20. Lesson
Odeon woke, a scream caught in his throat, pain knifing through his head. When it eased, he found himself gasping, staring around in the dark. "Who—"
*Do you always ask foolish questions, priest? You belong to the one you call Cortin; you should be able to sense who I am. And you need not speak aloud; survive, and this will be only your first taste of mental speech.*
*With that clue, I think I do know who you are.* Odeon braced himself, wondering what Shayan wanted with him.
*A service that will be to both my benefit and Cortin's—and so indirectly to yours. And you're right—I do not generally do things for others, especially enemies. Nor am I changing that policy; this is primarily for myself, if that will relieve your mind enough to listen.*
*Do I have any choice?* Odeon asked.
*About listening, yes, though only because I choose to give you the choice. About doing what I ask, the choice is totally yours. Will you listen?*
*In that case, I don't see any unavoidable danger; go ahead.*
*You're so kind. I gather you're one of Cortin's holy staff?*
*Of her core group, if that's what you mean,* Odeon replied cautiously.
*The same thing. Is the group complete?*
*No comment.*
*It isn't, then. So you have room for my protege, who will be arriving this coming Saturday.*
*What!* Odeon was startled, though only briefly. Because someone had served Shayan didn't mean that person was beyond redemption; theoretically, Shayan himself could be saved, as he'd once commented to Joanie. *I'll consider her when she gets here, but that's all I'll promise.*
*That'll be adequate—you'll be surprised, I think, at her spiritual state. She's committed few sins.*
That statement was almost as surprising as the Hell-King's peculiar-seeming chattiness. Odeon knew better than to relax his guard too much, but his investigator's curiosity was aroused. *That's hard to believe.*
*Nevertheless, it is true.* Shayan gave the impression of a sardonic smile. *I'm called the Father of Lies, priest, but that's to salve the feelings of those who don't want to believe me. The truth is a much more versatile and useful tool—and usually a far more painful one. Sara has acted under my compulsions most of her life, so most of what you'd call her sins are chargeable to me instead. And the fact that she's been taking the Sacraments from me doesn't alter their validity, which I find highly amusing.*
It was a good thing for the girl that was true, Odeon thought. *And will you remove those compulsions before sending her here?*
*I think not,* Shayan told him. *I could, easily—but if I have to lose her to you, you must be willing to pay my price. You will be the one to remove my compulsions, if you want her.*
*You know I don't have any choice,* Odeon replied. *You'll have to show me how—and tell me the price.*
*Showing you how is the price. Giving you that ability involves restructuring part of your mind, which I promise will make you pray you were enduring Inquisitor Cortin's professional attentions instead. I won't injure you—for reasons you do not and cannot now understand, that would not be to my benefit—but I can and will make you suffer. I'd suggest you find a place where you can't be heard screaming, and where you won't injure yourself. It might also be a good idea to use restraints.*
It went against Odeon's grain to take anything from Shayan willingly, but as he'd said, he didn't have a choice under the circumstances, either as law officer or as priest. He'd take the instruction—and the suggestions. *What about another of the team, to help?*
*If you wish. You'll feel me again when you're ready.*
Odeon shivered as he felt the contact snap. He'd known he'd have to face Shayan eventually, and he'd been sure it would be an unpleasant experience—but he hadn't expected it this soon, for even a remotely similar purpose, and he'd underestimated the unpleasantness. This definitely classified as something he'd much rather avoid, even though he knew he wouldn't. He prayed for the strength to do it right, then tried to decide who he should get to help.
Joanie was out for obvious reasons, he didn't care to have Sis see him screaming, and Chuck didn't have the experience to handle a situation like this promised to be. That left Tony, Dave, and Tiny—with Priest-Inquisitor Bain the most logical choice.
"Are you sure you want to go through with this, Mike?"
Odeon tested the shackles that held him. Dave had padded them, but otherwise he could have been the Inquisitor's subject instead of his senior officer, spouse, and friend. "Of course not—got an alternative?"
Bain shook his head. "No, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. Okay, you're as ready as I can get you."
