by Eric Thomson
Gwenneth turned to Marta and pointed at the corridor. “Find Jonas.”
“But—”
“I’ll deal with Stearn. Jonas needs your help.”
After one last glance at the closed waiting room door, Marta nodded, then set off at a rapid pace. Gwenneth looked the Pathfinder straight in the eyes.
“I will enter now the waiting room now, Sergeant.”
— 48 —
Gwenneth took a deep breath while the sergeant unlocked the door. It slid open, and she stepped through. Roget stood in front of Morane’s official portrait, staring at it with disturbing intensity, unaware he was no longer alone.
“Stearn!” Her voice cracked across the room like the detonation of a long-dormant volcano blowing its top, but he didn’t even twitch. “Stop it this instant.”
After a second or two, he raised his left hand, palm facing outward, and aimed it at her. Gwenneth immediately felt an assault on her mind’s shielding, a battering ram so strong she staggered. Malevolent, unrestrained power surrounded her inner being, seeking a way in. The pressure quickly became unbearable, and part of Gwenneth marveled at Stearn’s raw mental strength.
She no longer doubted his guilt for the deaths of both Loxias and Charis Sandino. Her legs buckled, and she collapsed to the floor in a heap under the astonished eyes of the Pathfinder sergeant. But she remained conscious and collected her strength to create a shield that would reflect Stearn’s energies back at him. If she built a viable feedback loop, the mad friar would inevitably self-destruct.
A few rooms down, Marta knelt by Morane’s chair, laid a hand on his forehead, and opened her third eye while a thoroughly puzzled Commander Lutzow spoke with the Lannion Hospital emergency services. The violence of Stearn’s attack almost ejected her from Morane’s mind, even though Marta was ready for the sort of onslaught she’d experienced with Seled. But she steadied herself and pushed back at the horrible darkness engulfing Morane’s soul. At first, she felt no give. It was like wading up a raging torrent of waist-high water, knowing the slightest misstep could mean death. But at least she kept the onslaught from growing stronger.
Then, Marta felt Stearn’s energy decline, as if something or someone was distracting him. Gwenneth? Marta pushed — hard. He recoiled enough to let her build a shield around Morane and protect it from further deadly blasting. But her strength was ebbing as well. That which fed Stearn’s mind was beyond comprehension, something primal drawing its power from the very essence of the Infinite Void while Marta depended solely on her own resources.
With astonishing speed, Stearn’s mental assault collapsed, leaving Marta gasping at Morane’s side, searching for breath and her bearings. When she recovered, in a matter of mere seconds, Marta realized Commander Lutzow didn’t notice anything amiss. He was still on a comlink with the hospital, waiting for notification that an emergency medical team was on the way. The battle to push Stearn away and save Jonas Morane was fought and won in the blink of an eye. But was she successful, or did Stearn destroy Morane as thoroughly as he destroyed Loxias and Sandino?
Marta gently reached into the president’s mind, and at first, she found the same damage she’d seen before, starting with Seled. A wave of despair washed over her. But before she could probe any deeper, one of the sergeants from Morane’s close protection team burst into the presidential office.
“Sister Marta. Something’s happened. Both Sister Gwenneth and Friar Stearn collapsed.”
She climbed unsteadily to her feet.
“Commander Lutzow, tell the emergency team they must place President Morane in a medically induced coma the moment he’s on a stretcher. Otherwise, he might not survive.”
“What happened?”
“I can’t say, but I know an induced coma is his only chance. Make them do it at gunpoint if necessary. I must see what happened to Gwenneth and Stearn.” Marta didn’t wait for an acknowledgment — a Sister of the Void’s medical opinion was almost sacrosanct on Lyonesse. She brushed by both Lutzow and the sergeant on her way out of Morane’s office while trying not to stagger with fatigue. Marta feared what she would find in the waiting room. Stearn was stronger than Gwenneth, though not as experienced or cunning.
