Braumin tried to show confidence as he was swept in by others on their way to the viewing, but in truth, his guts churned and twisted. Pagonel had assured him that the trio of Diamanda, Elysant and Victoria would acquit themselves wonderfully, but everything the Bishop knew about fighting, about strength, about size, and about the simple advantage a man might hold over a woman in combat told him that the mystic’s optimism might well be sadly misplaced.
Failure here would hold great consequence in the discourse of the next day, and likely in the election of the next Father Abbot.
*****
Because of the dearth of masters and abbots, even tenth-year immaculate brothers were allowed a vote the next day when the Father Abbot was to be chosen.
The process moved along smoothly, but Braumin Herde watched it with a strangely detached feeling, his thoughts continually returning to the events of the previous night. He could see again the doubts, even the mocking expressions, on the faces of the gathered when Pagonel’s team of three young sisters stepped into the arena. Most pointedly, many chuckled at the sight of small Elysant, carrying a quarterstaff taller than she.
And when the brothers opposing the trio had come out, those expressions had grown more sour, and more than one, Haney and Dellman included, had spoken to Braumin in whispers of great concern that the women would be injured, and badly so!
The voting went on around him, but Bishop Braumin wasn’t watching. In his mind’s eye, he was viewing again the beauty of the battle, the movements of graceful Victoria weaving about the opposing lines, the agility and balance of Elysant as she used her staff left and right to block nearly as many attacks aimed at her sisters-in-arms as they themselves blocked, at the sheer speed and power of Diamanda’s strikes.
He closed his eyes and winced, recalling the first opponent felled, a large young man who had to weigh near to three hundred pounds. Elysant had deftly turned his bull rush, and Victoria swept past him, turning him, bending him into her wake in inevitable pursuit.
And leaning right into the driving fist of Diamanda.
The man had fallen like a cut tree, just straight down, face down, to the hard floor. He was awake this morning, at least.
After that, Pagonel’s three tigresses had cleverly and neatly caged, worn down, and clobbered the remaining two brothers.
Had any of the sisters even been hit?
The one sour note of the evening, though, had come when Braumin had torn his gaze from the spectacle in the arena to note the expression of Brother Thaddius. The man’s sour look spoke volumes, and again Braumin had to wonder if the mystic hadn’t erred in choosing this man as the fourth in his legionem in primo.
Master Viscenti’s call brought him from his private thoughts and concerns. As the highest ranking member of St.-Mere-Abelle whose name was not on the ballot, it was Viscenti’s place to count the votes.
He called in the stragglers now, offering any a count of ten to come forward and place their colored chip into the box.
None did. The ballots were all in.
Viscenti produced a key and unlocked the metal box, carefully lifting back its hood. The thin man licked his lips and glanced over at Braumin, offering a slight nod.
So began the count.
Abbot Haney received a few votes, but the yellow chips assigned to his cause were dwarf by the two piles beside them, one for Master Dusibol of St. Bondabruce of Entel, who had spoken passionately against the changes Braumin had made in St.-Mere-Abelle even after the display of Pagonel’s team. Dusibol was a traditionalist, and judging from the pile of red chips on the table, he was far from alone in his ways!
But the largest pile was blue, blue for Bishop Braumin, and by enough of a margin, with his pile larger than those of Dusibol and Haney, the only other to receive any votes, combined. There would be no second ballot. The victory was Braumin’s, and on the first ballot.
The cheers came forth, some excited, some polite, when Master Viscenti counted it out and declared Braumin Herde as Father Abbot, and spoke, too, of the rarity that their leader would be chosen in a single ballot!
Yes, it was quite an accomplishment, so Braumin heard from his friend and the supporters in the crowd, but he could not really believe it.
Dusibol was not even an abbot, and still had challenged him reputably. In normal times, Master Dusibol would not even have been on the ballot!
Braumin Herde had been an Abbot, and was a Bishop even, and had led to the great victory that had saved the Church at St.-Mere-Abelle.
And yet, his victory was not overwhelming.