Odeon stiffened when he felt Shayan's mind-touch, but the promised pain didn't come immediately. *I had intended to show my lady the less pleasant aspects of my realm,* the Hell-King told him, *but she believes it to be an illusion. So I will show her this operation instead. She will also believe it to be an illusion—until you remove my compulsions. Then she will know the truth, that they could be neither imposed nor removed by a normal human agency. And beneath it she has considerable empathy. Enough to fit into the group you—and you, Priest-Lieutenant Bain—are part of.*
*Get on with it!* Odeon sent.
*Such impatience for torment! Would that I could promise you eons of it—but hours will have to suffice.* Both men were fully aware of Shayan's regret at that—and his anticipation. *Still, I can make it last that long, though it isn't truly necessary; the procedure need take no longer than seconds, and would be equally effective if you were unconscious. Either would rob it of what little pleasure I can extract from my lady's loss, however. So, priest—suffer my pleasure.* All true, Shayan thought, as far as the ability to remove compulsions was concerned—but Odeon's pain, including that of believing the anguish unnecessary, was essential to the tempering process. Seizing the other's mind, Shayan began his mental surgery.
Odeon screamed, convulsing. Bain shuddered as they continued, going on and on, pausing barely long enough for Odeon to inhale. The Inquisitor was sickly grateful to Shayan for recommending restraints; without them, Mike's struggles would be breaking bones. There was no skill involved here, no subtlety, no hope for the subject to end it by confessing when the pain became unendurable—which it did, as quickly as Shayan had promised. Though Bain was no longer sharing their mental contact, his Inquisitor's training let him know when Odeon reached his breaking point and was forced beyond it, to agony no drug could keep a man alive through, much less conscious.
But Odeon did remain conscious, with full awareness that it was Shayan's power keeping him that way—and the understanding, at last, that this was what Joanie and Sis had suffered from the Hell-King. Rape was rape, be it physical or mental—and horrible as the pain was, the worst part was the degrading violation.
Bain prayed. There was nothing else to do until, eventually, it ended. With a final convulsion like he was being shaken, Odeon went limp. Bain hurriedly freed him from the restraints and carried him into the bathroom. Mike'd need a hot soak to relax strained muscles, then days of recuperation—God, what would Joanie think when she saw him?
Cortin didn't sleep well. Her dreams were troubling, nightmares of Shayan tormenting her team in ways she couldn't stop, gloating over them, taunting her with her helplessness. And it didn't improve when she woke; the feeling of something wrong with her people wouldn't go away, even when she told herself it was nothing more than a bad dream.
After a quarter hour of being unable to get back to sleep, Cortin got up and put on a robe. Foolish as it was, it looked like the only way to settle her mind was to make sure everyone was all right.
It didn't worry her too much that Odeon wasn't in his room, though, when she checked there first; he was probably with Sis or Betty. But Sis was in with Tiny, Betty with Chuck, and Tony was sprawled out alone, with a contented expression on his face. It wasn't until she checked the common-room without finding either Mike or Dave that her worry got serious. Dave hadn't said anything about having a subject he needed to work on overnight, and Mike didn't have any plans she knew about. Their not being in their rooms or the common-room didn't prove anything, necessarily—but she couldn't help being concerned. She went back to her room for her dungeon keys and gunbelt, then went below ground.
Her worry got worse when she saw the "In Use" light at Bain's suite. She went into the observation room, which didn't help—padded shackles in the third-stage room?—but still nothing of the missing two.
She left the observation room and stood before the suite's main door for several seconds, debating with herself. If Dave was conducting an interrogation with Mike's help, she'd feel foolish intruding—but if one or both of them was hurt, she'd never forgive herself if she didn't. Deciding, she opened the door. "Mike? Dave?"
"Oh, God," a muffled voice said. More strongly, she heard, "In the bathroom, Joanie. Sis with you?"
"No." Cortin covered the distance to the bathroom in record time, appalled at what she saw when she opened the door. "What happened? Is he alive?"
"Yeah—but he needs help. Take a look."
