David Weber - How firm a foundation

“Yet it wasn’t until I’d graduated from seminary and been ordained that Father told me the complete truth about our family and our traditions. That was when he showed me the Stone of Schueler and the Key.”

He paused, and Merlin’s eyebrows quirked. He looked quickly at the others and saw the same expression looking back at him. Then all of them returned their attention to the young priest.

“The ‘Key,’ Father?” Merlin prompted.

“According to the secret history Father showed me, the Key and the Stone were both left in our possession by the Archangel Schueler himself. The Stone you know about. The Key must be another piece of your ‘technology,’ Seijin Merlin, although it’s less spectacular at first glance than the Stone. It’s a small sphere, flattened on one side and about this far across”-he held up thumb and forefinger, perhaps two inches apart-“which looks like plain, polished steel.” His lips flickered in a small smile. “In fact, it’s so plain generations of Wylsynns have hidden it in plain sight by using it as a paperweight.”

There was a ghost of genuine humor in his voice, and Merlin felt himself smiling back, but then Wylsynn continued.

“By itself, the Key really is nothing but a paperweight,” he said soberly, “but in conjunction with the Stone, it becomes something else. The best way I can describe it is as a… repository of visions.”

Merlin straightened in his chair, his expression suddenly intent.

“Father, I never had the opportunity to actually examine the Stone. I just assumed that it filled only a small section of your scepter’s staff. But it doesn’t, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Wylsynn confirmed. “It fills almost the full length of the staff, and it can be removed. When it is, it mates to the Key. Its lower end clings unbreakably to the flat face of the Key, as if they’ve become one, and they can be released from one another only by someone who knows the proper command.” His eyes watched Merlin carefully. “Should I assume you know how it works and why?”

“I’d have to examine both of them to be certain,” Merlin replied, “but I’m reasonably sure that among the instructions your family was left was a ritual which regularly exposed the Stone to direct sunlight?” Wylsynn nodded, and Merlin shrugged. “What that was doing, Father, was to charge-to empower-the Stone. In time, you’ll understand exactly what I’m talking about. For the moment, simply accept that there’s nothing demonic or divine in the process; it’s a simple matter of physics.

“At any rate, what you’re calling the Key is a memory module, a solid chunk of molecular circuitry. You could fire it out of a cannon without hurting it, and that single sphere you’ve described could easily contain all the knowledge in all the libraries of the entire Charisian Empire with space left over. The problem is getting it out, and for that you need a power source. So I’m reasonably sure that when you remove the Stone entirely from the scepter, the length of it that ‘mates to the Key’ doesn’t glow the way the rest of it does, right?”

“Correct.” Wylsynn nodded.

“Of course it doesn’t.” Merlin shook his head. “That’s the adapter, Father. It takes the energy you’ve stored in the Stone and feeds it to the memory module. And when it does, the module projects images, doesn’t it?”

“That’s precisely what it does,” Wylsynn said grimly, “and if you hadn’t demonstrated your ‘com’ and its ability to generate ‘holograms,’ I would never have believed a word any of you told me. Because, you see, I’ve seen the image of the ‘Holy Schueler’ himself. I’ve heard his voice. Until this very day, I’ve believed-deeply and truly believed-that my family and I had been directly touched by the very finger of God. And I’d still believe that… if you hadn’t just shown me exactly the same sort of ‘vision’ which has lied to my family for nine centuries.”

Merlin sat silent for a long, still moment. It had never occurred to him that anyone associated with the Temple might possess such an artifact. Yet now that he knew, he also realized the blow the truth had delivered to Paityr Wylsynn was even crueler than anything it had done to anyone else. The young Schuelerite’s faith had been so sure, so total, because he’d known he’d been in the very presence of God… or in the presence of one of God’s Archangels, at least. Now he knew how bitterly betrayed he and all his family had actually been-knew his father and uncle had gone to their deaths seduced and lied to by the very vision which had lied to him, as well.

In that moment, Merlin’s own soul cried out against what had been done-what he’d done-to Paityr Wylsynn. How could any mortal being be expected to deal with something like this? How could any faith, any belief, not be twisted into something bitter and cold and hateful after the realization of a betrayal so profound, so complete, and so personal?

“My son,” Maikel Staynair said quietly into the silence, his expression sad, “I understand the reasons for your pain. I doubt I can truly imagine its depth, but I understand its cause. And I believe I can at least imagine the extent to which you must now question all you ever knew or ever believed-not just about the Church, and not just about the ‘Archangels,’ but about everything. About yourself, about God, about how much of the vocation you’ve felt was solely the result of deception. About how you could have been so stupid as to be deceived, and how so many generations of your family could have dedicated themselves- sacrificed themselves-to the lie you’ve just discovered. It can be no other way.”

Wylsynn looked at him, and the archbishop shook his head gently.

“My son-Paityr-I will never fault you if you decide all of it was a lie, and that God does not and never did exist. After discovering a deception such as this, it would take an archangel not to lash out in the bitterness and the fury it’s so justly awakened within you. And if that happens, you must never blame yourself for it, either. If you decide-if you decide-God doesn’t exist, then you must not punish yourself in the stillness of your own mind for turning away from all you were taught to believe and revere. I hope and pray that won’t happen. The depth and strength of the faith I’ve seen out of you is too great for me to want to see it cast away for any reason. But I would rather see it discarded cleanly than see you trying to force a life into it when it no longer has pulse or breath of its own. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

Wylsynn looked back at the archbishop for several seconds, then nodded slowly.

“I think so, Your Eminence,” he said slowly. “And I’m not sure what’s going to happen. You’re right that I now know the faith which has carried me so far has been only the shadow cast by a direct and personal lie. Yet that’s true of all of us, I suppose, isn’t it? My lie’s been more spectacular than that of others, but all of us have been lied to. So in the final analysis, what I have to determine is whether it’s the way in which the lie is transmitted or the lie itself which truly matters… and whether a lie can still contain even the tiniest grain of truth.”

“If it’s any consolation, my son,” Staynair said with a crooked smile, “the Writ wasn’t the first holy book to say that faith grows like a mustard seed. God works from tiny beginnings to great ends.”

“I hope you’re right, Your Eminence. Or I think I do. It’s going to be a while before I can decide whether or not I want my faith to survive, I’m afraid.”

“Of course it is,” Staynair said simply.

Wylsynn nodded, then turned back to Merlin.

“At any rate, Merlin, your description of how the Key works was accurate. When Father showed it to me, it projected images, visions-holograms-of the Archangel Schueler himself, instructing us in our family’s responsibilities.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I sometimes think that was one reason my family’s always supported a… gentler approach for the Inquisition. The Schueler of the Key isn’t the grim and terrible Schueler who prescribed the Question and the Punishment. Stern, yes, but without the demeanor of someone who could demand such hideous punishment for a child of God who was merely mistaken.”