He looked around at the gathering as he moved to stand beside Viscenti. He understood their hesitance, their fear. Perhaps it would have been better if they had gone through several ballots, with speeches and debates between each!
“I move that Master Dusibol be elevated to the rank of Abbot of St. Bondabruce immediately,” Braumin opened, and now the cheers grew louder. The new Father Abbot looked over at the contingent from St. Honce in Ursal as he spoke, and noted some disconcerting expressions coming back his way. They had wanted Master Ohwan on the ballot, but Dusibol had beaten him out for the third spot, in no small part because of the whispers of Viscenti and Dellman, both noted followers of Braumin Herde.
St. Honce was being punished, they believed, and not without reason. For that abbey had supported King Aydrian and Marcalo De’Unnero – it was rumored that Aydrian had meant to elevate Ohwan to the rank of Abbot of St. Honce, some whispered that the King had actually done so.
Dusibol was a traditionalist, and clearly not enamored of Braumin’s changes, clearly, but Ohwan…
Ohwan could be real trouble, Braumin Herde feared. Particularly now, where Master Dusibol had garnered far more votes than Abbot Haney, who supported Braumin (and probably voted for Braumin, the new Father Abbot understood) and the emergency measures he had taken to secure St.-Mere-Abelle.
Braumin looked at the pile of red chips again, and understood that the early years of his reign would not be without great challenges.
And honest ones, he had to admit.
He was asking a lot of an Order that prided itself on rituals and ways nearly a millennium old.
“So be it,” he thought, and he said, loudly, and he slammed his fist down on the table.
“I am a devout follower of Avelyn,” he decreed. “I make no secret of that. Do not believe that his canonization will be slowed by the tragic events of the last year. The Chapel of Avelyn will be rebuilt in Caer Tinella in short order, and fully staffed, and I will see Avelyn Desbris declared as a Saint of our Order.”
He saw a lot of nods. He noted no overt looks of discontent.
“You have seen the changes I have made in bringing in new brothers – and sisters.”
He paused there and let the murmurs roll through the hall, and surely they were lessened because of the amazing exhibition the brothers had witnessed in the arena. Still, though, they remained, a buzz of anger just below the surface in many of the gathered brothers.
“My first act as Father Abbot, though, will be to declare a full inventory of the Ring Stones. We have thousands in our possession – Avelyn, who will be sainted, brought back nearly two thousand alone!”
A few scattered claps echoed about the hall.
“It was said to be the greatest haul of sacred stones ever returned,” Braumin went on, careful not to overstep too greatly by naming the process. “And indeed, for one man, the feat was beyond impressive – yet more proof that Avelyn walked with God. But there was a time, brothers…”
He paused and shook his head and sighed for effect, then said cryptically, “We will discuss this at length in the coming days. You will come to see, as I have learned, that much of what we have been taught is not the full, not the only, truth, of our sacred heritage.”
He had to pause again and hold up his hands to quiet the uneasy rumblings that began to echo, more loudly now.
“You will see,” he promised. “And this, too, we shall debate
long into the nights, I promise. And in those nights, I will show to you why another will ascend behind Avelyn, why Master Jojonah will find his sainthood in the flames foul Markwart set beneath him!”
Even Viscenti looked at him in shocked, stunned, horrified even, that Braumin had moved so boldly, so quickly! He hadn’t even put on the robes of the Father Abbot yet!
“What admission of failure and complicity is this?” demanded one of the Masters of St. Honce – speaking for Ohwan, of course.
“Our failures are already known, and now better admitted,” the Father Abbot insisted.
“He was your friend, but that is not an impetus for canonization!” the man shouted back.
Braumin smiled as warmly as he could manage. “He was my teacher. He was the guidepost for all of us who defied the demon Markwart, and Marcalo De’Unnero after him. I nominate him – indeed, I do so right now! And I will champion him, as I champion Avelyn, these two men who, by God’s wisdom and grace, guided us through our darkest hours. It was the spirit of Jojonah, I say, that led Brother Francis out onto the fields to minister to those afflicted with the Rosy Plague, an action that cost him his life, as he expected and as he accepted! It was the spirit of Jojonah surging within the body of Brother Romeo Mullahy, who threw himself from the Barbacan Shrine of Avelyn to let his persecutors see the foul truth of their journey!”