Cortin did, and crossed herself. There were no apparent injuries, but Mike looked horrible—so pale the scar across his face looked bloody-fresh, his muscles spasming in tiny tremors. It was obvious he'd been severely tortured, though she couldn't imagine how, with no wounds. She still wanted to know what had happened, but that desire was nothing next to her need to remedy whatever had been done to her second-in-command and heir. "Go get Sis—she and Tiny are in his room. Have him bring down as many blankets as he can carry. Then call Ivan, he may have information I need."
"Right." Bain hurried out.
Praying as hard as she could, Cortin knelt beside the tub, touching Odeon's forehead. He wasn't chilled, so Dave was treating him for shock rather than cold. Wrists and ankles were bruised, consistent with the padded shackles—but it didn't make sense! Even if she ignored the impossibility of Dave interrogating one of the team, he wouldn't use padded shackles, and his subject would certainly have more serious injuries than simple bruises! Yet Mike had been terribly hurt, despite his lack of wounds, and Dave had been there—watching, if nothing else. What was going on?
At least Mike didn't seem to be in immediate danger, as far as she could tell. His pulse was weak but steady and his breathing was regular, not labored, though also not as strong as she'd like. The muscle tremors were slowing too, which was a good sign.
Moments later she heard the door open, and turned. "Sis? We're in here."
"Dave told me." Cortin moved aside, making way for the medic to kneel beside her patient. Chang opened her kit and began checking Odeon's condition. "What was done to him?"
"I don't know," Cortin said, controlling her frustration with an effort. "I can't even make a realistic guess—didn't Dave tell you anything?"
"He was too upset to tell me more than the basic information I required—that Mike had been hurt, but only minimally injured." Chang continued her examination for a few minutes, then stood. "He is exhausted, and there may be some muscular strain in addition to the bruises; otherwise, he is well. He requires only warmth, rest, and time for complete recovery."
"He'll get all he needs." Cortin turned to Pritchett, who'd come in while Chang was working. "You brought the blankets?"
"In the office."
"Good. Sis, how soon can we move him someplace more comfortable?"
"When he stops trembling—a few minutes, I should say."
"Will it be safe to take him upstairs, or should I have a bed brought down?"
"It will be safe." Chang smiled. "His hurts are not life-threatening, though he will be easily fatigued and probably uncomfortable for three or four days. Possibly longer, though I would be surprised if he is not fully recovered within a week."
They had Odeon upstairs and settled in his own bed by the time Illyanov arrived, and the entire Family—the rest awakened by the commotion—was gathered in the common-room. Bain had told them he'd really rather not have to go through the story more than once and Cortin had agreed—his distress was obvious—so it wasn't until she'd apologized for getting Illyanov up on what now looked like an unnecessary errand that Bain explained.
As Cortin listened, she got coldly angry. Shayan was Evil personified, true, but that gave him no right to torment one of the Protector's priests! Kill him, yes—they'd all die, and Service personnel didn't expect an easy death—but not subject him to agony for no reason except the sheer pleasure of it! She was the one who was supposed to face Shayan—and while the thought frightened her, she'd prefer it to having her people do so.
When Bain finished, she said as much. "Not that he had any choice under the circumstances, of course," she added. "But try not to get into similar circumstances, would you all?"
"We will try," Chang said. "However, we may have no more choice in the matter than Mike was given. And you should be in no hurry to face him."
"I didn't say I was in a hurry," Cortin said. "It might be a good idea to get it over with, though. I won't win, but I might weaken him enough the Protector will."
"You must not act prematurely," Illyanov cautioned, frowning. "You have not found all the Protector's staff yet, and there may be other things equally necessary to prepare His way."
"Not act prematurely!" Cortin snorted. "At this point, I don't really feel like I'm acting at all, much less prematurely!"
"If you consider leading an attempt to completely restructure society, extracting information vital to fighting terrorists, and preparing for the Final Coming, to be not acting, I will agree. Otherwise, I would suggest you remain cautious; direct action against Shayan, unless unavoidable, is the Protector's prerogative."
