reject my faith in Him. But in here,” she pressed her left hand against her own chest, “there’s no doubt about Him or about His love for His children.”
She grinned suddenly.
“I was prepared to topple the vicarate if the opportunity presented itself, Merlin, because I knew it couldn’t possibly be doing His will, whatever it claimed. If I believed God Himself was calling me to do that when I also believed every sentence of the Writ was His own inerrant word, how can I possibly question this newer and far greater revelation you’ve shared with me?”
“You’re a remarkable woman, Nynian Rychtair,” he told her. “I don’t imagine I’m the only one who’s ever told you that, but I trust you’ll acknowledge that I have a rather clearer perspective on that than most others do.”
“Merlin, your perspective—not simply on the situation here on Safehold but on what it means to be human—has to be the closest thing to truly unique that’s ever existed.” Her grin faded into an intense, serious expression and she shook her head. “I’ve tried to imagine what that sort of perspective might be like, but I don’t think I can. I don’t think anyone else could.”
He gazed at her for another moment, then looked back down at the slippery trail as he considered what she’d said. She probably had a point, yet her own life experience undoubtedly put her in a better position to understand his own perspective than anyone else on Safehold—outside Nimue Chwaeriau, at any rate.
“I—” he began, only to stop in mid-word.
“What?” she asked.
He looked up the slope for a second, then smiled crookedly at her.
“I’ve been monitoring the remotes Owl deployed around the Tomb. One of your Sisters just looked out the window, it seems. There appears to be just a bit of consternation raging up ahead.”
“I can imagine,” Aivah said dryly. “I suppose that under the circumstances, w
e should probably pick up the pace—pick up my pace, really—so we can set their minds at ease a little sooner.”
* * *
Sister Emylee, the senior Keeper, sat in the plain but comfortably cushioned wooden chair across the refectory table and watched Aivah and Merlin sip hot tea. She was in her mid-fifties, two or three years older than Aivah, with dark hair beginning to show broad swaths of silver and eyes the color of a clear winter sky. At the moment, those blue-gray eyes were dark, filled with shadows and lingering questions.
She’d sent the other Keepers—there were only nine of them at the moment—back to their duties. It said a great deal for the Sisterhood’s discipline that they’d gone without argument, although not even their obedience had been enough to prevent lingering looks over their shoulders. Only four of them had ever actually met their Mother Superior, and there’d been consternation in plenty when Aivah turned up in the depth of winter, on foot, with Merlin in tow.
Sister Emylee, Merlin thought, obviously shared that consternation in full.
“I’m pleased to see you, Mother,” she said after several moments, “but I’m sure you can understand how … astonishing I find your arrival here. And yours, of course, Seijin Merlin.”
“As I’m sure you’ve already realized, Sister Emylee, the seijin has quite a lot to do with my arrival,” Aivah replied. “After all, you’ve read Saint Kohdy’s journal.”
The Keeper’s eyes flickered as Aivah mentioned the journal in front of Merlin, but she only bent her head in acknowledgment. Aivah sipped more tea, then set the heavy mug on the table and met Sister Emylee’s gaze levelly.