When she entered the room, one of Morane’s close protection people was kneeling at the abbess’ side, fingers pressed against her neck. He looked up at Marta and shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Sister. She’s dead.” The Pathfinder nodded at Stearn, lying on his back in front of Morane’s portrait. “The friar still lives, but my gut tells me he’s fading fast. It was the strangest thing. They both lost consciousness at the same moment. Well, he lost consciousness. She might already have been dead when she hit the floor. How’s the president?”
“He was alive when I left his office just now, but he suffered a seizure.”
“Him too?” The man gave Marta a hard look. “What’s going on here, Sister?”
“I wish I knew.” She leaned against the door frame before a wave of vertigo sent her spinning to the floor. “Vice President Sandino also suffered a seizure at her home. She’s dead.”
“What?” He climbed to his feet. “Why are so many important people getting seizures?”
Marta waved away the question.
“I can’t answer that, Sergeant, but I suggest you send a security detail to the late vice president’s estate.”
He gave her a single, brusque nod and produced his communicator. She reached out with her mind, first to touch Gwenneth and repressed a sob when she found her soul was gone, leaving only an empty physical shell. Then, she probed Stearn, and he was still alive, but no more than a shadow of himself. Most of his mind was a blasted wasteland, and she understood Gwenneth set up a feedback loop with her last remaining strength. Marta pushed herself upright, crossed the room, and knelt beside him. She laid her hand on a forehead that already felt colder than it should. Stearn was indeed slipping away. He had minutes left if that. He woke at Marta’s touch and stared at her without comprehension.
“Make your peace with the Almighty and tell me the truth.” She gazed into the dying man’s eyes, searching for what he once was. “Tell me about this inner darkness you’ve hidden from us?”
Stearn didn’t answer right away. His lips moved silently while a shudder ran through his body. When he finally spoke, it was with a rasp.
“I claimed Antelope was a privateer, a salvager searching for advanced technology to bring home, but I lied. We were out-and-out pirates enriching ourselves by raiding the weak and vulnerable. I lost count of how many people we’d killed by the time Antelope crash-landed on Yotai. Early on, we tried to avoid casualties, you understand. None of us were born murderers. But people insisted on fighting back. It became easier if we simply opened fire without warning.” Stearn’s voice became fainter as his essence began merging with the Void. “The first time we deliberately murdered innocent people, most of us got sick to our stomachs, me included. But it was less nauseating with every raid, and with every starship we plundered until none of us thought of our victims as fellow humans.”
“Is that how you got the Void beacon?”
“Yes. My story of finding it in the ruins of a spaceport on Montego was also a lie. We raided a Void priory on New Karelia. There were maybe thirty or forty Brethren. Mostly sisters. After killing them and taking their tech, I ripped it from the neck of the prioress. I can’t explain why.” A cough. “They weren’t the only Brethren we murdered. I may not be a sociopath, but the rot in my soul does not differ from that in Seled’s. Granted, I wasn’t a moral man, to begin with. None of us were. Otherwise, we’d have stayed on Scotia helping our own people instead of cruising the wormhole network to pillage communities made vulnerable by the empire’s collapse.”
“Since none of that was noted in Antelope’s log or database, I gather someone tampered with both, correct?”
“I did. After the crash. In case someone found me.” Another cough, this one weaker. “I really wanted a life here, but the lu
re of using my talent in ways I shouldn’t was more than I could resist. If only I’d left well enough alone and not taken vows... I guess I’m a weaker man than I thought.” His breathing became shallower and more labored, and Marta knew the end was near. “I won’t ask for your forgiveness, because I don’t deserve it.”
She gave him a sad smile. “Yet, I forgive you nonetheless, and the Almighty will receive your soul, no matter how damaged.”
One last rale and Stearn Roget was dead. Marta closed his eyes and climbed wearily to her feet. An entirely irrational craving for life as a hermit in Lyonesse’s wilderness overcame her. And she needed sleep. Lots of it. Yet Marta knew the former was not her destiny, and the latter would be delayed. When she turned to the door, she found Brigid DeCarde and Commander Lutzow watching her silently. They might even have overheard some of Stearn’s dying confession, but Marta found she didn’t care.
