The Harrowing of Gwynedd (34 page)

“How far now?” he whispered.

Queron gestured deeper into the tunnel. “Not very. Go ahead and lead.”

They moved off in single file, treading as quietly as possible. Gradually the tunnel changed from dirt and rock to brick and then to cut stone. Ansel and Sylvan were waiting for them a little beyond that, just before the Portal chamber, looking very relieved indeed.

“You made good time,” Ansel said. “I'm glad something has gone right for a change.”

“Why? What's wrong?” Tavis demanded.

“Oh, everyone is fine. We've even heard from Javan. But let's not talk about it here.”

They talked about it in the Michaeline sanctuary later that night, after everyone had eaten a hot meal and the Willimites were locked away to sleep in one of the cells. Joram let both Queron and Revan read Prince Javan's report and filled in other details from Sylvan's direct reading verbally for the benefit of the human Revan.

“So long as he hasn't aroused any particular suspicion as a result of his activities three nights ago, he should be all right,” Joram concluded. “We've had reports that he did ride out of Valoret with the rest of the royal household and that everything seemed normal. Once he's settled in at Rhemuth, we can make additional arrangements. Meanwhile, I think his biggest immediate worry will be to keep Hubert from shuffling him off to some monastery.”

“How likely is that?” Revan asked.

Evaine steepled her fingertips and tapped forefingers against her lips. “That depends on Javan, doesn't it?”

At Revan's troubled look, Joram smiled and pushed several sheets of closely penned parchment across the table toward him.

“Let us worry about Javan, why don't you? You're going to have your hands full enough, as it is.”

Revan picked up the sheaf and scanned the first few lines of the top page. “What's this?”

“Your preliminary briefing,” Evaine replied. “After you've digested that, we'll move on to your actual preparation. It won't be easy, but I think it just might work.”

In the days that followed, all of them began to think it might work. Revan proved an apt pupil. The manuscript Joram had given him was a lengthy scenario of how the institution and extension of Revan's new movement should go. Revan not only made it his own but embellished upon it, quickly mastering the patter and the mechanics of the “baptism” itself and then adding his own interpretations.

In addition, Revan soon developed a surprising affinity with Sylvan—which freed Tavis to continue working in the background, on the fringes of the crowds, where he could keep a lower profile and set up subjects for Revan's more public ministrations. Revan and Sylvan had never met, but they quickly forged a brilliant partnership for the outward functioning of the operation. Sometimes, Revan even displayed an almost Deryni intuition where Sylvan was concerned.

Which led to another, unplanned advantage that the Deryni were able to give their would-be messiah, verging much more closely on their own powers yet undetectable, so far as they knew, by any means available to the regents. They had learned from Tavis' early association with Javan that close contact between Deryni and humans sometimes catalyzed near-Deryni tendencies in the human so exposed. Revan had nothing like the Haldane potential to explain a like tendency in himself, but he had worked closely with MacRories and Thuryns for more than half his life. To their delight, they found that Revan also possessed vestiges of extra ability, all but indistinguishable from his own personal charisma. Already, when Revan preached, evangelical persuasion verged on near compulsion in some listeners.

And they found that the tendency could be amplified through the focus of Revan's Willimite medallion, magically “charged” by one of the Deryni. Drawing on that power source, and reinforced by the laying on of hands and the expectations of his subjects, in conjunction with baptism, Revan could actually induce an effect ranging from disorientation and dizziness to near fainting.

“What about this, though?” Revan asked, fingering the medal thoughtfully, after trying his enhanced talent on several of Evaine's compliant men at arms. “If I'm put to the question, as you
know
will have to happen eventually, won't a Deryni sniffer be able to detect something?”

Bishop Niallan shook his head. First he and then Tavis had been sworn into the Camberian Council on Queron's return, finally bringing that body back to its original complement of eight, and he was now an active and enthusiastic member of the team.

“Remember that religious medals are always blessed, Revan,” the bishop said. “And whether the blessing is done by a human or a Deryni, it's long been known, at least among Deryni, that the act of blessing places a special imprint on the object blessed. It's a kind of magical ‘charge' that has nothing whatever to do with being Deryni, and the effect can be so subtle that not even a Deryni cleric can always isolate it. A Deryni layman certainly won't be able to tell the difference—if he detects a change at all. If anything, your own status as a holy man will be enhanced.”