Cortin grimaced. Illyanov's quiet, level words stung; she knew she was doing useful work. It was just that it didn't feel like enough, and—especially after Mike's gratuitous torture—she wanted to take the sort of direct action Ivan said she shouldn't. It would be so satisfying to go into the Vatican during a major public event and challenge Lucius with his real identity, force him to take some sort of action that would prove it! He'd kill her, of course, but it'd be worth it to bring him into the open. "I'll behave, I promise—even though I'd rather not. Isn't there anything I can do for Mike?"
"There is a possibility," Illyanov said thoughtfully. "According to some of our writings, the Herald may be granted the use of some of the Protector's powers—your truthsense may be one. Another should be healing—though as Michael's problem is not life-threatening, that might not come into play."
"It might, though, since it's due to Shayan's direct action." Cortin stood. "I've got to give it a try—if it works, I'll be back with him."
For Shayan's reaction: [20a. Decision]
21. Anguish
Tuesday, 17 March 2572
Cortin prayed harder than she could remember ever having done before, resting her hands on Odeon's forehead and chest, trying to give him her own strength in case the Protector didn't see fit to intervene. Mike had been hurt doing the Protector's work; if there was any justice at all, He should at least give Mike back the strength he'd spent on His behalf!
Apparently He agreed, Cortin thought as she felt her hands grow warm. It was a peculiar sensation, as if she were absorbing energy through every pore of her body, channeling it, and pushing it into Odeon. His color improved and he grew visibly stronger, until he seemed to be in a natural sleep rather than a coma. At that point the power-flow stopped; as she removed her hands, he opened his eyes.
When he did, his expression frightened her almost as much as his weakness had. Granted that no one could face Shayan and come out of it unchanged, Odeon looked … haunted. "Dave told us about it," she said softly. "So you don't need to talk about it unless you want to."
Odeon sat up, putting his arms around his knees, looking away from her. "I don't want to—but you deserve to know that I may not be much good to you any more. I … I don't think I could go through that again—I don't see how you and Sis can even consider facing him."
Cortin sat beside him, resting her hand on his shoulder. She'd suffered the most physical damage, but it was obvious from Sis' and Mike's reactions that she'd been spared Shannon/Shayan's worst torment: he'd kept out of her mind! There was therapy, good therapy, for physical rape; she didn't know of any at all for mental rape. They'd do what they could for him, that went without saying, but she could only hope that'd be enough. "We'll help you, Mike, all of us. And the Protector loaned me some of His power to bring you out of the shock he sent you into. Just remember what you told me: God will test us to our utmost limits, but not beyond them. I know words aren't a lot of help right now, but maybe the Family will be—if you feel up to it, we're gathered in the common-room. Ivan's here too; I thought he might have some ideas how to help you, and he's the one who suggested I might be able to borrow some of the Protector's power."
Odeon didn't really feel like seeing anyone, or even moving—what he did want was to crawl in a hole, pull it shut, and forget what had been done to him. But he couldn't betray Joanie that way, or the rest of the team and Family; reluctantly, he straightened and got out of bed. "Okay … I'll be out as soon as I get dressed."
"I'll stay; you're in no condition to be left alone." Cortin grimaced. "I remember how it was when I woke up a couple of times on the flight to New Denver. The medics did their best, but I'd have given anything for a familiar, friendly face. At that point I couldn't have handled anything else, and I don't suppose you can, either—but at least you've got the faces."
"Yeah." Odeon went into the bathroom, took some refuge in the routine of getting ready for a new day. Joanie was right about one thing, at least; he didn't feel able to handle much of anything, especially intimacy of any sort. He wasn't at all sure he could manage to get through his responsibilities as Team-Second and heir to High Teton, though he'd have to try. He couldn't simply shrug off his duties just because he felt like he'd been torn into contaminated shreds, however much he might prefer to. Joanie'd put him back together, at least enough to go through the motions, and he could trust God to keep providing the support he needed to carry out his priestly functions. As Shayan had said, the priest's character—or, in his case, feelings of contamination—had no effect on the validity of the Sacraments.
