Authors: Margaret Weis
Slowly, the
assassin stepped aside.
"Tricksy
woman." He snarled the words, jealousy burned in the black eyes
like the flame on the surface of the oily water. "You bring back
my lord. I guard door. I keep good watch. But"—he raised a
crooked finger, whose long dirty nail was like the point of a
dagger—"I keep one eye on you!"
Slouching into
his rags, he crossed the bridge and came to stand beside the open
doorway. Maigrey had the disquieting impression that he meant
literally what he said. One of the misaligned eyes was focused on the
passageway outside, the other stared directly at her.
She turned away.
She couldn't worry about the half-breed now, couldn't worry about
mind-dead or Corasians. She had to concentrate on finding Sagan and
it was likely, she knew, to be the most difficult task she had ever
undertaken. Perhaps impossible.
His face was
stern, forbidding. Standing beside him, she lifted his hand in hers.
The flesh was warm, she felt the faint stirring of his blood. She
pressed his hand against her cheek, the cheek marred by the lashing
scar, her skin wet with her tears. Closing her eyes, holding fast to
his hand, she entered his mind.
All was
completely and utterly dark, a hollow, empty darkness that was
forever and eternal, vast and unending, like the Void between the
galaxies. But that Void eventually had an end. She could travel this
darkness on and on and never see the light of a single star. Death,
oblivion, her own death. No God, no Creator, no afterlife, no mercy,
pity, compassion, no solace. Nothing. It was fearful, more
frightening than anything in life she'd ever faced. Her first impulse
was to run, flee, escape.
"No. I
don't believe this. It is a lie."
A light appeared
in the darkness. Sighing in relief, Maigrey hurried forward and found
herself on board
Phoenix.
And there was Sagan, standing on the
bridge.
She was startled
to see him here, amazed to find him so easily, with such little
difficulty. She drew closer. He turned to face her. She stopped,
shocked, horrified.
He was hideously
changed. His features, no longer noble, proud, were twisted and
deformed by every evil passion. The red cape he wore had altered to a
gruesome color, as if it had been steeped in blood. The golden armor
had changed to dross.
She read his
history in his eyes. He had become a despot, a tyrant, cruel,
murderous, a Caligula, a Hitler. His own men feared him, loathed him,
despised him. His name was cursed throughout the galaxy.
He saw her and
he laughed horribly, and drew the bloodsword and came toward her.
He will
fulfill his destiny and destroy you.
She drew her
sword in despair. It was better, better that he die, that she die.
They both longed for death. . . .
Something struck
her from behind, jolted her, knocked the sword from her hand. Her
concentration wavered. The blow had been real, it had come from the
world outside the one in which she stood. Danger, dire, imminent,
threatened. She hesitated, confused, knowing she should go back, yet
afraid to leave, afraid she might never find her way here again.
Shouts, distant
shouting. She had to go back. She knelt down, reached out, groping
for the bloodsword.
A robed and
hooded monk blocked her way.
"Two must
walk the paths of darkness, Daughter, to reach the light."
Maigrey
remembered the voice, remembered it husky, rusted, as if long unused.
She looked up, from where she crouched at the monk's feet, to see his
face. It was hidden in the darkness cast by the cowl that covered the
head, but she knew who he was, knew why he had come.
Behind her, a
struggle, life and death.
"Father,
wait for me!" she cried. "I will come back."
He said nothing,
but shook his head. And she heard, in her heart,
To turn back now
would do no good. You yourself made the choice that will determine
the outcome. Let go of that world, and enter his.
Reluctantly,
Maigrey stood up, left the bloodsword lying on the floor, and
followed the monk.
A storm wind
rose, blasting, stinging, harsh. It tore at the clothes she wore, the
black tunic, and ripped it off. Beneath it, like the moon appearing
from behind rent and driven clouds, her armor shone, cold, argent,
bright.
The monk turned
his back on the wind, which whipped his robes around him. Maigrey
lifted her head to see where they were bound.
Towering above
her, stern and forbidding, were the walls of an abbey. She recognized
it, though she had been there only once before, long ago, and she ran
forward, eager to gain entry.