They also determined that the working of Revan's new skill was not affected by
merasha
, except as the usual sedative effect of the drug in humans would slow Revan down and eventually put him to sleep. Revan made the acquaintance of that bane of Deryni more than once, as they refined their techniques, and learned not to fear it.

“Being neutral to
merasha
should be the clincher, when they eventually do question what you're doing,” Queron informed him. “The drug has been the great leveller for centuries, ever since its effect was first noted. Everyone who knows anything at all about Deryni knows that we're universally vulnerable to it. When you don't react, that will be the final confirmation that, whatever else you are, you aren't some new, insidious kind of Deryni.”

They had allotted a fortnight for melding the different members of the team into a cohesive unit, but well before the second week had passed, all of them were letter-perfect in their parts.

“Given our time constraints, I think you've probably taught me all that's feasible,” Revan told the assembled company on the night he declared himself satisfied with his preparation. “I don't see that further delay will accomplish much. We still have to do our forty days' retreat in the wilderness. If we start by mid-April, we can time our return to coincide with Pentecost. One could hardly wish for a more auspicious beginning.”

Two things remained to be done before they left. The next morning, Revan was introduced to Torcuill de la Marche, who was to become Revan's first public Deryni “convert.” Torcuill's family were already safely lodged with Gregory at Trevalga, but the Deryni lord would have quite a different story to tell about them when he came to Revan in a few weeks' time.

“You won't have much of a chance to chat, when you meet in the river,” Evaine told the two, when she had brought them together in the library of the Michaeline sanctuary. “Actually, Torcuill, I think you might have met Revan at Sheele, years ago, when he was my children's tutor.”

Torcuill managed a nervous smile. “I seem to have some vague recollection to that effect. Young man, I admire what you're doing for us.”

Revan met Torcuill's eyes squarely, with a dignity and self-assurance that had not come entirely of his mentors' indoctrination of the past week or so.

“I only wish that I might do more besides play a part,” Revan replied modestly. “Without Sylvan or Tavis, I am nothing.”

Which was not precisely true, as Evaine had cause to know full well. The burgeoning charisma first noted by Queron had become a powerful force in itself. Revan spent some time with his three disciples each day, Sylvan making a fourth. Even without Deryni tampering, the three Willimites were convinced that Revan was a genuine prophet and were ready to believe that eventually he would work miracles.

He certainly looked the proper prophet now, with his sheepskin mantle and robe of unbleached wool and sandal-shod feet. A pouch of hairy goatskin hung from his leather girdle, and a staff of twisted olivewood rested in the crook of his arm.

Only his efforts to cultivate a properly biblical beard had come to naught. Even after more than a year, his hirsute adornment was still sparse and fair, only faintly shadowing his upper lip and jaw. What beard he did have, however, was perfect foil for his eyes—a warm light brown verging on gold that somehow seemed almost luminous in dim light. His straight brown hair brushed the shoulders of his robe. The fine hands were more calloused than they had been in the days when he was scribe and tutor to the Thuryn family, but the nails were clean and neatly tended, as was everything else about him.

Slowly Torcuill looked him up and down, shaking his head a little as their eyes met again.

“I thought that holy men were supposed to be filthy and vermin-ridden, and lead a simple life,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

“Why, are holiness and simplicity to be equated with dirt?” came Revan's amused rejoinder. “Water will play an important part in my ministry. Should I not, then, have more than a nodding acquaintance with it?”

“Some would deem cleanliness a vanity of the body,” Torcuill retorted.

“Say, rather, that it betokens a respect for the body, as temple of the soul. If our purpose in life is to seek reconciliation and reunion with our Heavenly Father, why should His Indwelling Spirit wish to occupy a filthy temple?”

Revan's sly smile was infectious, and Torcuill burst into hearty laughter.

“You won't trip him up that easily, Torcuill,” Evaine said, when the Deryni lord had wiped his streaming eyes. “We may have pushed him into the role of holy man and prophet, but he was a scholar before that. Rhys and I trained him, after all.”

