Adult-FanFiction.org : Books

Evermore: The Gathering	By : RosaTenebrum Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 9663 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the Dragonlance series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
CHAPTER 2

"Gentlemen, dear members of the vestry," said the short, dark man in a white clerical robe. "I put it to you that we are very worried as to the future of the Holy Church of Paladine."

The scribbling of quills stopped, and a dead silence fell. On either side, twenty pairs of critical eyes examined the speaker at the end of the long table. Stomachs rumbled. Chairs creaked under shifting bodies. Then, at long last, someone cleared his throat and inquired in a dry voice, "What constitutes 'we'?"

Exasperated, Zoltan Wargo turned to look at the one who had posed him the question. It was a rhetorical trope, a figure of speech, completely beside the point! He could not help heaving a little sigh. Did he really think he could get through to these old fossils? "Look, friends," he said, slowly and as clearly as possible. "After what I have to say, hopefully it will be you yourselves that constitute the said 'we'."

A bearded man in the left-hand row removed his glasses impatiently. "Is this about Revered Daughter Crysania again?"

"Yes, indeed it is. But please - for the sake of all that's holy, I ask that you pay heed to my words once more. The -"

The man with the beard overrode Zoltan scornfully. "And what words might these be? Did she perhaps slosh a little of the holy water on the floor? Sleep late on a day off?" There was some subdued chuckling and nodding in his direction.

Zoltan felt his face grow red. Even so, he forced an agreeable smile to his lips. "Please, gentlemen," he exhorted over the conceited muttering, "what I'm talking about goes way beyond insignificant details. In fact, it goes straight to the very foundations of our beloved church." His words did not have the effect he had been hoping for. He cast a dismayed look around the room: he had lost his audience before he had even started. At the opposite end, three men were whispering with their heads together; others were staring boredly at the ceiling, and yet others were engrossed in studying their papers. Only a few of the younger members were looking up at him with what seemed like genuine interest.

It was enough to give Zoltan the strength to proceed. They had perhaps heard it all before, but this time he had proof. "A week ago, friends," he said, "I cited to you the words of Paladine to the Seekers, and now I will cite them again. 'Is your wealth in earthly banks, or in heavenly home?' asks Paladine, and continues, 'Woe to the cleric who stores up treasure for himself on earth!' Now, good people, while keeping these wise words firmly in mind, know that I have had the opportunity to personally study Revered Daughter Crysania's family tree, and these studies have shown me that she" - Zoltan held a dramatic pause - "was an only child."

Some of the men who had been looking at Zoltan exchanged glances. He took this as a signal of hope. Perhaps all was not lost yet. "You must be thinking what I'm thinking, brethren," he urged with new zeal and confidence. "Yes. She was the only heir to the massive family fortune. The only heir." He brought his finger down on the table twice to emphasize the point. He allowed the information to sink in. When he saw it fit to resume, he spoke words of doubt. "So now we must ask: where is the money? I see no remarkable renovations being done to the church. I see no improvements on the poor houses." Zoltan paused, wiping his forehead of sweat. He was working himself up to a state of anger: all he needed was to picture that woman, born with a golden spoon in her mouth, wrapping Elistan around her dainty little finger, pouting over a broken nail in her chamber fit for a queen.

"Elistan didn't seem to mind," a young man pointed out suddenly. "If I recall, he ordered himself ceremonial robes in satin, embroidered with gold."

Zoltan nodded, pleased at the direction the conversation was taking. "That's right. He did. And by doing so, he acted against our high god, Platinum Father Paladine." So there it was, out in the open. The part that he had been worried about. And sure enough, just as he had expected, everyone lifted their heads and started shouting blasphemy.

Senior Warden Aegeon took the gavel and hit it against the table three times. "Order! Keep order!" The noise died down, but the muttering continued.

"Listen, now," said Zoltan calmly. "The point is this. If Revered Daughter Crysania will be proclaimed head of the church, you can -"

"If she'll be proclaimed, Zoltan?" A man by the name of Bogos gave a rude laugh. "Are you seriously suggesting that we change Revered Father Elistan's will?"