But the doors
were shut and bolted against her. She beat on them and shouted, to
make them hear her. Her cries were blown away in the wind.
Despairing, she turned to the priest. Silently, he raised his hand.
The doors
shivered, parted. She stood aside, humbly, thankfully, allowed him to
precede her. As he passed, his head bowed, the light shining from her
silver armor illuminated his face.
The lines of
pride, of stern resolve, recalled to her his son. But the father's
face was softened by suffering, self-inflicted punishment, the
stripes of the scourge that had laid bare the soul. He looked up at
her, and she saw tears glisten on the gaunt cheeks.
He did not say a
word as he walked past her. Darkness closed over him, and his face
was once more hidden from her sight.
Maigrey,
silently, followed him inside the Abbey walls.
"Brother
Daniel, come with me," Lady Maigrey had told him and the priest
had obeyed, although just why he was there or what good he could do
was not readily apparent.
He had expected
her to give him some command, but she said nothing more. She drew
near the still figure of Lord Sagan, and the young priest guessed
that she had forgotten his existence.
Brother Daniel
stood near, prepared to offer silent comfort and sympathy, if he
could do nothing more. Looking into her face, he saw her love for
this man, her regret for a past lost forever, the knowledge that no
future for them existed unless it was one far, far beyond this dark
realm.
He saw the
tears, sacred as holy water, slide down her face and fall on the hand
she held.
Brother Daniel
averted his head. This moment was not his to share. When he looked
again, he realized that she had left him. Though she stood there, she
was gone.
He knew, then,
that he was in the presence of God.
He was awed,
humbled. He'd felt the Presence before: when in the cathedral,
lifting his voice with his brothers in praise, or sometimes in the
darkness of the quiet night, kneeling at his own little altar, his
voice alone breaking the holy silence. But he'd never felt God this
near him before.
He didn't know
what to do. The experience was exhilarating, but terrifying. He
thought he must pray, he should pray. It was expected. Words vanished
from his mind when he summoned them. He was left stammering,
trembling, tongue-tied, torn between fright and joy, as he had been
when, as a small child, he'd come to the altar to take his first
vows.
Daniel had no
idea what was happening. Lady Maigrey's face was empty, devoid of
expression. She made no sound. Drawing the bloodsword, she activated
it, held it above Sagan's body. She said no word, her face was calm,
almost serene.
Brother Daniel
watched in awe. What was happening was God's will. The priest dared
not interfere, although it came to him that she was about to slay
Sagan, slay herself, and that would mean death for them all.
It was God's
will.
What made him
turn his head, Brother Daniel never knew. It couldn't have been a
sound, for no one had ever known the assassin to make a sound before
he struck. Agis cried out a warning, but that came a split second
later. It would have been too late, if Brother Daniel hadn't turned
already and seen what was coming.
Sparafucile
snaked past him, knife raised, firelight flashing from the blade.
"You not
kill my lord!" Sparafucile's arm lifted to stab Maigrey.
Daniel hurled
himself bodily at the assassin. The priest's hands grappled for the
knife. The attack, coming from a direction he had obviously not
expected, caught Sparafucile by surprise. He lost his balance beneath
the onslaught. Both of them fell, crashed into Maigrey. The shock of
the blow jolted the bloodsword from her hand, knocked it to the
floor. She bent to pick it up, to come to the aid of the struggling
priest.
And then she
dropped the sword, turned her back upon both savior and attacker.
From his vantage
point, guarding one of the two doorways, Agis saw the assassin break
from his post, saw the knife flash.
The centurion's
cry had been for Maigrey, hoping to alert her to her danger. He
sprang forward, but the distance he had to cover was great. Weakened
from his wound, he knew with certain despair that he would never
reach her side in time.
Agis ran across
the bridge, then stopped, brought up short by the amazing sight of
Brother Daniel, unarmed, hands grasping for the knife, flinging
himself bodily on the assassin.
The two fell
into Maigrey, knocked the bloodsword from her hand. She lunged for
the sword; Agis expected her to turn and fight. But she paused, the
sword fell from her grasp. She was far away, Agis realized, perhaps
locked in her own desperate struggle.
