The Legends of Camber of Culdi Trilogy

by Katherine Kurtz

  Joram shook his head proudly, tears starting to well in the pale gray eyes despite his best efforts to the contrary. “No, sir. I just—felt like hugging you—Brother.”

  Camber smiled and began straightening his garments. “Brother. What a wonderful word, the way you say it.” He glanced fondly at Joram. “I think that may be an even greater honor than having been your father.”

  Joram bowed his head, forcing the tears back, then looked up and smiled broadly.

  “Come along—Father. ’Tis time to give a second meaning to that title.”

  Proudly, then, and without further words, he took up the folded chasuble and laid it across his father’s arm, lit the taper and put it in the hand of the candidate for priesthood. Together, they started toward the chapel.

  The little chapel was ablaze with light—candlelight, not the less-expensive fire of rushes. The tiny, faceted chamber gleamed gold and stony silver-gray, thick yellow tapers burning in sconces on each of the eight arching walls. Six more candles glowed on the altar, three to a side, illuminating the rood on the eastern wall. Additional candles stood unlit in freestanding holders at the four quarters of the chamber: at the back of the altar, against each of the side walls, and beside the door. These alone bespoke the difference of this ordination from the customary.

  All of this Camber absorbed in an instant, to be filed in memory only as a setting. For it was the occupants who captured his attention from the start—three whose stature somehow made the chapel seem far smaller than he remembered.

  Archbishop Anscom dominated the room, standing to the left of the altar in the full resplendence of his episcopal vestments, his face set and unreadable. Rhys and Evaine waited at the right side of the Kheldish carpet before the altar steps, each cloaked in a borrowed Michaeline mantle, Evaine’s golden hair spilling from beneath her hood to reach nearly to her waist on either side. The two of them smiled solemn welcome as Camber and Joram entered.

  Joram closed the door and laid the great bar across its supports as Anscom came down the three altar steps and beckoned Camber toward the jewel-toned carpet. When Camber had knelt to kiss the archbishop’s ring, Anscom raised him up.

  “Be at ease while we set the wards, my friend. Since you and yours originated this particular warding, you know what’s involved. Your children insisted upon using it.”

  Camber controlled a smile as he straightened from his bow, remembering the last time they had set such wards in this chamber. That night, they had hoped to give Deryni powers to a priestly prince; tonight, it was a Deryni to whom they planned to give priestly authority. The parallel both cheered and awed him.

  He stood straight and let his head tilt back slightly, half closing his eyes, the better to isolate outside distractions. He could feel the warmth of the taper in his right hand, the different warmth of the chasuble across his left arm. Beside him, Joram bowed to the archbishop and then ascended the altar steps. To his right and behind him, Rhys and Evaine stood with eyes closed and minds stilled. He was aware of Anscom’s quickened breathing to his left as he turned his thoughts inward in preparation.

  After a moment, Evaine moved from behind him to kneel at the bottom of the altar steps, as Joram bent to kiss the altar stone. Then the young priest held aloft an unlighted taper with his left hand—passed a graceful right hand over the virgin wick.

  Fire flared, and Joram turned to invite Evaine to join him.

  Now came the time for true concentration. For, as Evaine mounted the altar steps to take the taper and light the great eastern candle, they must all begin pouring their respective energies into the wards which were being formed.

  The eastern candle caught and steadied, and Evaine turned to make her way down the steps and toward the candle on his right, shielding the flame with her hand as she walked.

  Closing his eyes, Camber let his mind begin working on the construction of the wards, sensing now, rather than seeing, the concentration of energy around them as Evaine lit the candle to his right and continued on behind him. He could hear the gentle hiss of incense being spooned into an already smoking thurible—let himself become immersed in the words which Joram spoke as he censed the altar.

  “Incensum istud a te benedictum …” May this incense, blessed by Thee, ascend to Thee, O Lord. “Et descendat super nos praesidium tuam.” And may Thy protection descend upon us …

  Evaine had lit the last candle on the left, and Camber could hear her moving back to the altar. A pause, and then the sound of the thurible swinging on its chains again as Joram censed his sister and then turned to the right to begin retracing her steps. Evaine returned to stand behind her father as Joram’s voice floated in the stillness.

