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Authors: Margaret Weis
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concentration on it slipped. Grabbing it hastily, he set it down upon a nearby table with a trembling hand. “Holiness,” murmured the wretched Saryon distractedly, “my crime … is wicked … unforgivable ….”
“My son,” said Vanya in a tone of such infinite patience and kindness that Saryon’s eyes filled with tears again, “the Almin in his wisdom knows of your crime and, in his mercy, he forgives you. Compared to our Father, I am but a poor mortal. But I, too, would share his knowledge of the crime that I may share in its forgiveness. Explain to me what led you down this dark path.”
Poor Saryon was so completely overcome that for several moments he could not speak. Vanya waited, sipping his sherry with that outward look of fatherly benevolence upon his face and the inner, unseen smile of satisfaction. Finally, the young Deacon began to talk. His words came haltingly, limping at first, as his eyes sought the floor. Then, as he glanced up now and then to see the effect of what he believed were confessions of a soul so blackened and corrupt as to be lost forever and saw only compassion and understanding, he became more relaxed. His sins gushed forth in a torrent.
“I don’t know what made me do it, Holiness!” he cried out helplessly. “I used to be so happy, so content here.”
“I think you know. Now you must admit it to yourself,” Vanya said placidly.
Saryon hesitated. “Yes, perhaps I do know. Forgive me, Holiness, but lately, I’ve felt—” He faltered, as though unwilling to speak.
“Bored?” suggested Vanya.
The young man flushed, shaking his head. “No. Yes. Perhaps. The duties are so simple …” He made an impatient move with his hand. “I have learned all the skills to be a catalyst to any type of magi. Yes”—this in response to Vanya’s skeptical look—“I’m not boasting. Not only that, but I have developed new mathematical formulas to take the place of centuries-old, traditional, clumsy calculations. I supposethat should have satisfied me, but it didn’t. It left me hungrier.” Forgetting himself in his words, Saryon talked faster and faster, finally standing up and pacing about the room, gesturing with his hands. “I started working on formulas that could pave the way for new marvels, magics never before dreamed of by man! In my research, I delved deeper and deeper into the libraries of the Font. Finally, in a remote part of the Library, I came across the Chamber of the Ninth Mystery.
“Can you imagine what I felt? No”—Saryon glanced at the Bishop in embarrassment—“how could you, who are goodness personified? I stared at the runes carved above the doorway and a feeling crept over me much akin to the feeling of the Enchantment that we feel every morning on sensing the magic. Only this feeling was not one of light and fulfillment. It was as if the darkness in my soul deepened until it was sucking me inside. I hungered and thirsted and literally shook with desire.”
“What did you do?” asked Vanya, fascinated in spite of himself. “Did you enter it then?”
“No. I was too scared. I stood before the chamber, staring at it for I don’t know how long.” Saryon sighed wearily. “It must have been hours, because I was suddenly aware of an aching in my legs and a feeling of dizziness. I sank into a chair then, terrified, and looked around. What if I had been seen? Surely the forbidden thoughts I was thinking must be plain upon my face! But I was alone.”
Unconsciously suiting his actions to his words, Saryon sank back into his chair. “Sitting there, in the Study Room near that forbidden chamber, I knew what it was to be tempted by Evil.” His head lowered into his hands. “You see, Holiness, I knew, as surely as I sat in that wooden chair, that I could enter those forbidden doors! Oh, they are guarded and shielded by wards and runes”—he shrugged impatiently—“but they are such simple spells of sealing that anyone with any Life in him at
“My son,” said Vanya in a tone of such infinite patience and kindness that Saryon’s eyes filled with tears again, “the Almin in his wisdom knows of your crime and, in his mercy, he forgives you. Compared to our Father, I am but a poor mortal. But I, too, would share his knowledge of the crime that I may share in its forgiveness. Explain to me what led you down this dark path.”
Poor Saryon was so completely overcome that for several moments he could not speak. Vanya waited, sipping his sherry with that outward look of fatherly benevolence upon his face and the inner, unseen smile of satisfaction. Finally, the young Deacon began to talk. His words came haltingly, limping at first, as his eyes sought the floor. Then, as he glanced up now and then to see the effect of what he believed were confessions of a soul so blackened and corrupt as to be lost forever and saw only compassion and understanding, he became more relaxed. His sins gushed forth in a torrent.
“I don’t know what made me do it, Holiness!” he cried out helplessly. “I used to be so happy, so content here.”
“I think you know. Now you must admit it to yourself,” Vanya said placidly.
Saryon hesitated. “Yes, perhaps I do know. Forgive me, Holiness, but lately, I’ve felt—” He faltered, as though unwilling to speak.
“Bored?” suggested Vanya.
The young man flushed, shaking his head. “No. Yes. Perhaps. The duties are so simple …” He made an impatient move with his hand. “I have learned all the skills to be a catalyst to any type of magi. Yes”—this in response to Vanya’s skeptical look—“I’m not boasting. Not only that, but I have developed new mathematical formulas to take the place of centuries-old, traditional, clumsy calculations. I supposethat should have satisfied me, but it didn’t. It left me hungrier.” Forgetting himself in his words, Saryon talked faster and faster, finally standing up and pacing about the room, gesturing with his hands. “I started working on formulas that could pave the way for new marvels, magics never before dreamed of by man! In my research, I delved deeper and deeper into the libraries of the Font. Finally, in a remote part of the Library, I came across the Chamber of the Ninth Mystery.
“Can you imagine what I felt? No”—Saryon glanced at the Bishop in embarrassment—“how could you, who are goodness personified? I stared at the runes carved above the doorway and a feeling crept over me much akin to the feeling of the Enchantment that we feel every morning on sensing the magic. Only this feeling was not one of light and fulfillment. It was as if the darkness in my soul deepened until it was sucking me inside. I hungered and thirsted and literally shook with desire.”
“What did you do?” asked Vanya, fascinated in spite of himself. “Did you enter it then?”
“No. I was too scared. I stood before the chamber, staring at it for I don’t know how long.” Saryon sighed wearily. “It must have been hours, because I was suddenly aware of an aching in my legs and a feeling of dizziness. I sank into a chair then, terrified, and looked around. What if I had been seen? Surely the forbidden thoughts I was thinking must be plain upon my face! But I was alone.”
Unconsciously suiting his actions to his words, Saryon sank back into his chair. “Sitting there, in the Study Room near that forbidden chamber, I knew what it was to be tempted by Evil.” His head lowered into his hands. “You see, Holiness, I knew, as surely as I sat in that wooden chair, that I could enter those forbidden doors! Oh, they are guarded and shielded by wards and runes”—he shrugged impatiently—“but they are such simple spells of sealing that anyone with any Life in him at
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