The two
combatants reeled back, flailing. Sparafucile shrieked terrible
curses, strove to shake the priest loose. Daniel clung to the
assassin with grim determination. The two crashed to the floor behind
the bier, out of Agis's view.
Recovering from
his astonishment, the centurion raced around the bier, found the two
locked in a deadly embrace, rolling on the floor. Brother Daniel,
wrestling with the crazed half-breed, seemed to be struggling to calm
him, as he might have tried to calm a patient gone berserk.
Daniel had the
assassin pinned, for an instant, but Sparafucile was strong and lithe
as a panther and slipped easily from the young priest's grasp.
Agis stood over
them, frustrated, his dart gun drawn, ready to shoot, but forced to
hold his fire, afraid—in the dim, shadow-dodging light—of
hitting Daniel.
Sparafucile
leapt on the priest, straddled him; strong legs held his victim fast.
Fire flashed on the blade of the assassin's knife. Agis had a clear
shot at last, but in that split second the assassin struck.
A pain-filled
scream shattered the silence. Both bodies froze, motionless,
immobile. Agis lowered his weapon, grabbed hold of Sparafucile, who
crouched over the young priest. Agis flung the assassin back,
prepared to kill him. But he looked into the half-breed's face and
saw, in the startled eyes, the shadows of approaching death.
Startled, the
centurion released his grasp. Sparafucile sank to the floor, hands
clutching at his middle. The hilt of the assassin's own knife
protruded from the rags that were slowly darkening with blood. The
half-breed's lips parted, his pain-shadowed gaze focused on the
priest.
Brother Daniel,
shaken, sat up, stared around.
"Are you
all right?" Agis asked him.
"Yes,
praise God. What . . . what happened?" Daniel looked dazedly
over at the assassin.
Sparafucile
grinned horribly. "You kill me, I think, Priest, eh?"
Daniel saw the
knife's hilt, the blood.
"No!"
He crawled over to the dying man, caught hold of the bloody hand.
"No, I swear before God, I never-—"
"Be
careful!" Agis tensed, fearing Sparafucile might try to take his
killer with him.
But a spasm of
pain twisted the grotesque features of the half-breed, his breath
gurgled in his throat.
"God!"
Sparafucile seemed to grasp feebly at what was, perhaps, the only
word he had heard. "Your God ... He kill me!"
The half-breed's
head lolled to one side, blood ran from the open mouth. Lank hair
fell forward, covering the misaligned eyes that stared blankly into
the darkness.
Brother Daniel
sat back on his heels. His face was ashen, his breathing harsh and
shallow.
"I never
touched the knife! I swear it! Before God, I swear it. You saw,
didn't you?" He looked up at Agis.
"Yes, I
saw," the centurion lied. Reaching down, he put an awkward hand
on the young man's shoulder. "The half-breed's knee slipped. He
fell, stabbed himself."
Daniel's gaze
shifted back to the corpse. "No," he said. "That was
not the way it happened."
"However it
happened, you saved my lady's life," said Agis gruffly.
Brother Daniel
seemed to recall where he was, what was transpiring around him.
Turning his head, he saw Maigrey holding Sagan's hand, her head bent
over his, her pale hair falling forward, hiding them both behind a
silken curtain.
Brother Daniel
sighed softly. "Who knows?"
He closed the
staring, misaligned eyes, and began to repeat the prayer for the
dead.
Inside the Abbey
walls, the darkness was not threatening or fearful, but warm,
comforting, offering solace after a day's hard labor, ease for pain.
Maigrey walked the halls, following behind the monk. She saw none of
the other brethren; it being forbidden them to set eyes upon a woman.
She was aware of their presence, however. Shadowy figures moved in
the corner of her vision, vanished when she turned her head to look
at them directly.
And, far away,
in the distance, she heard the voices lifted in supplication.
" '
Kyrie
eleison. . . .
"'Lord,
have mercy. . . .' "
The darkness,
the warmth, the music, were a reproach to Maigrey, whose armor
pierced the soft shadows with a harsh, warlike, metallic light. She
sensed the priests' resentment, their disapproval.