  “Terribilis est locus iste: hic domus Dei est, et porta caeli …” Terrible is this place: it is the house of God, and the gate of Heaven; and it shall be called the court of God …

  Joram finished censing the circle, and now censed all inside it with the sweet smoke which spiraled from the thurible. He replaced it beside the altar, then returned to stand at Camber’s right, as Rhys moved to the Healer’s place, directly before him.

  Camber, though he kept his eyes closed, the better to feel what was happening, was aware that Evaine was rousing now, to lift her hands and eyes and shining voice to That which they had called. Images of her last performance of this office mingled with present sounds and sensations as her words began to weave the crystal spell.

  “We stand outside time, in a place not of earth. As our ancestors before us bade, we join together and are One.”

  All bowed their heads in unison.

  “By Thy blessed apostles, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John; by all Thy holy angels; by all Powers of Light and Shadow, we call Thee to guard and defend us from all perils, O Most High,” Evaine continued. “Thus it is and has ever been, thus it will be for all times to come. Per omnia saecula saeculorum.”

  “Amen,” all murmured as one voice.

  Without opening his eyes, Camber eased himself to his knees, steadied by Joram on his right. He could hear and feel Anscom brushing past him to ascend the altar and begin the Mass.

  “Introibo ad altare Dei,” Anscom intoned. I will go up to the altar of God.

  “Ad Deum qui loetificat juventutem meam.” To God Who gives joy to my youth. Those words were Joram’s, as he joined Anscom at the altar.

  “Judica me, Deus …” Judge me, O God, and distinguish my cause from the nation that is not holy …

  The Mass continued in its familiar form until Anscom had finished the Collect. As the final words died away in the stillness, Camber opened his eyes at last, once again allowing visual input to join other heightened senses.

  Rhys and Evaine stood to his left now; and Joram, on his right, helped him to stand. Anscom, moving to the faldstool which had been set to the left of the altar, sat down quietly, the miter on his head winking jewel eyes in the candlelight as he took up his bishop’s crozier. His seamed face was ruddy in the glow of the Presence lamp. His tone was curiously quiet, almost thoughtful, as he spoke.

  “Dearly beloved, now stand we all in the house of the Lord, at the center of a universe which is not ours as we know it. Here, before the Lord of Hosts and those other Powers which we have summoned, we call before us Camber Kyriell MacRorie, who would be ordained a priest.”

  “Adsum,” Camber murmured, inclining his head. I am here.

  With Joram still at his elbow, he moved forward three steps and knelt again. The taper he held trembled a little in his hand.

  Joram made a deep reverence. “Reverendissime Pater … Most Reverend Father, for the sake of Holy Mother Church and of those of our kind who have gone before us, I ask you to ordain the deacon Camber Kyriell MacRorie, here present, to the burden of the Deryni priesthood.”

  “Do you know him to be worthy?”

  Joram bowed again. “So far as mortal frailty permits one to know, this I know; and I affirm my faith that he is worthy to undertake the burden of this office.”

  W
ith a curt nod of acknowledgment, Anscom turned his attention to Rhys and Evaine, speaking ritual words to which he expected no reply.

  “Brothers and sisters, know you that with the help of our Lord, we have chosen for the order of priesthood the deacon Camber Kyriell. If anyone has ought against this man, let him speak now, in the Name of the Holy One.”

  When there was no response, Anscom turned his eyes back on Camber, still kneeling on the Kheldish carpet with his candle held before him.

  “It is the duty of a priest to offer sacrifice, to bless, to preside, to preach, and to baptize. Also, because a Deryni can truly see into the hearts and souls of men, there are additional responsibilities imposed upon a Deryni priest. Will you, in the Name of the Lord, receive the rank of priest?”

  “Volo.” I will.

  “And will you be obedient to your bishop, according to justice and the grade of your ministry?”

  “I will, so help me God.”

  “Then may God vouchsafe to bring your good and righteous will to the perfection that is pleasing to Him.”

  “Amen,” Camber responded.

