The Divided Knight - Chapter Eight

The Abbott sat, motionless, in the chair behind the desk in his study. Dawn would break in three hours, and, when it did, nothing would ever be the same, again. In three hours, once Zoe and Thaddeus, along with the soul of the Eltaran Sword Priest currently locked within Thaddeus's sword, had left the abbey and headed east, the Order of Catharzen, which, even during the Mage Wars, had always been dedicated to peace, would be at war. The Abbott had always known this day would come – Solanas, himself, had claimed to have seen its coming in a vision, a vision he had also claimed he'd shared with no one but the man the Abbot had been back in those days – but, now that it was upon him, he did not know how he felt about it. If everything went according to Solanas's vision, the world would soon see the end of Atraxos the Black, and would be graced with a hero that would unite it in a way that it hadn't been for thousands of years. But, if Solanas's vision proved false, the darkness that would fall would be absolute, and it might not be just this world that was affected.

The Abbot, of course, had faith in what Solanas had told him. Back then, back when the Abbot had just been a monk named Horace Alvarem, Solanas had been the closest thing he'd had to a brother, and his trust in him had been absolute. While it was possible that that trust may have blinded him, the fact that so much of what Solanas had told the Abbott had already come to pass made him sure the rest of it would turn out true, as well. He still worried, however, and it didn't help that Zoe had insisted on accompanying Thaddeus on his journey across the Ivory Spires. Didn't Zoe understand that she was needed here? Didn't she understand that she was more than just a cleric and that, if the Abbott fell, someone would need to be there to take up the mantle? Of course she doesn't, you foolish old man. You've never explained those things to her.

There was a knock on the study door. “Come,” the Abbott said.

The door opened, and the Abbott wasn't at all surprised when Zoe stepped into the study. She closed the door behind her and faced him, saying nothing. The Abbott didn't need magic to tell that she hadn't slept. “You should be asleep, Sister Zoe,” he said.

“So should you.”

The Abbott smiled at her. “It has been a long time since I slept through a night. One more of missed sleep won't hurt any more than any of the others.”

“What troubles you, Father?”

“Many things, Sister.” The Abbott gestured at the chair in front of his desk. “Please, sit.”

She hesitated a moment, then moved to the chair and sat down. It was clear to the Abbott that she was nervous, which wasn't like the Zoe he knew, at all. “You spoke to Thaddeus, I take it?” the Abbott asked.

She nodded, and, as she did, the nervousness melted away – a thing which pleased the Abbott greatly. “Yes.”

“How is he taking things?”

“He's angry, but I think he's beginning to understand. He's very anxious to leave.”

“That's understandable. What of your friendship with him?”

A hint of a smile touched her lips. “It's still there.” The smile vanished. “I almost lost it, though.”

“I'm pleased that you didn't.”

Zoe blinked, then smiled. “So am I.” She focused her gaze. “Father, why did you try and keep me from going with him?”

The Abbott didn't answer right away. “Zoe,” he said at last, “do you know what will happen when Thaddeus leaves here? The Order of the Crimson Serpent will declare war on us. We will be made anathema throughout the kingdom.”

“We can fight them, though. We're spread out, not centralized like the mages were, and no one knows the locations of all of our abbeys. Particularly not this one.”

“That's all very true, but, in the fight that is to come, there is still a chance that I might fall. Zoe, when you leave here with Thaddeus, there will be none who can take my place.”

She frowned. “What do you mean? There are plenty of other monks who could be named Abbott.”

“Named Abbott, yes. None of them would be the Abbott, however. Mine isn't just a title, Zoe. Only those with a gift like yours can truly become what the Order of Catharzen needs as its leader.”

Zoe was silent for a time. “What does it mean to be the Abbott, if it isn't just a title?” she finally asked.

“The Abbott is a focus for the Order's power. When the holder of that focus dies, it must be passed down to someone with the strength of will necessary to hold it. It has been three thousand years since the focus was passed to me, and, in all that time, I have never encountered another who could hold it.” He paused, looking at her. “At least, not until you came along.”

“Three thousand years?” Zoe asked, voice quiet. “You're three thousand years old?”

“More than that, Zoe, but does that really surprise you? You, yourself, are more than three hundred.”

“Why haven't you told me any of this before?”

“For selfish reasons that I regret deeply. Do you understand, now, why I did not want you to go with Thaddeus?”

“I could still stay.”

The Abbot closed his eyes and smiled, shaking his head. “No, my dear,” he said. He opened his eyes. “You've made your choice, and Thaddeus needs you, now. I cannot undo that.” He laughed. “I guess I'll just have to find a way to stay alive. I mean, that's never been a problem for me in the past. Why should it be, now?”