When he and Cortin got to the common-room, it took an effort to let himself be embraced and kissed; it was impossible to return either more than perfunctorily, and he couldn't bring himself to touch Illyanov's offered hand. Their understanding and sympathy helped, but he felt distanced, remote—as if Shayan had stolen something in the process of breaking him. He looked around at them, shook his head. "Sorry, people. God willing, I'll get over this soon—but right now the only thing that seems to have any meaning at all is that I … don't feel like I'm worthy of you. Nothing else matters."
"Which is foolishness," Chang said. "Natural, after what you have been through, but foolishness nonetheless. You will indeed get over it, as Joan and I have. Soon, as you say, if the Protector sees fit to aid you further—which would not surprise me, since He chose you as one of His first two priests."
"In the meantime," Illyanov said, "I am intrigued by this ability Shayan has given you to dissolve his compulsions. Does it apply only to those he imposed on Miss Blackfeather, I wonder, or can you dissolve any of them?"
The change of subject was a relief for Odeon. "I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "Either way makes sense. He wouldn't want me dissolving any except hers, but he probably only used one technique for all of them, since he didn't know—then—that he'd be giving anyone the ability to eliminate his tampering. We'll have to find out, when we have someone else who's been conditioned."
"And I'm intrigued by what he called mental speech," Bain said. "His touch wasn't exactly what I'd expected—more awesome than repulsive, until he started working on Mike. And can you imagine how much more convenient it'd be if we could communicate that way? Especially in action?"
"He said if I survived, that would be just the first taste of mental speech," Odeon said. "I don't know if he meant just me, or the Family, or the Protector's Sealed—I wonder. Dave, do you think his using it with the two of us could've sensitized us enough we could use it without him?"
*I don't know,* Bain replied silently, *but it's worth trying. Can you hear me?*
"No need to shout," Odeon said. "I heard you fine." He looked around at the rest. "Anybody else pick it up?"
Cortin shook her head. "Not me."
"I heard nothing either," Illyanov said. "That is unfortunate; it could have been useful."
Cortin frowned. "It sure would. Sounds like it's something he does to you by touching your mind, maybe sort of a side effect. What he did to me was purely physical, but—Sis, he mind-touched you; did you hear Dave?"
Chang nodded. "Quite clearly."
"I think I'm jealous—for the first time, I wish he'd mind-touched me."
"Never wish for that," Odeon said grimly. "It's a horrible sensation, though the mind-speech itself isn't bad."
"The mind-speech is called telepathy," Illyanov said. "It is part of what is called Talent, and some rare humans have enough to be trained in its reliable use."
Cortin stared at him, puzzled. "What are you talking about—how do you know that?"
Illyanov smiled. "Since our discussion something over a week ago, I have spent my free time studying the Terran Empire. That particular fact came to light approximately three years ago, when the first non-human Ranger found Talent in one of her human colleagues."
"The Empire!" Cortin exclaimed. "Why in God's name would you study them?"
"Because I had a dream that night. It may have been no more than a normal dream, triggered by that discussion—but dreams, in this group, have of late been highly significant. Treating this one as such can do no harm, and may be of benefit, so I have been doing so."
That was an even better change of subject, and Odeon seized on it. "What was the dream about?"
"The arrival of two Imperial ships, a small one followed by a large. As I say, the dream may have been nothing more than a reaction to Joan's and my discussion, but my personal feeling is that we should be preparing for contact—perhaps soon."
Odeon frowned. "Before the Final Coming? Or are you saying they're part of the Final Coming? I don't think I like that idea—it makes me uncomfortable."
"I do not like it either, and it may not be the case. Some of the more ambiguous prophecies of that time, however, can be interpreted in the light of such contact without distortion. What, for instance, if the Great King references were to the Emperor rather than the High King? And what if the Protector's form, which 'none can predict', is not human, or at least not fully so?"
Odeon winced. "Ouch, Ivan! That's even worse."
