It was impossible for Silvas and Maria to miss the coincidence of a tremendous storm breaking at the very instant that their conversation with Mikel ended. Several peals of thunder sounded almost simultaneously, and heavy rain slammed at the one window in the small sitting room. Lightning flashed past the window, colored spectacularly by the rainbow hues of the veil over the valley.
"Mikel's final word?" Maria suggested, going to the window.
Silvas followed her. "That seems unlikely. He was too morose, too intoxicated, to come up with a spectacle like this so quickly. Besides, I've never known him to waste energy on empty shows."
"Then one of the others listening in on our talk? The sky was clear when we strengthened the barrier. There wasn't a cloud to be seen."
Silvas shook his head uncertainly. "I don't think that the storm has anything to do with our talk. If it's a response to anything, it must be to the work we did before, strengthening the veil."
"Nothing more than mere coincidence?" Maria asked, opening her eyes wide and putting mock surprise into her voice.
Silvas laughed. "It might well be. We're too eager to see enemy action in everything. But we can still watch this storm with particular interest."
"Is there somewhere we can get a better view of the storm without being soaked?"
"The closest vantage would be the turret above the workroom."
Silvas led the way up through the library and workroom. On the side of the workroom, a narrow doorway opened onto a steep and tightly curled stairway leading to a turret that protruded from the side of the keep. Its main function during the centuries that Silvas had ridden circuit for Mikel had been to give him a view of whatever place he had ridden to and called in the pillar of smoke that allowed him access to home. That one turret showed the remote locale rather than the immediate environs of the Seven Towers.
The walls were thick enough that Silvas and Maria could stand close to the slit openings in the turret and look out at the storm without catching more than a little spray from the rain outside. A chill breeze came through, though.
"I've never seen a storm so fierce," Maria said after a few minutes of observation.
"I recall a couple of storms that matched this one, though I don't think that either was the least bit stronger," Silvas said, absently thinking of those other storms. One of them had caught him, and Bay, on the road, going from one village to another in the Scottish Highlands, far beyond the usual limits of their peregrinations. After enduring a few minutes of the cloudburst, Silvas had given up on riding any farther that day. He had spoken the words of magic that summoned the pillar of smoke to let them return to the Seven Towers. The other storm so fierce had happened while they were in a village near Rouen, in the king's Norman possessions. At least he had been under cover when that storm broke. Silvas related those experiences to Maria, sharing the most vivid images directly.
While they talked in the turret, Silvas and Maria roamed the skies over the valley in the spirit, probing the storm, searching for any hint of design to it. The storm was a broad one, covering the valleys both east and west of the now hidden valley of the Seven Towers. The clouds were moving rapidly from southwest to northeast, failing at the front, new clouds building at the rear, seething as if they were at a rapid boil. The result was that the storm seemed to hang overhead as new clouds replaced older ones that had drained themselves of rain. An extraordinarily large number of lightning bolts flashed, often as many as a dozen simultaneously.
"It looks as if this storm will not end soon," Maria said after they had spent a quarter hour watching it.
There's no sign I can find of conscious agency to it, Silvas told her. Nor does it seem to be causing any special damage.
A few trees struck, branches down, Maria commented, turning her attention toward the valley below the eyes of her spirit. If not a directed assault on us, an omen perhaps?
There is almost always conscious design driving true omens, Silvas replied. Most events that people call omens after the fact are mere coincidence.
"Superstition?" Maria asked softly.
"Perhaps. I see no point to spending the entire night here. Though little rain comes in, we're still getting damp, and there's a chill to the wind. We might as well be comfortable, even if we don't sleep."
"Don't sleep? You think this storm still bears our attention?"
"It makes me uneasy. This may be nothing more than what it appears, but it troubles me. I doubt that I could sleep while it continues."
They turned away from the storm and descended to the workroom. Silvas paused for a moment there, his eyes tracing the lines of the crystal pentagram, searching for any hint of damage to the pattern, and finding none. But yet he hesitated to leave the room. Maria stood near the door, with Satin and Velvet flanking her, waiting.
I'm tempted to use the pentagram to investigate this storm further, Silvas told Maria. I tell myself that it would be a waste of time and energy, but I am still sorely tempted.
"Time and energy we have at present, it seems," Maria said.
