The Faithful (10 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“You must be hungry. Join us for a meal.” It wasn’t a question, and Father Narda didn’t wait for a response.

Sumner stepped through the doorway and into the intoxicating smell of garlic-roasted chicken, freshly baked bread, and the sweet cinnamon-nutmeg blend of apple pie.

He followed Father Narda’s black robes toward the din coming from the dining hall. They passed the stone bust of Father Barnabas, standing sentry outside the library like a benevolent king. Out of habit, he kissed the tips of his fingers and touched them gently to the cold stone cheek. How quickly it all came back, like putting on an old coat and finding it was still a perfect fit.

As they approached the rear of the building, the dinner-orchestra separated into individual notes: the percussive clatter and clang of cutlery against porcelain, the lower staccato rumble of the Fathers involved in their nightly philosophical discussions, and the high-pitched purity of young voices engaged in excited chatter.

“Attention, my darlings!” Father Narda’s voice boomed, and all eyes turned in his direction. Silence descended immediately. Within seconds, it was so quiet all Sumner could hear was the rapid thud-thump of his heart.

Taking a deep breath, he arranged his features into as neutral an expression as he could manage. He focused on a spot above the kitchen door, fearful of meeting the curious and probing eyes that turned toward him.

Keep your mind blank, he told himself. Focus on the good. Doesn’t dinner smell delicious?

“We are blessed to be joined this evening by one of our returning Disciples. He has nobly sacrificed the last twenty-four years of his life for our mission on the Outside. Please join me in greeting Sumner,
Summoner of Spirits
.”

As one, the children stood. There must have been eighty in total. The youngest was perhaps three years old (one of the Chosen, of course) and the eldest, seated together at a far table, were in their midteens. In unison, their voices rose in the familiar chant.

From the ever-present light of the Righteous,

And the gloved strength of the Mighty,

And with Faith in the world to be,

And love to you from we,

We hail thee, Summoner of Spirits.

Welcome home, where you belong!

It was the same chant he had first heard upon his indoctrination into
I Fidele
. Despite all the years that stretched between the two moments, like half-forgotten tomes stacked between bookends on a dusty shelf, he felt just as small and scared.

He managed to nod at them, and Father Narda placed a hand on his back and guided him to a table where several young girls were eyeing him with awe.

“Watch your tongue,” Father Narda said, and before Sumner could think of a snappy retort, he left to join the other Priests at their appointed table, which was at the head of the room nearest the kitchen door.

“Hello,” he mumbled contritely, purposely taking a seat with his back to the Priests’ table. Next to him was a petite Filipino girl, who scooted over to give him more room. He reached for the platter of chicken and potatoes and began scooping food onto his plate.

“Aren’t you going to have any vegetables?” asked the girl seated across from him. She had shiny brown hair that she’d twisted into a long coiling bun on the top of her head. Her brown eyes were sharp with speculation. “Father Cassiel says you need to eat a lot of vegetables to keep your mind and body strong.”

He scooped more potatoes onto his plate. “I once caught Father Cassiel eating a whole plate of doughnuts.” The brunette looked scandalized, although the girl seated next to her, a blonde with pretty blue eyes, giggled.

“What’s your name?” he asked. The brunette pursed her lips and looked down at her plate. After a moment, the blonde rolled her eyes and answered for her.

“That’s Disa. Just ignore her; she’s always like that. I’m Talia.”

“I’m Bayani,” the girl on the other side of him said quietly. “Is it true you’ve been Outside for twenty-four years?”

“That’s right.”

“You must be really old,” Talia remarked, and Disa nudged her with an elbow. “What? I’m just saying!”

“I’m forty-two.”

“Wow. You’re older than my dad,” Disa chimed in, and Sumner realized she was one of the Chosen. It explained her attitude.

“Who’s your dad?”

Her lips clamped shut. This time Bayani answered for her. “Father Zaniel.”

Sumner felt the shock ripple through him. Zaniel had been a good friend, once upon a time. He hadn’t realized Zaniel was called to the Priesthood. Now that he knew, he could see Zaniel in the shape of her jaw, and in her brown eyes.

“Speaking of doughnuts, I could tell you all sorts of stories about your father, Disa.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Really?”

He nodded, and waited for her to start asking questions. Instead she gave him another speculative look, and then closed up like a dandelion at nightfall.

Talia waited a breath before asking, “What’s it like Outside?” All three girls leaned in, eager for his answer.

But he could feel Father Narda’s gaze on him, a barely veiled threat. Sumner sent his mentor a curt response.
“Chill. I get it.”

He focused on Talia. “Not half as exciting as life on The Ranch. There aren’t as many horses.” Talia nodded, looking disappointed but resigned. They resumed eating in silence.

The food was delicious. The potatoes were fluffy. The chicken was redolent with garlic and fresh rosemary, and so succulent Sumner used a pillowy piece of bread to mop the juice off his plate. Over warm apple pie and vanilla ice cream, Sumner asked Talia how old she was.

“I’m nine,” she responded, and he picked up the slightest hint of Boston twang.

They could mind-wash all they wanted, but there were some things they couldn’t get rid of.

“Disa is ten, and Bayani is twelve.”

