Merlin’s molycirc nerves tingled with sudden apprehension, but he kept his face expressionless as he cocked his head.
“May I assume your possession of the Stone of Schueler was part of that tradition and knowledge, Father?”
“Indeed you may.” The bitterness in Wylsynn’s tone was joined by corrosive anger. “All my life I’ve believed this”—he lifted his pectoral scepter, the disguised reliquary which concealed the relic his family had treasured for so long—“had been left as a sign of God’s approval of our faithfulness.” He snorted harshly. “Except, of course, that it’s nothing of the sort!”
“I don’t know why it was left with you, Father,” Merlin said gently. “I’m pretty sure whoever handed it to your ancestors—and it may actually have been Schueler, for all we know—didn’t have any particular faith in God. From what I’ve heard about your history, though, that hasn’t kept your family from believing in Him. As for what the ‘Stone of Schueler’ actually is, it’s what was called a ‘verifier.’ Once upon a time, it might’ve been called a ‘lie detector,’ instead. And however it came into your possession, Father, it truly does do what your ancestors were told it did. It tells you whether or not someone is telling you the truth. In fact,” he smiled wryly, “it’s a full-spectrum verifier, which means it can also tell when a PICA is telling you the truth. Which required a certain … circumspection when I answered the questions you once put to me in King Haarahld’s throne room.”
“Given what you’ve just told me about Safehold’s true history, I’d say that was probably an understatement,” Wylsynn replied with the first thing like a true smile he’d produced in the last hour or two.
“Oh, it was!” Merlin nodded. “At the same time, what I told you then was the truth, exactly as it insisted.”
“I believe that,” Wylsynn said quietly. “What I’m struggling with is whether or not I should believe anything else I once thought was true.”
There was silence for a moment, then the young man in the Schuelerite cassock shook himself.
“I’m going to have to deal with that. I know that. But I also understand why you have to be leaving shortly, Merlin, so I suppose I’d better get on with it.”
He drew a deep breath, visibly bracing himself, then sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap.
“When I was a boy, my father and Uncle Hauwerd told me all the tales about our family’s history and the role we’d played in the vicarate and in Mother Church’s history. Or I thought they told me all the tales, at any rate. It was enough to make me realize we had a special, joyous duty, and it helped me understand why my family had stood for reform, held tight to the truth, for so many centuries. Why we’d made so many enemies as corruption set deeper and deeper into the vicarate. The voice of conscience seldom makes comfortable hearing, and never less comfortable than to those who know deep in their hearts how far short of their duties and their responsibilities they’ve fallen. All of the orders teach that, and it was enough—I thought then—to explain everything.
“Yet it wasn’t until I’d graduated from seminary and been ordained that Father told me the complete truth about our family and our traditions. That was when he showed me the Stone of Schueler and the Key.”
He paused, and Merlin’s eyebrows quirked. He looked quickly at the others and saw the same expression looking back at him. Then all of them returned their attention to the young priest.
“The ‘Key,’ Father?” Merlin prompted.
“According to the secret history Father showed me, the Key and the Stone were both left in our possession by the Archangel Schueler himself. The Stone you know about. The Key must be another piece of your ‘technology,’ Seijin Merlin, although it’s less spectacular at first glance than the Stone. It’s a small sphere, flattened on one side and about this far across”—he held up thumb and forefinger, perhaps two inches apart—“which looks like plain, polished steel.” His lips flickered in a small smile. “In fact, it’s so plain generations of Wylsynns have hidden it in plain sight by using it as a paperweight.”
There was a ghost of genuine humor in his voice, and Merlin felt himself smiling back, but then Wylsynn continued.
“By itself, the Key really is nothing but a paperweight,” he said soberly, “but in conjunction with the Stone, it becomes something else. The best way I can describe it is as a … repository of visions.”
Merlin straightened in his chair, his expression suddenly intent.
“Father, I never had the opportunity to actually examine the Stone. I just assumed that it filled only a small section of your scepter’s staff. But it doesn’t, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Wylsynn confirmed. “It fills almost the full length of the staff, and it can be removed. When it is, it mates to the Key. Its lower end clings unbreakably to the flat face of the Key, as if they’ve become one, and they can be released from one another only by someone who knows the proper command.” His eyes watched Merlin carefully. “Should I assume you know how it works and why?”
“I’d have to examine both of them to be certain,” Merlin replied, “but I’m reasonably sure that among the instructions your family was left was a ritual which regularly exposed the Stone to direct sunlight?” Wylsynn nodded, and Merlin shrugged. “What that was doing, Father, was to charge—to empower—the Stone. In time, you’ll understand exactly what I’m talking about. For the moment, simply accept that there’s nothing demonic or divine in the process; it’s a simple matter of physics.
“At any rate, what you’re calling the Key is a memory module, a solid chunk of molecular circuitry. You could fire it out of a cannon without hurting it, and that single sphere you’ve described could easily contain all the knowledge in all the libraries of the entire Charisian Empire with space left over. The problem is getting it out, and for that you need a power source. So I’m reasonably sure that when you remove the Stone entirely from the scepter, the length of it that ‘mates to the Key’ doesn’t glow the way the rest of it does, right?”