  Rising, Anscom took Camber’s candle and set it on the altar, Joram likewise taking the folded chasuble from his father’s arm and laying it on the altar as an offering.

  Then Camber was lowering his body to the carpet to prostrate himself, as the others knelt and began the various litanies for the day. Camber let the phrases ripple over him and carry him to an even more profound inner stillness.

  “Kyrie eleison.”

  “Christe eleison.”

  “Christe audi nos.”

  “Sancta Maria …”

  “Ora pro nobis.”

  “Sancte Michael …”

  “Ora pro nobis.”

  The litany droned on in a lulling, monotonous cadence fully intended to assist the listener to a heightened state of awareness—for the Church fathers had long ago learned of the mental state which one should achieve to experience fully a sacrament such as ordination. By the time Camber consciously focused back on the ritual, Anscom was finishing the litany with a final prayer, directing the Divine Attention to the man prostrate before the altar.

  “So, look Thou with favor upon Thy servant, Camber Kyriell, O Lord, whose hands are stretched out before the throne of Thy Majesty. Clothe him with the mantle of Thy priesthood, wherewith Thou didst adorn Thy faithful servants in ages past. Strengthen him, that he may ever serve Thee, by night and by day, O Giver of All, Lord of All, God Most Mighty …”

  When the prayer had ended, Anscom moved quietly to his faldstool, there to wait in all his sacerdotal splendor as Joram assisted his father to stand. The priestly initiate was brought to kneel before the archbishop, Joram taking his own place at Anscom’s side—for, as a priest, he, too, would share in the imminent transmission of priestly authority.

  Camber drew a deep breath and let it out slowly as Anscom’s hands were raised above his head. This was the heart of the ordination: the mystical laying on of hands. Resolutely, he let his defenses slip away, opening every channel of awareness that he could, that he might feel the Forces of Creation flowing through Anscom and Joram.

  “O Lord of Hosts, Who hast made me, Thy servant Anscom, an instrument of Thy will and a channel of Thy power: now, according to the apostolic succession passed in unbroken line by the laying on of hands, I present to Thee this, Thy servant, Camber Kyriell, that he may become Thy priest.”

  The consecrated hands descended gently on Camber’s head, and Camber felt a faint tingling sensation, the building of a flow of pure energy against the outer edges of his mind. His immediate instinct was to withdraw, to shut down, to raise every defense and ward against the awesome Power whose potential he could already sense. But he dared not hold back—not if tonight was to have any meaning.

  He felt another hand join Anscom’s, gently touching the side of his head, and knew Joram’s cool and gentle probe on his mind. Forcing himself to relax and remain open, and reassured by Joram’s presence, he closed his eyes and let out another deep breath, surrendering to whatever might come. He sensed his control slipping as Anscom continued speaking.

  “Accipite Spiritum: quorum remiseritis …” Receive thou the Holy Spirit. Whose sins thou shalt forgive …

  There was more, but Camber swiftly lost the meaning of mere words as he concentrated instead upon the sensations he was beginning to experience at Anscom and Joram’s hands. A subtle pressure grew inside his mind, a gradual filling and expanding with Something which was so powerful, so awesome, that no corner of his being escaped Its insistent touch.

  His hearing went first, and he knew that his vision also was gone—though he could not, to save his mortal life, have opened his eyes to test that knowledge.

  Then all awareness of having a body at all began to fade. He was pure consciousness and more, centered in a bright, shining point, bathed and immersed in a golden brilliance, cool and fascinating, which was unlike anything he had ever experienced or imagined experiencing.

  He was no longer frightened; he was engulfed in an emotion of peace and joy and total oneness with all that was and would be and once had been. He stretched and soared on rainbow wings, exulting in the certainty that there was far more to being than a mere mortal body and lifetime—that even when this human body died, whatever guise it wore, he—the essence of him—would continue, would grow, would move on in the fullness of eternity.

  In a sparkling instant, he saw his past, and other pasts, in shimmering, quicksilver glimpses, immediately lost to memory; and then his present experience, as though observing his own body from above, silver-gilt head bowed unflinching beneath consecrated hands whose touch was both delicate and relentless.