Silvas looked at her, then looked at the pentagram again, wavering. Finally, he shook his head and went to her.
"No, my mind is chasing shadows. If I give in to this impulse, I may find myself giving in to similar impulses all of the time. I can find no ready cause for the effort."
Silvas lingered again as they were going through the library on the floor below the workroom. He quickly scanned the rows of books and racks of scrolls, questing through his memory for some title he could retrieve to find a cure for his uneasiness.
"Obviously, you feel there is something we should be doing," Maria said.
"But I don't know what. That bothers me infinitely more than the storm itself."
"You think the answer is here?"
Silvas shrugged. "It might be. There is a wealth of knowledge in this room, beyond the ken of all but a few in this world."
"And the new store of knowledge within us?"
Silvas laughed. "You're right. But that knowledge is new. I have ages of comfort with the knowledge in these volumes." He shook his head. "This may be the largest library in existence since the one at Alexandria was destroyed. If any collection is larger, it can only be in the Vatican. In any case, there is one scroll I think you might scan. Auroreus wrote this tract as a primer for me when he first took me as his apprentice."
Silvas crossed to a rack of scrolls and reached for one. As always, he was able to go immediately to the document he wanted. He pulled it out and carried it across to Maria.
"Dei et Deae," he announced, handing her the scroll. "You won't have nearly the difficulty reading it that I did the first time."
Maria unknotted the cord that held the scroll closed and opened the manuscript to the first page. Her first glance encompassed the entire page.
"This makes even my father's scribbling look beautiful," she said. "What a tangle of words and languages."
Then, just briefly, she felt tremendous surprise. "Languages," she repeated. "I learned Latin from Brother Paul, enough to read the Bible. I learned to read a little of English and French from my father's second wife. But this…"
"There are seven languages in that scroll, thrown together as if mixed in a bowl and poured at random onto the sheet," Silvas said, letting amusement soften his mood.
"I can read them more easily than I could read a single language before," Maria said. "If only I had this gift when I was taking my lessons."
"Take the scroll with you. There's no need to read it now."
Silvas's uneasiness had passed. The interlude had taken the look of care from his face. They went on down to the small sitting room. There was still wine left in the carafe, and a considerable amount of fruit and cheese. Maria curled up on the divan with her legs tucked under her and started to read Dei et Deae. Silvas lit several extra candles, then went and stood by the window. The wall was eight feet thick, and the window was glassed. Neither rain nor wind troubled his continued observation of the storm.
"I find an unexpected distraction in reading this," Maria said after perhaps ten minutes. Silvas turned away from the window to look at her. "I read, but before I can get to the next words, the memories we share give them to me. I find myself racing ahead of the words."
Silvas took a couple of steps in her direction. "The hours I spent slaving over each page of that. I had to…"
He stopped because a large sphere of light appeared in the room, hanging in the air halfway between Maria and him. The globe was an arm's length in diameter and seemed to be perfectly shaped. At first, there was nothing but the light, but gradually a scene appeared within the globe. Both Maria and Silvas were looking at the image as it formed, and even though they were on opposite sides of the sphere, they saw precisely the same view, from the same angle.
The image of Brother Paul, formerly the vicar of Mecq, was in the globe. He was clad in the white habit of the White Brotherhood, and he was kneeling in prayer, eyes closed, hands clasped over crucifix and rosary. It was impossible to see anything of the friar's surroundings. Only he appeared in the visionary bubble.
"Is this a common sort of occurrence for you?" Maria asked.
"This is unique," Silvas said. "You mentioned the good vicar before. Perhaps that's all there is to this vision. But… first the thunderstorm and now this peculiar image of Brother Paul. What is the point?"
"At least this does not seem to be the work of an enemy," Maria said. "Why bring an ally to mind?"
Behind the words, they shared a common realization. If Brother Paul appears to us, we need only contact him to see if there is some reason. But they did not hurry to follow through on that. They stared at the image, which was so finely resolved that they could see his lips move as he prayed in silence, and they could put the words to those movements. The prayers that Brother Paul repeated were ritual, mostly fervent repetitions of the Ave Maria and Pater Noster.
"What if this globe vanishes before we act?" Maria asked after a time.
Silvas nodded. "Let me make the contact alone. Brother Paul is at least accustomed to my magics."