"I'm not suggesting anything, Bogos. I'm only asking you to think for yourselves."

A robust cleric next to Bogos leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms belligerently in front of his chest. "So let's pretend for a moment that we were to cancel Revered Father Elistan's decision. Let's just do that for a while, everyone." He was silent for a while, then spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Alright - what now? The people in the street are consternated, angered. Why has the church been leading us on for months, they ask, first telling us that this woman is Elistan's chosen one, then turning it all upside down in a second? No," he protested, with a shake of his massive head, "Revered Father Elistan may have been a distant figure, but people respected him. And what's more, they adore Revered Daughter Crysania. She has a great many admirers, I can tell you."

"Because they can't see the truth about her!" Zoltan put in angrily.

"What truth?" Revered Son Bogos was gazing at Zoltan with his eyebrows up and his mouth open. "That she is young and pretty, and everything that the church might possibly hope for?"

Zoltan gave his colleague a cold smile. "Well, you said it, not I. Young and pretty, exactly like a saint in poetry! People want poetry and dreams, sure, but they don't understand that you don't run a church with them!"

"So you're saying she's incompetent, then? Have you ever even spoken to the lady in private? She is not just a pretty face, Zoltan. She's kind, intelligent, interested in the world. She has an excellent grasp of theology and contemporary affairs. Which is more than one can say of most women."

The robust man agreed. "Bogos is right, you know. I mean, look at what she does! Goes out to people's homes, talks to them, helps them! If that doesn't lay a solid ground for the future church, I don't know what does. I myself rely upon her completely."

"Yes, yes," said a man across the table enthusiastically, "when you think about it, she's the perfect symbol for the church. After all, are we not supposed to represent beauty and solace in a sordid world? She may be rich, but she's also what one might call a... a fresh wind of dawn, if you will, or, or... a flower... A new beginning, like."

Zoltan looked at him scornfully. "Platinum Father Almighty. You've really put some detailed thought into this, haven't you?"

The man shrank in his chair, shrugging his shoulders. "All I'm saying is, she's very good with people."

"Yes, well, so is the main whore at Missus Mallender's, but we're not making her head of the church." Zoltan was starting to lose his temper. Sweat was running down his temples. Everyone was glaring at him with distaste, including Elistan himself from high up on the wall: the ice-blue eyes of the portrait seemed to follow Zoltan's every move. The late Revered Father was the very picture of clerical dignity. His white beard was closely shaven, his thinning hair neatly combed. His white robe hung from his thin shoulders in sharp folds. Zoltan swallowed with effort. If things rolled on the way they did right now, Revered Daughter Crysania's portrait would soon be up there next to Elistan's, and Zoltan simply did not think he could handle it.

The Senior Warden was shuffling his papers, unheedful of the chill that had fallen. "She certainly is young, inexperienced..." the warden muttered half to himself, adjusting the thick glasses perched on his nose. Finding what he had been looking for, he stopped to read, then exclaimed a cry of surprise. "Eight and twenty! I wouldn't even call that an age!"

"What's her age got to do with anything?" Bogos demanded in an incensed tone. "It'll be an advantage, more like. We'll draw new members. Who would you rather follow? Some trembling old man with no more teeth in his head than a pauper" - he shot a meaningful glance at the Senior Warden - "or a young, beautiful, holy maid? And what about women, eh? In case you haven't noticed, they're half our population, perhaps even more after all the wars. They'll appreciate a female leader. I can see them joining our ranks in numbers."

"Oh, yes?" said Zoltan derisively. "Lets run to the church to see what kind of dress the Revered Mother is wearing, and if her hair is up or down!" He turned for support to the younger men, but no one laughed. Somewhat discouraged, Zoltan mumbled a feeble transition. "Which brings me to my next point. You refuse to believe that her wealth is a deviation from Paladine's word. Fine. Now let me cite yet another example from the Blood Sea scrolls: 'A venerable man shall represent me on earth; it is for him to teach my creed.' Yes. A venerable man. These words were spoken by Paladine to the first Kingpriest of Istar in the Age of Might. This is the true, ancient faith. The original practice. Let us bring it back, my brethren."