“Correct.” Wylsynn nodded.
“Of course it doesn’t.” Merlin shook his head. “That’s the adapter, Father. It takes the energy you’ve stored in the Stone and feeds it to the memory module. And when it does, the module projects images, doesn’t it?”
“That’s precisely what it does,” Wylsynn said grimly, “and if you hadn’t demonstrated your ‘com’ and its ability to generate ‘holograms,’ I would never have believed a word any of you told me. Because, you see, I’ve seen the image of the ‘Holy Schueler’ himself. I’ve heard his voice. Until this very day, I’ve believed—deeply and truly believed—that my family and I had been directly touched by the very finger of God. And I’d still believe that … if you hadn’t just shown me exactly the same sort of ‘vision’ which has lied to my family for nine centuries.”
Merlin sat silent for a long, still moment. It had never occurred to him that anyone associated with the Temple might possess such an artifact. Yet now that he knew, he also realized the blow the truth had delivered to Paityr Wylsynn was even crueler than anything it had done to anyone else. The young Schuelerite’s faith had been so sure, so total, because he’d known he’d been in the very presence of God … or in the presence of one of God’s Archangels, at least. Now he knew how bitterly betrayed he and all his family had actually been—knew his father and uncle had gone to their deaths seduced and lied to by the very vision which had lied to him, as well.
In that moment, Merlin’s own soul cried out against what had been done—what he’d done—to Paityr Wylsynn. How could any mortal being be expected to deal with something like this? How could any faith, any belief, not be twisted into something bitter and cold and hateful after the realization of a betrayal so profound, so complete, and so personal?
“My son,” Maikel Staynair said quietly into the silence, his expression sad, “I understand the reasons for your pain. I doubt I can truly imagine its depth, but I understand its cause. And I believe I ca
n at least imagine the extent to which you must now question all you ever knew or ever believed—not just about the Church, and not just about the ‘Archangels,’ but about everything. About yourself, about God, about how much of the vocation you’ve felt was solely the result of deception. About how you could have been so stupid as to be deceived, and how so many generations of your family could have dedicated themselves—sacrificed themselves—to the lie you’ve just discovered. It can be no other way.”
Wylsynn looked at him, and the archbishop shook his head gently.
“My son—Paityr—I will never fault you if you decide all of it was a lie, and that God does not and never did exist. After discovering a deception such as this, it would take an archangel not to lash out in the bitterness and the fury it’s so justly awakened within you. And if that happens, you must never blame yourself for it, either. If you decide—if you decide—God doesn’t exist, then you must not punish yourself in the stillness of your own mind for turning away from all you were taught to believe and revere. I hope and pray that won’t happen. The depth and strength of the faith I’ve seen out of you is too great for me to want to see it cast away for any reason. But I would rather see it discarded cleanly than see you trying to force a life into it when it no longer has pulse or breath of its own. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
Wylsynn looked back at the archbishop for several seconds, then nodded slowly.
“I think so, Your Eminence,” he said slowly. “And I’m not sure what’s going to happen. You’re right that I now know the faith which has carried me so far has been only the shadow cast by a direct and personal lie. Yet that’s true of all of us, I suppose, isn’t it? My lie’s been more spectacular than that of others, but all of us have been lied to. So in the final analysis, what I have to determine is whether it’s the way in which the lie is transmitted or the lie itself which truly matters … and whether a lie can still contain even the tiniest grain of truth.”
“If it’s any consolation, my son,” Staynair said with a crooked smile, “the Writ wasn’t the first holy book to say that faith grows like a mustard seed. God works from tiny beginnings to great ends.”
“I hope you’re right, Your Eminence. Or I think I do. It’s going to be a while before I can decide whether or not I want my faith to survive, I’m afraid.”
“Of course it is,” Staynair said simply.
Wylsynn nodded, then turned back to Merlin.
“At any rate, Merlin, your description of how the Key works was accurate. When Father showed it to me, it projected images, visions—holograms—of the Archangel Schueler himself, instructing us in our family’s responsibilities.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I sometimes think that was one reason my family’s always supported a … gentler approach for the Inquisition. The Schueler of the Key isn’t the grim and terrible Schueler who prescribed the Question and the Punishment. Stern, yes, but without the demeanor of someone who could demand such hideous punishment for a child of God who was merely mistaken.”
“I never knew the real Schueler,” Merlin said. “Nimue may have met him, but if so, it was after she’d recorded … me.” He smiled sadly. “Because of that, I’ve never seen any reason not to assume The Book of Schueler was written by the ‘Archangel Schueler,’ but we really don’t have confirmation of the authorship of any of the books of the Writ, when you come down to it. For that matter, The Book of Schueler wasn’t part of the original, early copy of the Writ Commodore Pei left in Nimue’s Cave. The entire thing was extensively reworked after Langhorne took out the Alexandrian Enclave—inevitably, I suppose—and The Book of Schueler and The Book of Chihiro were both added. I don’t know if it’s any consolation, Father, but it really is possible the actual Schueler never wrote the book credited to him. And if he didn’t, then he isn’t the author of the Question and the Punishment, either.”