“Oh, I can see that.”

“But, I think I'll let you wait to see how
well
we trained him, when you show up to hear him preach in a few months' time. I wouldn't want to dampen the spontaneity of your response, so we probably oughtn't to discuss much more of what's actually going to happen.”

Evaine had Jesse take Torcuill back to Trevalga then, to spend what might be his last few weeks with his family. Jesse returned, though, for he and the Healer Sylvan had been close for most of Jesse's life. Later that night, Jesse was among those who gathered in the sanctuary chapel to witness a brief but very special ceremony, as Sylvan, Revan, and Tavis presented themselves before God's altar to offer up their mission.

The little chapel had not been so crowded since that night, more than thirteen years ago, when Cinhil Haldane prepared to go and claim his crown. Fifty Michaeline Knights had packed the chapel then, reconsecrating their swords to the Haldane cause.

Michaelines were not so many tonight, only Joram and a handful of his exiled brethren wearing the distinctive Michaeline blue. Nor were the presiding clergy preparing to consecrate swords, but men—though such weapons could be far more potent than mere metal.

Two renegade bishops received them. After initial prayers, the three laid themselves prostrate before the altar, Revan between the two Healers, while the assembled company sang a litany hallowed by more centuries of use than the age of the faith in which they now worshipped. The sense of the ancient words hung on the air even after the litany was finished, underlining the silence as Joram, Evaine, and Jesse helped the three to their knees.

After that, the Deryni Bishop Niallan and the human Bishop Dermot gave the three a commission just short of priestly ordination, imparting the authority to preach, to heal, to bless, and to absolve. Laying their consecrated hands upon the head of each man in turn, the bishops thrice called down Heavenly Grace to bless the work and protect the workers.

The three had been to confession before Mass that morning, but now they received Communion from the Reserved Sacrament one more time, for priests were few among the Willimites, and it might be long before they could partake again. This final Sacrament took on even more solemn dimensions when Dermot used the wording usually reserved for the dying or mortally ill.

“
Accipe, frater, Viaticum Corporis Domini Jesu Christi
.…” Receive, my brother, this food for your journey, the Body of our Lord Jesus Christ, that He may guard you from the malicious enemy and lead you into everlasting life.…

And finally, as a seal on the night's work and to underline the deadly dangerous situation into which the three were about to place themselves, Niallan gave each man an amended version of the Last Anointing—for no Last Rites might be possible later on, if they were discovered in what they went to do.

“
Per istam sanctam Unctionem et suam piissimam misericordiam indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per animum deliquisti
,” Niallan said, signing each man on the forehead only. By this holy anointing and His most loving mercy, may the Lord forgive you whatever wrong you have done by the use of your mind. Amen.

After a final blessing, all but the three themselves filed quietly out of the chapel, those who had conceived the plan making their way to the corridor outside the Portal chamber. Thus were Joram, Evaine, Queron, Jesse, and Ansel waiting when the three eventually made their way to the sanctuary's Portal, Ansel shepherding three deeply entranced Willimite disciples. No word was exchanged as the travellers took their leave and quitted the sanctuary, and those who were left did not speak of what had happened.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

So shall the knowledge of wisdom be unto thy soul: when thou hast found it, then there shall be a reward, and thy expectation shall not be cut off
.

—Psalms 24:14

The forty days that Revan planned to spend in the wilderness with his disciples provided a breathing space that Evaine, in particular, found most welcome, since it gave her both time and opportunity to pursue the research that was becoming increasingly uppermost in her personal priorities. Immediately after Revan's departure, Evaine and the others of the Council resumed round-the-clock monitoring, receiving daily and sometimes twice-daily progress reports until Sylvan could finally confirm that he and their little band were safely ensconced in their high desert “retreat.” Once that was accomplished, and for the duration of the forty days, surveillance dropped to an hour at midnight each night, in case some urgent report needed to be made. Otherwise, those at Sanctuary could do nothing to advance Revan's cause besides wait. It freed up everyone for other pursuits, such as these were within the confines of Sanctuary.