His voice was plaintive and pleading; he was headed for an oratorical catastrophe. He should have believed his father. When he had told his parents, back in the day, that he was going to become a cleric, the first thing his father had said was that his son simply did not have what it took to motivate and move the masses. Hell-bent on proving his old man wrong, he had left anyway, and was now reaping the fruits of his stubborness. For a moment Zoltan wondered if he had not been better off shoveling dung like his brothers. But then it occurred to him that that was precisely the sort of work low-born blighters like him would be doing, if Lady Honourable Crysania Amelia Tarinius would become the church leader: she was bound to appoint only those noble enough to high posts, her own relatives maybe. That simply would not do! Zoltan tilted his chin up proudly. He had a misson that would have made his father proud. He would save the church. But first, he would have to convince these people at any cost.

"Bring back the practice of the Kingpriest?" one of the men at the back was crying. "Why not the Burning Mountain, as well?"

"No, no..." Zoltan's protestations were hopelessly lost in howls of derisive laughter.

The loudest heckler pinned him with his gaze. "Pray tell us," the man said with an amiable smile, "which venerable, not-wealthy man would you suggest should be appointed to be the new Kingpriest?"

"Now, I didn't say..." Zoltan was suddenly lost for words. Red spots of embarrassment crept up to his cheeks.

Seeing his plight, Revered Son Daruka gave him a kindly look. "Zoltan, we appreciate your passionate input, but I'm afraid you're wasting your energy over nothing. Revered Father Elistan appointed Lady Crysania his successor. It is what he wanted. It will happen."

"Hear, hear!"

The round of clapping thundered in Zoltan's ears. He bit his lip in frustration. He almost felt like crying. The men around him - the oldest ones of them, anyway - had been elected to the vestry by Elistan himself, the great Revered Father Elistan Averell, who never committed an error. He had been a bloody fool to think they would defy their leader in any manner. But he would keep on talking, he would keep on poking the beehive, for he would rather be martyred than see the church go down in flames. "Whose orders do you wish to obey? What Elistan wants equals not what the Platinum Father wants." Zoltan aimed at conviction, but his voice was trembling. "If we go through with this... if she'll be inaugurated..." He shook his head in despair, then looked at his colleagues with his heart in his eyes. "Are you not afraid to trample on tradition like that? To defy Paladine's eternal holy word?"

"Tradition, my ass!" someone lashed out at the opposite end. "This is a young church, built only six years ago! There is no tradition to speak of. We're standing on a threshold here."

Angered, Zoltan slammed his fist on the table. "But that's exactly what I'm saying, can you not see that? It is for us to change direction, to go back and mould the future church according to Paladine's - not Elistan's - word, and -"

"Watch your language, Revered Son Belarius," said the Senior Warden to the previous speaker. Then he turned to Zoltan and, leaning an elbow on the table, directed a searching look at him. "Since you are so admirably keen on Paladine's word, Revered Son Zoltan, why don't you tell us where exactly does it say that the head of the church must be a man. What you said just there was taken entirely out of context."

"Senior Warden, I promise you I will," replied Zoltan, deeply grateful for the Senior Warden's support, as measly as it was. "But first, someone must show me where it says that Revered Father Elistan appoints Lady Crysania Tarinius his successor. Has anyone ever seen a document that carries such information?"

Now, for the first time, Zoltan felt he had managed to obtain his audience's complete attention. It was time to play his next audacious move. "Revered Daughter Crysania..." he said softly, "she wouldn't forge something like that, would she now?"

As soon as the words were out, a man unknown to Zoltan sprang up from his chair. "This is slander! Pure slander!" Spit flew out of his mouth as he pounded the table in anger. "The people standing next to Elistan's deathbed are still alive! They witnessed it all! They took down his words as he spoke them!"