“Emergency teams are on their way,” Lutzow said.
“One team will suffice. Gwenneth and Stearn are now part of the Infinite Void. I’ll call the abbey’s infirmary. They’ll remove the mortal remains. We will bury their ashes on abbey land.”
“Will your people conduct autopsies to find out how they died?”
Marta shook her head.
“No need. They suffered cardiac arrest due to unbearable stress. I’ve seen it before. You’ll find Vice President Sandino died of the same cause.”
Neither DeCarde nor Lutzow spoke, though both watched her with undisguised suspicion.
“All Brethren, save those with hospital or clinic duties will return to the abbey as soon as possible and stay there until further notice while I investigate what happened.”
“You will investigate?” DeCarde’s face hardened. “Four people are dead; the president is in a coma, and you will investigate? I think not.”
“Three of the four are Brethren, including the perpetrator, and until we hold a vote, I will assume the duties of the Summus Abbatissa. What happened today directly results from a breakdown within the Order, one which I must repair.”
“We shall see. You probably know that since Jonas Morane is incapacitated and Charis Sandino is dead, I’m the republic’s interim president until either Jonas recovers or the next senate elects a successor. We will have a heart-to-heart talk about the Order’s future in the next twenty-four hours, Sister. I’m sorry — Summus Abbatissa.”
DeCarde’s tone took on a mocking edge that struck Marta like a physical blow.
“Because of his longstanding friendship with Gwenneth, our president knows more about the Order’s inner dealings than he lets on. And he didn’t share with me because of my opinion you people are dangerous mind-meddlers despite the good your healers and counselors do. It’s time you come clean with me. I want answers about what happened here today so we can make sure it never happens again.”
Marta inclined her head respectfully.
“Of course, Madame President.”
— 49 —
DeCarde sat back in the presidential chair and studied Marta, her expression one of disbelief mixed with anger after the latter revealed some of the Order’s most closely guarded secrets.
“So, the Ancestor was right. You are mind-meddlers.”
“Only a small number of us, those with an open third eye, and only for healing purposes. Most of the sisters have only a highly developed sixth sense and can only read the emotions of those not shielding their minds.”
“And Jonas Morane knew about this ability?”
Marta nodded.
“Yes. He understood the good we can do with our expanded senses. The friars have a heightened ability to read others because of a stronger sixth sense than most and their training. But the talent, as we call it, is almost purely a female phenomenon. Except for Stearn Roget. He was an unprecedented anomaly. Unfortunately, I didn’t know until his deathbed confession, that he was also a cold-blooded killer, someone who murdered countless humans. Otherwise, I would never have taught him what I teach sisters with an open third eye. I suppose I was guilty of hubris.”
“Without a doubt. You, Gwenneth, and the rest of the sisters are exploring things best left alone. Nemesis follows hubris just as surely as night follows day, and we saw plenty of nemesis in the last twenty-four hours.”
Marta inclined her head.
“I cannot offer arguments to the contrary, Madame President. Without my teachings, Stearn would have lived a normal life in the community, and those he murdered would still be among the living.”
“Until he opted for a little piracy on the side, and we found ourselves with a serial killer ravaging Lannion.”
“Doubtful. By the time Stearn reached the stage at which I should have stopped his training, the darkness he carried within was safely bottled up where he couldn’t feed off it. We successfully treated inmates with antisocial personality disorders and brought them to the same point.”
The interim president gave her a hard stare. “Something you will cease doing until further notice.”
“We already stopped weeks ago, when one of the inmates in question suffered from complications leading to cardiac arrest.”
“Good.”
“I’ve also decided we would ship our excess friars and sisters — those too interested in secular matters — south where they will set up a priory on Isolde’s north coast. It can anchor the republic’s first settlement on the continent and become its medical center. That will end the Lindisfarne Brethren’s ability to meddle in politics.”