He paused again, expected a retort, but none came forth. Bolstered, and really with nothing to lose, Father Abbot Braumin pressed on.
“The gemstones will be used to alleviate the suffering of the people, brethren or not – indeed, Abellican or not! A brother possessing a soul stone who ignores the pain of a man of Behren or Alpinador, does so by turning his back on God.
“And yes, there are now many sisters among us, most young, some who have served in convents for decades. They will train, we will train, and we will go forth and reclaim every abbey, every chapel, and every heart for St. Abelle!”
He slammed his fist on the table once more, indicating that his speech, and this gathering, was at its end, and he turned and left through the back door of the room, the one leading to the private quarters of the Father Abbot, Masters Viscenti, Dellman and Abbot Haney at his side.
They left to rousing cheers.
“A fine beginning, Father Abbot,” Haney congratulated.
“But a long way to go,” Braumin replied, and he was glad when Haney put a hand on his shoulder, in full support.
And bringing with him, Braumin believed and prayed, the full support of new King Midalis.
*****
“The community is greater than the individual,” Father Abbot Braumin said to an agitated Brother Thaddius. “Is that not what Pagonel preaches? And is it not true?”
“This is not the Order I joined, Father Abbot,” Thaddius insisted.
“But it is indeed.”
Thaddius stared at him incredulously. “For years, I studied the ways of St.-Mere-Abelle. None were more prepared than I when first I entered these gates!”
“Beware your pride, young brother. Perhaps I will tell you the tale of Avelyn Desbris, that you might find humility. Perhaps I will tell you of Avelyn’s first great demonstration of Ring Stone power, one that shocked the Masters and Father Abbot. He was no older than you are now, and yet none in the Church, not even Marcalo De’Unnero, could have matched the fireball he created over the bay, and that after leaping from the roof and walking across the water!”
Brother Thaddius seemed to labor for his breath. The inclusion of De’Unnero in the lesson (particularly since De’Unnero did not stand as the pinnacle of Ring Stone affinity in the days of Avelyn) had stolen the young man’s bluster, as it had surely been added as a subtle warning from the Father Abbot.
“I knew the ways of the Abellican Order. I cherished the ritual, the solemnity, the…”
“A dragon flew through our great window,” Father Abbot Braumin reminded. “A great battle was fought about our gates and within the monastery. You witnessed the carnage and destruction. We cannot go back. Not now.”
“I know,” Brother Thaddius said quietly, “but…” He ended with a profound sigh.
“You do not value your training with the Jhesta Tu? My understanding is that his techniques have strengthened you in your use of the sacred Ring Stones.”
“Women,” Thaddius spat. “St.-Mere-Abelle is thick with them!”
“I would expect that a young man would not object so strenuously.”
“Father Abbot!”
“Forgive me, young brother,” Braumin said, and he tried not to laugh.
“Tradition,” Thaddius said, shaking his head. “The continuity of ritual and rite through the passing centuries…without it, I am ungrounded. I am lost and floating free of that which brought to me spiritual joy and eternal hope. We have brothers, and sisters, among us who cannot coax a flicker of light from a diamond. And never will they, yet we name them as Abellican monks!”
“I do not disagree,” Braumin replied in all seriousness. “My crude attempt at humor notwithstanding. Brother Thaddius, do you understand how profoundly the De’Unneran Heresy wounded our Order, and the kingdom? There is a void of power in both, with King Midalis trying to tame the local lords to fealty, and with half of our chapels and abbeys empty! We are without many options. The Samhaists have been seen about Vanguard, and indeed even within Honce-the-Bear. You have heard the tale of Sister Mary Ann, no doubt.