Zoe looked at him for a long time. Her eyes were sad, at first, then grew thoughtful. “You've never been Touched before, have you?”

“I've forbidden it. When I became the Abbott, I was given access to the knowledge and experience of all the Abbotts who came before me. All of that knowledge and experience told me that allowing a cleric to Touch me could be dangerous. And so, for the last three thousand years, I've had to heal myself the old-fashioned way.” He smiled, again. “Not that I've ever really needed to, of course. Being the Abbott has its advantages.”

“A cleric's Touch would be dangerous to you?”

“No, not to me. To the cleric.”

Zoe leaned forward in her seat and lowered her voice. “Let me Touch you, Father.”

“I have no need of healing, my dear.”

“Yes, you do. Father, three hundred years is a long time to live, and I've been lonely for most of them. I can only imagine how lonely you must be after three thousand.”

Loneliness. The Abbott rarely thought about that. Thinking about it allowed him to feel it, and feeling it was far too painful. She'd have inherited that loneliness if she'd stayed. It's better she go with Thaddeus. “Yes, I've been lonely,” the Abbott said. “But that loneliness is simply a fact of who and what I am. I've grown to accept it, and your Touch will do nothing to ease it.”

“I think it will, Father. Please, let me try.”

Surprisingly, the Abbott found himself tempted. But, if he allowed himself to be Touched, what would happen to Zoe? Other than a vague warning that a cleric's Touch could endanger the cleric, nothing within him provided a specific answer. Before he knew what was happening, he found himself holding his hand out to her, which was all the permission she needed.

Zoe grasped the Abbott's hand in her own and her eyes came alight with an amber glow. Almost at once, an immense sense of peace settled over the Abbott, and he felt himself relax, a long sigh of relief escaping from between his lips. Any pain he had been feeling before – and there had been some, like the vague ache in his joints that not even his being the Abbott could dispel completely – faded away, replaced by a warm rush of vitality the likes of which he couldn't remember having ever felt, before. At that moment, as he held Zoe's hand and stared into her glowing eyes, the Abbott felt young, again, and no longer alone. From experience, the Abbott knew that the way he felt, right now, was no different from the way anyone Touched by a cleric felt, and he could see no evidence that Zoe's Touch was doing anything to harm her. Why the warnings, then?

Suddenly, Zoe gasped, and her grip on the Abbott's hand tightened. The Abbott watched as Zoe's whole body went rigid. Her eyes widened, and the light coming from them ceased to be a glow, turning instead into a brilliant, golden flare. The Abbott wanted to let go of her hand, wanted to look away from her eyes, but found that he could do neither. Panic rose in him as he suddenly realized that he had become Life-linked to Zoe – clerics who became Life-linked to those they Touched almost always died, the person they were trying to heal draining away their life essence until it was gone. Life-links could only be broken by intervention from a third party, but, as Zoe and the Abbott were the only two people in the room, there was no one else who could help them.

It's time for you to rest, Father.

The Abbott heard the words from inside his mind. They were calm, soothing, and he felt his rising panic start to recede. This isn't an ordinary Life-link, is it, Zoe?

No. And I think I'm beginning to understand why the previous Abbotts never allowed clerics to touch them. It would have caused the same thing that's happening, now.

You mean it would have killed them.

Yes, and transferred their power to the cleric. Even if the cleric wasn't ready for them.

The rush of vitality the Abbott had felt a few moments earlier was beginning to fade. As it faded, a bone deep weariness settled over him. He needed to sleep, and he knew that, when sleep finally took him, he would never wake up, again. Are you ready, Zoe?

She didn't answer right away, and the Abbott thought he could feel her searching within herself. When she did finally answer, her thoughts were accompanied by a confidence the Abbott found surprising. What had Zoe found in her soul search that made her feel so certain? I am, Father. I will be an Abbott unlike any Abbott who came before me.

That much the Abbott knew was true. There had never been a female Abbott, before. But there was a deeper meaning to Zoe's words. Why must he suddenly be so tired, right when a mystery like this had presented itself?

Rest, Horace Alvarem.

The Abbott let Zoe's hand go. He looked at her for a moment, his vision blurry, watching as her eyes returned to normal. She smiled at him, and, with muscles that barely wanted to respond, he smiled back. Then the Abbott folded his arms together on the top of his desk and rested his head on them, closing his eyes. He felt Zoe touch him gently on the head – just a normal, light, gentle touch – and that was the last thing Horace Alvarem ever knew.