“I would like to believe that was the case,” Wylsynn said softly after a moment. “I’d like to believe not everything I thought I knew was a lie. And if it’s true my family actually is descended from the real Schueler, it would ease my heart to know he wasn’t capable of decreeing such hideous penalties in defense of a ‘religion’ he knew was nothing but a lie.”
He was silent again for a moment. Then he gave himself a shake.
“However that may be,” he continued more briskly, “what my family’s referred to as ‘the Vision of the Archangel Schueler’ for as long as we can remember instructs us not simply in our duty to keep Mother Church untainted, without stain, focused on her great mission in the world, but also charges us with a special responsibility. A Key within the Key, as it were.”
“I beg your pardon?” Merlin asked.
“There’s a chamber under the Temple,” Wylsynn told him. “I’ve never actually been there, but I’ve seen it in ‘the Vision.’ I know the way to it, and I can picture it in my mind’s eye even now. And within that chamber is an altar, one with ‘God lights’ set into its surface. There are also two handprints, one each for a right and a left hand, on either side of a small, circular recess. According to ‘the Vision,’ if one truly dedicated to God and His plan places the Key in that recess and his hands in those imprints and calls upon Schueler’s name, the power of God Himself will awaken to defend Mother Church in her hour of need.”
Merlin felt the heart he no longer had stop beating.
“According to ‘the Vision,’ it may be done only once, and only in the hour of Mother Church’s true need,” Wylsynn continued. “Knowing Father and Uncle Hauwerd, there’s no way they would have viewed the Reformist movement as a genuine threat to Mother Church. The Church of Charis has made no demands which actually conflict with the Writ in any way, and they would have realized that as well as I do. I’m sure the schism distressed them deeply, and that both of them were profoundly concerned about the implications for the unity of God’s church and plan, but the Temple would have had to be threatened with actual physical invasion before either of them would have felt the time had come to awaken God’s power in the Church’s defense. There’s no doubt in my mind that both of them agreed with the Reformists’ indictments of the vicarate and believed the Reformists were truer sons of God than the Group of Four could ever be. I don’t know where that would have led them in the end, but there’s no way they would have presumed to beseech God to strike down men and women they believed were simply attempting to live the lives and the faith God had ordained for them from the beginning.”
The others were all looking at Merlin, and Cayleb cleared his throat.
“Is that ‘altar’ what I’m afraid it is?” he asked carefully.
“I don’t know … but it certainly could be,” Merlin said unhappily. “I don’t know what would happen if someone obeyed Schueler’s commands. It might simply trigger some sort of reaction out of the bombardment platform. Or, for that matter, one of the things I’ve been afraid of for some time is that Langhorne—or whoever built the Temple after Langhorne was dead—could have included an AI in the master plan. Something like Owl, but probably with more capacity. Only I’d decided that couldn’t be the case, because if there were an AI monitoring what the vicarate’s been up to for the last two or three centuries, it probably would’ve already intervened. But if there’s something like that down there that’s on standby, waiting for a human command to wake it up.…”
His voice trailed off, and Cayleb, Staynair, and Waignair looked at one another tautly.
“I have far too little grasp of this ‘technology’ you’ve described to even guess whether or not there’s an ‘AI’ involved,” Wylsynn said. “I only know that if ‘the Vision’ is telling the truth and the ritual is properly performed, something will respond.”
“But no one beyond your family even knows about the ritual?” Cayleb asked, and Wylsynn shrugged.
“To the best of my knowledge, no, Your Majesty. On the other hand, so far as I know, none of the other families in the vicarate were aware of what my family knew, either. We always
believed on the basis of what ‘the Vision’ told us that we’d been chosen, singled out, as the only guardians of that chamber and altar, but there may have actually been others. The Stone’s existence was known, of course, although most people believe it was lost forever at Saint Evrahard’s death. So far as we knew, no one else had ever been informed of the Key’s existence, although, in more recent years, Father came to fear from some things he’d heard that perhaps someone else did know at least something about the Key and the Stone’s continued existence. He never said who that someone might be, but I know he was concerned by the possibility of one or both of them falling into hands which might well misuse them.”
“I wish we could get our hands on that damned Key!” Merlin said forcefully, and Wylsynn surprised him with a chuckle.
“What?” Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “I said something funny?”
“No,” Wylsynn said. “But when I said Father and Uncle Hauwerd wouldn’t have petitioned God to strike the Reformists, I suppose I should really have said they couldn’t have. When Father suggested I should take the post as Archbishop Erayk’s intendant here in Charis, he sent me on my way at least in part to keep certain things out of Clyntahn’s reach. With the Stone, of course, but also with a family keepsake. A paperweight.”
“The ‘Key’ is here in Charis?” Cayleb demanded.
“Sitting on the corner of my desk in the Patent Office, Your Majesty,” Wylsynn confirmed.
“With your permission, Father, I’d like to have one of Owl’s remotes collect that from you and take it back to Nimue’s Cave where we can examine it properly,” Merlin said, watching Wylsynn’s face carefully.