"It shouldn't be difficult."
"It shouldn't be. I'll try the most direct method first. If that doesn't work, we have a considerable store of alternatives." Silvas's grin was a little tight.
He faced the figure in the globe directly. In a moderately loud voice, he said, "Brother Paul."
There was a short delay before Silvas saw any reaction to his words. He had almost decided that he would have to try something more sophisticated when Brother Paul opened his eyes and looked up. The friar's movements were almost unnaturally slow, as if time were running only half as fast for him as it was for Silvas and Maria. Eyelids came up very slowly. His head raised as if on difficult ratchets. Finally, the eyeballs rotated upward. Silvas could tell the instant that Brother Paul saw him. The monk's eyes suddenly widened.
"Lord Silvas." Paul's words were clear but seemed to come from a distance. His head turned a little to the side. "Maria."
Silvas and Maria looked at each other. Silvas raised an eyebrow. They were directly opposite each other, with the sphere of light between them.
"How far apart do we seem to be to you?" Silvas asked the monk.
"No more than a span." Paul raised his hands to demonstrate.
"We're in the Glade, Vicar," Silvas said. "A sphere of light suddenly appeared in the room, and we could see you at your prayers within the sphere."
"I'm in the chapter house of the cathedral at St. Ives," Paul said. "I see your face, and Maria's face, in the darkness over the shrine to Mary, the Holy Mother of Jesus." The monk blinked rapidly, several times. "There is a thing I had no chance to tell you before. That last morning at Mecq, before the bishop celebrated Mass, several of my parishioners came to me with similar tales. They said they had been visited by Mother Mary during the night. They each described her to me. The description was that of your lady, Carillia, may she rest in peace."
"I did not know that before, but I have since learned that she often appeared in that guise. It was her tie to the White Brotherhood."
"Bishop Egbert explained. We were halfway to St. Ives before he thought I was ready to learn about the true relation of Holy Mother Church to the gods. But that is of another puzzle. I came here tonight to pray because I felt troubled in my spirit. My heart told me that the danger was not truly over, that it might only be beginning, and that you had need of my help, limited though that help might be."
"Have you even had time to begin your studies of the Greater Mysteries?" Silvas asked.
"Bishop Egbert was in great haste to start. He lectured me through the entire ride from Mecq to St. Ives, and when the good bishop's voice flagged, one of the chapter monks took over. I've heard a lot that I never suspected before. Had it not been for my association with you, and that Council in which you bade me sit, I fear that my soul would have refused much of what I have heard. So much that contradicts what I have always believed!"
"Not contradiction so much as a separate level of reality," Silvas said.
"So Bishop Egbert assured me," Paul said. "It remains troubling. And I spoke to him about this feeling I have that the danger is not over."
"What did he say to that?" Silvas asked.
"That there is always danger for the faithful. That those with power must always be especially vigilant. He said that I already possess power that I am not fully aware of."
"That is true enough," Silvas said. "Or you would not have been able to contact Maria and me the way that you have."
"Did I contact you?"
"There seems no other explanation." Silvas reached a quick decision then, and glanced at Maria to see her nod of agreement. "There must be reason behind this. Come to me as quickly as you may. If Bishop Egbert questions it, ask him to bend his mind toward mine and I will answer."
"How can I come to you?" Paul asked. "I know not how to find your castle."
Silvas hesitated for an instant. The means Brother Paul needed came to mind immediately, but the idea seemed improbable, even now. "Take my hand."
Silvas reached out toward the monk, and his hand sank into the globe of light. For a moment, Paul merely stared at the disembodied hand that appeared before him. Then, hesitantly, he reached out and clasped it. Silvas pulled, and the monk stepped out of the light and into the Glade. The sphere of light instantly vanished, without a sound. Paul turned loose of Silvas's hand and sank to his knees, trembling violently.
Maria reacted more quickly than Silvas. She got up off of the divan and knelt at the monk's side. She put her arm around his shoulders, holding him and projecting Silvas's calming spell to him.
"It's all right," she said speaking words over the chanting within her mind. "You know us both, and you know that this is right."
"I'll leave Maria to explain what is happening, Brother Paul," Silvas said. "I feel a sudden urge to consult with Bay."
