Slowly, reverently, he approached Mercia’s great cathedral.
He expected there to be a guard on duty. There was none. He guessed that they had seen him coming and, observing his robes, had elected to be discreetly absent. For which he was grateful. He would have found it difficult to talk to anyone now, save the One he had come to address. The One whose Presence breathed from the stones of this building like a living essence, drawing Damien in.
With a prayer on his lips, his heart pounding, he pushed open the great doors and entered.
The sanctuary was empty, and utterly silent. The stillness of it was so absolute that it invaded Damien’s soul, quieting the roar of his blood, the whirlwind of his emotions. Domina’s light filtered through stained-glass windows five times the height of a man, spreading a shifting mosaic of colored light across the polished stone floor. The ceiling overhead was so high it was lost in shadows, as intangible as the night itself. The sheer vastness of the space seemed to dwarf him, impressing upon him the ultimate humility of human existence—and at the same time it forced him to expand, to fill its vaulted emptiness with the fire of his human spirit. In here, one could believe there was a God. In here one could believe that man could commune with Him.
He walked quietly to the head of the aisle, listening to his footsteps resound in the emptiness. Faith curled about him like an evening mist, centuries upon centuries of unquestioning devotion that had left their mark upon the floor he trod, the altar before him, the very air he breathed. Earth-fae: utterly tamed, utterly tractable. He had dreamed of it without understanding. Now he knew. Now he understood. He put out his hand, knowing that it curled about his living warmth like a flame. No need to See it; faith was enough.
Silently he knelt on the plush velvet carpet, his white robe gathered beneath his knees. In his eyes the afterimage of the fireworks still burned, sparks that shimmered and died in the shadow of Mercia’s great altar. How unimpressive those lights seemed now, when compared to the triumph of faith that had made them possible! And they knew that, he thought. Not the common people, perhaps, but the leaders. They knew.
Trembling, he bowed his head. And tried to voice a prayer so deeply embedded in his soul that for a moment no words would come. For a moment he did no more than pour his hope, his joy, his love of the Church into the boundless reservoir of faith that surrounded him.
And then the words came.
Thank You, Lord, for giving me this day. This joy. Thank You for letting me taste that beauty of the human spirit which is the core of our faith. Thank You for giving me even one moment in which human greed, uncertainty, and aggression receded from concern, and the Dream that is our faith stood revealed before me in all its terrible splendor. Help me to hold that moment within my heart forever, a source of strength in times of trial, a source of faith in times of questioning. Help me to be a vehicle through which others may glimpse what I have seen, and a tool by which the future may be fashioned in its image. In Your most holy Name, Lord God of Earth and Erna. Always and forever in Your Name.
There were tears on his face, running down his cheeks. He left them alone. They, too, were a kind of prayer, too precious to disturb: a psalm of pure emotion.
Strangely, in my joy. I find I feel terribly alone. The priests of my homeland may devote their lives to a vision of such perfection, but they know it will never be fulfilled in their lifetime. The people here may reap the rewards of their unity,but how can they begin to understand its true value when they have nothing less perfect to compare it with? Only in stepping from one world to the other can one see so clearly the borderline between the two, and the fragile balance necessary to maintain it. Help me to keep hold of that most precious vision, Lord. Help me to serve mankind the better for having known it.
There was a sound behind him. It took a moment to sink into his consciousness. It was as though he floated in another world, halfway between this planet and something that was beyond all definition. Something so painfully beautiful that he could hardly bear to look upon it, much less turn his eyes away to seek out the source of a simple sound.
“Father?”
The realm of the Infinite loosed its grip upon his soul, and gently returned him to the present. He got to his feet slowly, with effort, and turned; his eyes, well-adjusted to the darkness, had no difficulty in making out the speaker’s identity.
“Captain Rozca,” he whispered. Not a little surprised. More than a little confused.
The man came toward him slowly, stepping from shadow into ruby-colored light, then into shadow again. A heartbeat of illumination. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, Father, If it’s a bad time—”
“Not at all,” Damien managed. The captain’s expression seemed strained, as if reflecting some inner turmoil. Best not to address that directly, he thought. Best to let him express it in his own way, in his own time. “How did you find me?”
“I followed you from the fairgrounds. I hope you don’t mind. I thought, that is I felt, that is . . . I wanted to talk to you.”
“I’m here,” he said softly.
“When I saw . . . I mean . . . They couldn’t have done that at home, could they?” He was closer now, close enough that Damien could watch his face as he struggled to find the right words. “The fireworks, I mean.”
“No.” He shut his eyes for a moment, remembering. The brilliance. The joy. “Maybe priests could manage something like it, maybe adepts could mimic it . . . but not like that. Not on such a scale.”
“You talked to me about it on the Glory,” he said. “How if enough people worshiped your god it would make a real difference. Not just in matters of faith, you said, or in religious things, but in the way we lived. I didn’t really understand. Not then. But here . . .” He looked toward a window, helplessly. “I’ve seen things here I didn’t think a god could do. And you know what gets to me? That they vulking take it for granted! It’s just one more show of pretty lights to them, or one more smoking cannon, or one more bustling steamship . . . they don’t even know what they’ve got here, Father. Do you feel that? Am I crazy?”
“No, you’re not crazy. You have vision, and that’s very rare. Very precious.” Hold onto this moment, he wanted to say. You may never have one like it again.
“It’s just that I . . . damn it, this is hard.” He turned back to Damien, but couldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t say things like this too good, you know. Words don’t come easy to me. It’s just that I’ve been thinking all night, all through the firelights, and I . . .” He drew in a deep breath, shaking. “I want you to take my oath, Father.”
For a moment Damien had no words. Speech seemed an alien concept; words that he might have spoken jumbled in his brain, caught on his tongue. He forced them out. They weren’t the words he wanted to say, but words that he was bound to. Because fairness was part of his duty, too. Perhaps the most important part.
“What you’ve seen here is very impressive, I understand that. But when our business is done here you’ll be leaving, and this night will be no more than a memory. In the world we came from, will that be enough? Mine isn’t an easy faith, captain, or a popular one. Are you sure it’s what you want?”
“Father,” he answered, “The way I see it, you go through life in stages. First you’re young and ambitious and you think nothing’s going to get in your way, not ever. Then you get to the point when you realize that the world’s a damned hard place to live—downright nasty on occasion—and it’s hard enough to keep your head above water all the time, much less come out on top like you want. At that point you figure if some god can make it all a little easier, why not? What’s a prayer or two to you, if it gets you what you want? But then,” he said, “when you get older, you realize there’s something else you want, too. Something that’s harder to put a name to. Something a man gets when he writes a song that’ll be sung long after he’s dead, or paints something that his great-great-grandchildren will hang on the wall . . . or helps change his world. Do you see, Father? There’s a lot of things this world might become, and before tonight I didn’t much bother to think about it. My own little piece of the present was enough, and the rest could take care of itself. But now . . . I’ve seen what the future could be, Father. I’ve seen what this world can become. And I want to help make it happen. Even if it’s just a little bit. I want to do my share.” He hesitated. When he spoke again there was genuine humility in his voice, a tone no man could counterfeit. “Will you take my oath?”