“And the misery of the common folk cannot be overstated. They need us. They need us to keep clear the way to the Barbacan and the Covenant of Avelyn. They need us to heal their wounds and cure their sicknesses. They need us, and King Midalis, to keep Entel and the Mantis Arm secure from Behrenese pirates and powrie raiders.
“And we are not secure enough in our own institutions to offer that aid. Goblins still roam the land. Powries roam the land. De’Unnerans roam the land! There is fear of the Rosy Plague! Without those basic securities, our words to the common folk ring hollow. They need us, young brother, to coax their spirits to a place of blessed divinity, and they will not hear our sermons when all we can offer to them are words.”
“Pagonel is not of our Order, yet he dictates…”
“He offers advice, at my bidding,” Braumin said, more forcefully, demanding Thaddius’s full attention. “And I am Father Abbot. Do you dispute that?”
“No, Father Abbot, of course not,” the young man said and lowered his eyes.
“The community is greater than the individual, and you are called upon to be an important member of our community, Brother Thaddius. I know not why Pagonel selected you as the Disciple of Avelyn for his adventuring legionem in primo. But it is a great honor.”
“One I share with three women,” Thaddius replied rather sharply. “With one who cannot use the Ring Stones at all, and another too young to even enter the Order, even if she were a man!”
“You are among the most important Brothers of Blessed Abelle,” Braumin insisted. “More than most of the remaining Masters, yet you are only a few years into your training. If you are successful, if your mission is successful, it will help me to chart a strong course…”
“One apart from tradition!” the distressed young man dared to interrupt.
“No!” Father Abbot Braumin yelled in his face. He grabbed Thaddius by his skinny shoulders and forced him to square up and look him in the eye. “No,” he repeated, more softly. “Much of what we have come to believe as tradition does not date to the earliest days of the Church. I do not blaspheme the message of St. Abelle. Never that! You must trust me, young brother. Everything I do, I do with purpose to save the Church from what it had become under the perversion of Dalebert Markwart and the Heresy of Marcalo De’Unnero.”
That elicited a wince.
“He killed people,” Father Abbot Braumin said quietly. “He murdered innocent people, thinking it for the greater good. You said you were prepared to enter our Order, but have you not studied the last two decades of our history? Do
you not know the story of Brother Francis, who gave his life administering to the sick? Or of Brother Mullahy, who killed himself rather than renounce his faith? Or of Master Jojonah!”
Brother Thaddius wore a curious expression as tears began to flow down the Father Abbot’s face. “Oh, Jojonah, my teacher,” the Father Abbot went on. “He showed me the truth of our traditions, and that many of our practices were not traditions at all!”
“I do not know of any time when women were allowed into the Order in great numbers,” Thaddius dared to say.
“True,” the Father Abbot admitted. “But have you ever known of any person more deserving than Jilseponie Wyndon? She would be your Mother Abbess now if she had accepted our offer. Not a brother in the Church would have questioned it, and none, not one, would have voted for anyone other than Jilseponie if her name had been on the ballot.”
Thaddius wore a horrified look.
“Do you doubt me? Do you doubt that Jilseponie brought down Marcalo De’Unnero and Father Abbot Markwart? Do you doubt that Jilseponie served as the shining light to our Order in the time of the plague?”
Thaddius shrugged, but seemed as if he had no more arguments to offer.
“And so we honor her by allowing women into the Order. Perhaps it will work out for the betterment of us all. Perhaps not – in that case, it will be a temporary thing, out of necessity. Pagonel’s order is not unlike our own, and he insists that half of it is comprised of women, equally so, and at all ranks of achievement and honor.
“I need you, young brother,” Father Abbot Braumin said earnestly, and he gave the thin man a slight shake. “And I trust in you.”
He turned about and went to his desk, and returned a moment later bearing a small pouch. He moved to a table off to the side and carefully upended the contents.
The sparkling gems took Brother Thaddius’s breath away. They were all there, it seemed, garnet and malachite, bloodstone, moonstone, serpentine, and a large ruby, and larger soul stone!
The Education of Brother Thaddius and other tales of DemonWars (The DemonWars Saga) Page 10