Maria looked up and nodded. Silvas left quickly. For a moment, Satin and Velvet moved around haphazardly, as if uncertain whether to follow Silvas or stay with Maria. Since Silvas gave them no time for their ruminations, they stayed. He was already gone and on the back stairs, racing toward the mews.
"Come over here and have a seat." Maria almost physically lifted the monk from the floor. That would have been no great feat of strength. The monk was thin, and scarcely weighed as much as Maria. She knew that if it became necessary, she could hold the monk above her head for as long as circumstances warranted without real effort. But this was gentler, an insistent urging that he resisted only briefly.
"Have a drink of wine. It will help."
She gave him her own goblet. Paul had to hold it in both hands to keep it steady. Even so, Maria had to help, her hands over his, until he had taken one long drink and another, shorter, sip. The monk took a deep breath then and finally let his eyes meet hers.
"I thought I was done seeing miracles," he said in a shaky voice. "I had already seen more miracles than any man could hope to see in a long, full life. But now, it seems that they are merely beginning for me."
"Perhaps," Maria said. "You remember what happened in the church, after the battle?"
Brother Paul felt his mind flash back to the scene in his church, with all of the dead, dying, and badly wounded lying around on the floor. The smells of brimstone and blood had been heavy in the dampness of heavy rains. There had been the crying of the hurt and the bereaved.
"There was a light," Paul said slowly, looking over the top of Maria's head now. "It enveloped the three of you, Carillia, Silvas, and you. It hung there for a moment, and time seemed to stop. When the light faded, Lady Carillia was dead."
"In those last moments, Carillia passed her divinity to Silvas, and to me. We share it fully. In our minds and souls, we are united fully, as the Blessed Trinity is. We are one god in two persons."
Brother Paul tried to absorb what he had been told. It went against a lifetime of training and faith, but he kept telling himself that he had to believe. He had seen too much not to accept what he was hearing. For the first time, he seemed to become aware of the violent storm raging above the Seven Towers. He glanced toward the window, then back at Maria.
"The storm, has it been going on for long?" he asked.
"Since Silvas and I spoke with Mikel, the Unseen Lord of the White Brotherhood."
Paul did not hear the name Mikel. He had not the power yet to grasp the hidden names of the gods.
"The storm began as our conversation ended, but I must take you back farther, to the time when we parted between the church and the pillar of smoke that concealed the entrance to the Seven Towers, back in Mecq." Maria poured more wine and waited for Paul to take another drink before she related, as well as she could, all that had happened since she had entered the Glade with Silvas. She told him of the twenty gods that had been and the dozen that remained.
"Thirteen or fourteen, actually," she said, amending what she had just told Paul. "It depends on how you reckon Silvas and me. But twelve of the old gods remain. Six died in the battle that was centered on Mecq. Two had died in earlier battles among the brood."
Although Maria was as brief as she could be in her recital of the events that had taken place in the last several days, it still took quite some time to tell it all, and to give what descriptions she could of the gods that she and Silvas had seen in the Citadel of the Shining City. Brother Paul could not hear the secret names of the gods, but she told him what she could of them, their appearance and behavior. She dwelled particularly on Mikel, and on Barreth and Gioia.
As Maria's lecture continued, Paul found himself occasionally distracted by the storm. He heard Maria speaking. Her words-save those names of power he could not grasp-sank firmly into his mind. But he also heard the pounding of rain against the window, and the wind howling outside. He saw the many streaks of lightning that flashed across the sky.
The storm drew him. Eventually, he got to his feet and walked across the room to the one window, a trifle unsteady on his feet from the combination of shock and wine. Brother Paul had not eaten in a day and a half, and his fast made him weak-and particularly susceptible to the strong wine Maria had given him.
"This storm," Paul asked suddenly, interrupting Maria. "Is it entirely natural?"
"It seems to be. We've been able to detect no hand behind it."
"Such a fierce storm, worse even than the one the Blue Rose launched against Mecq when Silvas brought water to the River Eyler."
"It is still summer, the season of such storms."
"Perhaps I merely spent too many dry years in Mecq," Paul said. "I'm sorry. I interrupted you."
Maria continued with what she had been saying. She had lost all track of time long before the storm outside ended-as suddenly as it had begun. The eerie quiet it left behind seemed unnatural. It was almost more frightening than the storm had been.