Marta let out a heartfelt sigh.
“We played with fire and burned innocents. For that, I offer you my and the Order’s deepest apologies. Nothing we can do or say will ever make up for what happened. You may also rest assured I will force through an amendment to the Rule which will forbid any involvement in secular politics.”
“What about the mind-meddling?”
“We condition our sisters against doing so unless it’s for medical purposes. Our version of the Hippocratic Oath makes specific mention of not violating someone’s mind. And we do not train anyone to that level unless they take the oath and accept the conditioning. Unfortunately, it failed in Stearn, and I take full responsibility for that as well. He is proof the male mind differs from the female mind, at least where the talent is concerned. Procedures that work on sisters didn’t work on him. Once his delusions led him into a spiral of self-destruction, there was no going back.”
DeCarde looked away for a few seconds, jaw muscles working.
“Yes, let’s talk about the delusion Jonas would use his emergency powers to suspend the legislature and make himself president for life. He was on the verge of ending the emergency when Stearn struck. We weren’t facing an attack by plague-infested reivers. Ten out of the twelve were ghost ships, everyone aboard dead. The other two gave off life signs so faint, it was clear the last survivors weren’t long for this universe. Lyonesse was never in any actual danger. Had Stearn waited a few minutes longer, he would have received the message it was over. He and Gwenneth would be alive, and Jonas wouldn’t be in a coma.”
“Perhaps, but by the time Stearn entered Government House, I think his last connection with reality was frayed beyond repair. Murdering Loxias, his friend and mentor, in such a horrible manner — stripping him of his very essence — was the act of an irretrievably damaged mind. The only way this could have ended otherwise is if someone had shot and killed Stearn before he reached the vice president’s residence.”
“You leave me in a quandary, you realize that, right? If the truth about what happened to Jonas and Charis gets out, you’ll find citizens with torches and pitchforks swarming the abbey. Lyonesse will lose the backbone of its health system, and we won’t just be burying a few of the Brethren. I cannot trust your lot and never will, yet for the greater good, I’ll go along with whatever story you concoct and never tell another soul about your secrets. I cannot sever the symbiotic relationship between your Order and the republic without killing both.”
&
nbsp; Marta bowed her head again. “Thank you.”
“But fending off the inevitable questions so far has been almost unbearable. A dead vice president and a president in a coma while the republic was under martial law? The more extreme conspiracy theorists are no doubt accusing me of engineering their removal, so I could seize power.”
“Tell the truth or at least a version of it. Friar Stearn, the man Dawn Hunter rescued on Yotai and who later joined the Order of the Void, lost his mind for reasons we cannot yet explain. He went on a murderous rampage and used his privileged position to make his way past the vice president’s security after killing the Order’s chief administrator, who first realized Stearn posed a danger. He entered Government House intending to assassinate President Morane but was intercepted by Abbess Gwenneth, who gave her life to stop him.”
“What about Jonas? Commander Lutzow and the close protection team know Stearn never got near him, yet he suffered a life-threatening seizure not long after your friar showed up.”
Marta shrugged helplessly. “Some things cannot be rationally explained without revealing too much, so it’s best we don’t try. Let it be known I’m investigating what happened and direct any questions you can’t answer to me.”
DeCarde tapped the desktop with her fingertips while eying Marta.
“I suppose that’ll have to do. What’s the president’s condition?”
“Jonas remains in a coma, but he’s stable. I saw him this morning, and his mind is nowhere near as damaged as Loxias’ or Sandino’s. I reached his side in time to prevent Stearn from burning everything away. Since a good part of his essence or soul remains, he will recover with the right help. I’ve recalled Sister Amelia from the Windy Isles for that purpose. She was my most talented student and will sit with Jonas day and night so she can help rebuild his inner being. In a few weeks, the Almighty willing, we can wake him and heal his conscious mind. He’ll never be quite the same as before, sadly, but then neither are those who suffer life-threatening physical injuries.”