  The thought whisked across his consciousness that perhaps he was fantasizing all of this; and a rational remnant of himself agreed. But another part of him banished that notion almost before it could take definite form.

  What did it matter, at this point, whether he was experiencing true reality or one created, born of his own emotional need and reaching? No mere mortal could hope to experience the Godhead in all Its many facets. Man the finite could but glimpse the filmy shadow-trails of the Infinite, and that only if he were very fortunate.

  But in his present mode, given all the weaknesses and strengths both of human and Deryni resources, was this not as close as he had ever brushed the Power which governed the wheeling of the universe?

  He was marveling at what seemed to him an awesome piece of logic, part of him already wondering how much he would be able to retain when he returned to his normal state of awareness, when he sensed a drawing back, a lessening of the flow of power.

  For the first time since Anscom’s initial touch, he could sense the archbishop’s own consciousness, warm and reassuring, respectfully curious as to what Camber had just been experiencing—for, truly, Anscom had been only what he had said he was: a channel for some greater Force.

  Neither had Joram experienced exactly what Camber had. He, too, was but a channel, a conduit, however dear and beloved.

  As the archbishop withdrew, first mind and then hand, and Joram also drew back, Camber settled gently back into his body and reluctantly let sensation sift back into its proper perspective. With a sigh, he opened his eyes and let his gaze rise to meet Anscom’s, glanced briefly at his son standing awed before him.

  But he knew instantly that there was no need to tell them what had happened—not the generalities, at any rate. They knew. They, too, were priests, touched by the same Forces as he in their own ordinations. Now the three of them shared that knowledge; Camber even understood a little of the frantic grief Cinhil must have experienced, to give this up. And Camber, like Anscom and Joram—and Cinhil—and all the others who had gone before, would never be quite the same.

  He took a deep breath and sighed again, and Anscom, too, relaxed a little and smiled. Sitting down again, the archbishop untied the linen girdle around Camber’s waist and brought the far end of the Michaeline sto
le across Camber’s right shoulder so that the silken strip now lay about his neck. Crossing the ends of the stole on Camber’s chest, he secured them under the cincture again as he spoke.

  “Accipe jugum Domini …” Take thou the yoke of the Lord, for His yoke is sweet, and His burden light.

  With a bow, he took the snow-white chasuble which Joram brought from the altar and pulled it over Camber’s head, settling the folds gracefully around his body.

  “Accipe vestem sacerdotalem …” Take thou the garment of the priesthood, which signifies charity; for God is able to advance you in charity and in perfection.

  Another prayer was recited, with Joram making some of the responses as Anscom went briefly before the altar. Then the archbishop returned to sit and remove his gloves and bishop’s ring. Camber remained kneeling before him, laying his open hands on Anscom’s knees to receive the anointing with holy oil. The archbishop’s thumb traced a cross on the upturned palms, right thumb to left index finger, left thumb to right index, as he intoned:

  “Consecrare et sanctificare digneris, Domine …” Be pleased, O Lord, to consecrate and hallow these hands by this anointing and our blessing.

  He made the sign of the cross above the hands. “That whatever they bless may be blessed, and whatever they consecrate may be consecrated and hallowed … In nomine Domini Nostri Jesu Christe. Amen.”

  With that, Anscom closed Camber’s hands and bound them, palm to palm, with a white linen cloth. Then, as Joram brought the new-made priest to kneel before the altar once more, Anscom approached the altar and took up a chalice. Joram poured wine and water into the chalice, then placed the paten with its Host on top of the chalice. Anscom descended the three steps to Camber and extended the symbols of priesthood to the new priest.

  “Receive the power to offer sacrifice to God, and to celebrate Masses for the living and the dead, in the name of the Lord. Amen.”

  Camber touched chalice and paten with the fingertips of his bound hands, then bowed his head as Anscom returned them to the altar and Joram removed the bonds and wiped away the holy oil. When Joram had finished, he raised up his father and led him to kneel before the archbishop on his faldstool once more. Camber bowed his head as he placed his hands between Anscom’s to pledge his obedience.