"I am not sure I find it so," Illyanov said thoughtfully. "As I told Joan, I believe contact will be to our ultimate benefit, though it may be difficult at first."
"Even if one of them turns out to be the Protector?"
"Perhaps especially then."
"Do you think Shayan would permit contact if that were the case?" Chang asked.
Illyanov chuckled. "I doubt he will have any choice in the matter. The Protector will manifest, that promise is definite; the questions are only when, and in what form."
"Yeah." Odeon shook his head, rubbing the scar across his mouth, and stood. "I'm sorry, Joanie, folks—I need to be alone for a bit."
"Go ahead, then." Cortin watched him leave, frowning. "Sis—is that a good idea?"
"I believe so, for him. I would be happier if I could be sure he would be doing something other than brooding over his mishandling—but I think it likely he will be; Ivan's speculation could well be providing him that distraction."
"I can distract him further," Illyanov said with a smile. "I received word late yesterday that my resignation has been accepted; with Your Grace's permission, I will ask Michael's help in setting up the High Teton Enforcement Service. Although I do not as yet belong to it, since it has not been officially established."
Startled, Cortin looked at him more closely. He was in uniform, but now she saw he wasn't wearing any rank or territory insigne. "That can be remedied easily enough. As of right now, there is a High Teton Enforcement Service, commanded by Colonel Ivan Petrovich Illyanov. You're out of uniform, Colonel—would somebody please get him an eagle from my room?"
A grinning Powell left on that errand while Illyanov stared at her. "I had not expected to be put in charge, Joan. To the best of my knowledge, no Enforcement Service has ever been headed by an Inquisitor, due to the public opinion of our profession."
"You're the only qualified candidate," Cortin said, grinning. "High Teton's not going to be a normal fief, Ivan; all of the top people are going to be Sealed. And I think the public perception of a Sealed Inquisitor is going to be different from that of a non-Sealed one. So you're it."
"Yes, Your Grace." Illyanov managed a seated bow. "I will, of course, do my best."
"Prince Edward's going to administer it for the present; get in touch with him for what you need. And coordinate with Brad and his Strike Force people." Cortin grinned again. "I don't think you'll have much trouble finding recruits, in spite of the climate. Just make sure you find a good-sized house for your Family, and let me know when the wedding's to be."
"Of course. If you are free at the time, I would be honored to have you perform the ceremony."
"I'll make a point of it," Cortin assured him. "Oh, thanks, Chuck." She took the silver eagle from her aide and pinned it on Illyanov's collar. "There, that's better. Not quite complete yet, but that'll have to wait till you can have territorial insigne made. Go to it, Colonel."
"As Your Grace commands." Illyanov rose, smiling. "If I may be excused, I shall find Michael and discuss the details with him."
Odeon had gone to his room, made himself a cup of herb tea, and settled into his seldom-used armchair to do some thinking. First Shayan's torture, now Ivan studying the Empire and speculating that the Protector might be one of them—maybe not even human!
He stared at the circled-triangle marks on the backs of his hands, deeply disturbed. Maybe he shouldn't be—the idea of the Protector coming from the Empire didn't seem to bother anyone else, though Joanie seemed troubled by the prospect of contact itself. He couldn't pinpoint why it bothered him, since the Protector was by definition divine rather than human, loaning Joanie some of His or Her powers; why should he be disturbed if the physical body was non-human as well?
After several minutes' thought, he still couldn't come up with a reason; all he knew was that he didn't like it. He finished his tea and was going over to the prie-dieu when there was a knock on his door.
He swore briefly under his breath—the last thing he wanted right now was a visitor!—but went to answer it, grinning despite himself when he saw Ivan's new collar insignia. "Come in, Colonel sir. Congratulations."
Illyanov bowed, smiling. "Thank you, Michael. May I ask your professional assistance?"
"Of course. What can I do for you?"
"Assist me in setting up the Enforcement Service Her Grace has just established, with me as its head."
"Gladly. Want some tea?" Odeon put his problems out of his mind, more than ready to exchange them for some practical work.