He was surprised Bayani was the eldest of the three, since she was the smallest. His mind alighted on that briefly, but something bigger was cresting within him.

It was something he should have realized before, and might have if he hadn’t been so overwhelmed by returning to The Ranch. Like the ultimate self-centered prodigal son, he had completely missed the obvious: he was responsible for them being here.

Well, not Disa, of course. But he was responsible for Talia, and Bayani, and the rest of the Disciples in the room. He felt a flush of heat prickle his scalp, and the room began to spin. The edges of his vision dimmed.

“Are you all right?” Bayani asked, and before he could pull away, she placed a small brown hand on his forearm. “You are unwell.”

“Bayani is a healer,” Talia said.

Sumner pulled away from her, trying to quell the shaking. “I’m fine; it’s just been a long trip. I must be tired.”

Bayani frowned at him. “Are you sure?”

A girl from Boston.

Nine years old.

They were all looking at him. The whole room had gone quiet. He could feel the tension at the Priests’ table.

Careful. Careful, he thought.

But he couldn’t stop his mind. It was flipping through a catalog of kids’ profiles, searching out the match. And then he had it.

Four years ago. Mary-Beth Hammond. Five years old. She had displayed strong telepathic tendencies.

He gritted his teeth, desperate to clamp down on his racing mind. But it was too late. Disa picked up his thoughts.

“Who is Mary-Beth Hammond?” she asked, wide-eyed.

He couldn’t help it; his eyes found Talia’s across the table. Her mouth was open. Her skin was gray. Her blue eyes were glassy. He could almost hear the snap as her mind broke.

And then she started screaming.

“That was
most
unfortunate.”

“I’m so sorry, Father. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Your level of control is not what it once was.”

Sumner was slumped in the chair in Father Narda’s study. “According to you, I never had much control.”

“Yes, well . . .”

Beyond the study was the Priest’s private bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and there was a pair of white lace panties hanging from the bedpost. Father Narda clearly had an
Amante
, although she wasn’t present at the moment.

And speaking of lack of control, Sumner thought. He shook his head and returned to the subject at hand. “Will she be all right? Talia?”

Father Narda was removing his robe. He hung it from a hook behind his desk chair and sat on the recliner opposite Sumner. His beige pants were threadbare, his shirt dingy and gray.

“It’s hard to say. She’s Father Palidor’s pupil. He’ll work hard to repair the damage that was done. It would be a great loss to him if she were to require termination.”

“Termination!” Sumner choked. “You’re joking, right?”

“You know this is the way of things. Nothing can harm our mission. If she becomes a hindrance . . .” Father Narda raised his shoulders in a shrug.

“But . . .” Sumner sputtered. “She’s only
nine
!”

“And a valuable asset. But what must be done
will
be done. Don’t blame yourself, Sumner.” The Priest caught him with his gentle brown eyes. The creases around them were much deeper, and his hair had gone gray. Otherwise, he looked exactly the same.

“It wasn’t your intention to hurt the girl, but may it serve as a lesson. Everything you do has a potentially disastrous consequence, if you do not follow the straight path. Do you understand?”

Sumner nodded.

“Good.” He rose with a grin. “My beloved Angeni is approaching. Let’s speak more when she’s out of hearing.”

Sumner rose from his chair. He hadn’t heard anyone approaching and doubted Father Narda had either—at least not with his ears.

“You’ll stay the night. I’ll have breakfast brought to your suite so we can avoid any more unfortunate occurrences.”

“All right.” He knew he had no choice.

“Angeni, there you are, my darling!” he said as the girl hesitated in the doorway.

“I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t realize you had company.” Her voice was as soft as silk. She was petite and doe-eyed, clearly of Native American origin. Her black hair was straight and hung down her back in a thick curtain. She was dressed in the red silk robe that befitted her status as an
Amante
.

“Nonsense, my dear. Please, come in.” Father Narda eyed her with the greedy hunger of a ravenous teenager. “Let me introduce you to one of my dearest pupils. This is Sumner. Sumner, this is Angeni.” The Priest wrapped a possessive arm around the girl’s waist and pulled her forward.

Sumner nodded awkwardly and mumbled hello. Of course, he knew this was the way of things on The Ranch, but the years Outside had sharpened his vision.

“Angeni, why don’t you prepare for me while I show Sumner to the guest suite.”

She bowed her head and moved toward the bedroom. Father Narda grabbed her arm as she passed. She looked up at the Priest with dead eyes, and Sumner’s heart squeezed painfully. Although they were brown, they reminded him of the blue eyes of the girl from long ago. His love. His heartache.

“The black lace, tonight, my dear.”

“Of course, Father.” She nodded at Sumner and disappeared into the prison of Father Narda’s bedroom.

“It’s a beautiful morning. Shall we take a walk?” Father Narda poked his head into the guest suite.

Sumner had slept fitfully, haunted by dreams that were likely twisted memories of his childhood. He had only picked at his breakfast of eggs, toast, and strawberries. He had finished the whole carafe of coffee, however, so he made a side trip to the toilet before joining Father Narda on the front porch.

The fall air was crisp and thin. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could smell horses and cows and dying leaves, pine trees and pig slop and pancakes. It all mixed together to tug on the bitter roots that were intertwined around his heart.