Zoltan had ran out of patience. "Elistan this, Elistan that! Will you listen to yourselves! Do you even know the woman? What do we know of her? She was away for a whole year, remember, around the Blue Lady's War? Where was she, hm? What was she doing?"

"Yes, a whole year, after which Elistan appointed her his successor," came a creaky voice from his right. "Doesn't that tell you something, good man? She must have performed great deeds for the benefit of the church, whatever it was."

"Great deeds?" Zoltan laughed incredulously. "They must have been great indeed, if we cannot even be told what they were!" He sighed. "Please ponder for a while. Most of us were already there when she joined our ranks some five years ago. My chamber was only a couple of doors down from hers. I was a fellow acolyte. So were you, Tavorian, and you, Lydon. Now, think back on how fast she rose in the church, even before her disappearance act. She did not have any merits, she had no experience - and yet Elistan gave her the title of Revered Daughter of Paladine, in one year. The rest of us, however, had to wait the normal period of three years prior to our ordination. So the question arises: why? Why her?"

Zoltan ran his eyes over the sea of faces. The younger men were looking at him, alert and responsive, so he continued in a silent voice. "It was clear to all of us other acolytes that Revered Father Elistan was... smitten with her. She was repeatedly seen going to his private chambers, even at ungodly hours. No other acolyte was ever invited there..." He trailed off, allowing his audience to make their own conclusions.

A stunned silence fell, and lasted a good long while.

Bogos, as always, was the first to speak. "So you're telling me that... that she's a loose woman?" He stared at Zoltan, wordless, then burst into a great peal of laughter. "I'm... terribly sorry, Zoltan," he managed to say between the gasps, "I just... find that... very hard to believe."

The others joined him in laughter, exchanging embarrassed glances. One person stood up and stormed out of the room, shouting as he went that he was not listening to this anymore.

"Then perhaps, Bogos," said Zoltan, raising his voice above the jeering crowd, "you're as charmed by her as Elistan was. Don't let her looks fool you into thinking she's a saint. Elistan - god rest his soul - certainly wasn't one. He ignored the poverty problem, for one, washed his hands of the poor and needy. He would have wanted to reward the lady. First, a honorary title; then, perhaps, the leadership of the whole institution." The more Zoltan thought about it, the more certain he became. He glanced up at the portrait, feeling faint and disgusted to the core. Did he not see the sin of lechery carved in those eminent features, hidden under the mask of sanctity? Did the others not see it?

"But her family's rich, like you said. What if..." Acolyte Diem's eyes widened in horror. "What if they bought their daughter a high place in the church?"

Zoltan shook his head. "That is not the way they play. Having a daughter who was a cleric - a servant of the common people - was more likely considered a disgrace by them. Elistan, however... Five years ago the church was still in desperate need of funds..."

Bogos's lips were twitching. "Oh, of course! He gave her power, she gave him sex and money. Nice one there, Zoltan."

Again they laughed, heaping sarcastic remarks on him. The man who had a while ago spoken so eloquently of Crysania's symbolic capacities asked whose imagination was running wild now. Belarius asked what Zoltan had been reading. Revered Son Alart asked did Elistan keep her in his room for a year. Revered Son Philpot asked just how good Zoltan thought she was, because she must have been pretty good to receive the ultimate prize. They did not even bother to be insulted anymore. What he said was a joke, spoken by a harmless madman.

But the Sernior Warden stood up and commanded silence. "This lewd talk ends right now. You must guard your words and thoughts. I suggest you all purify your mind of these ideas in the evensong today, even if the words were pronounced in jest. And what's more - this is no laughing matter. These are very serious allegations on a two high-profile people. Simony. Lechery." He looked at Zoltan sternly. "If I understand correctly, what you're suggesting here is that Revered Father Elistan broke his vows by bedding acolyte Crysania Tarinius, and then, in reward of her services, handed her the title of Revered Daughter of Paladine, and she accepted it, both of them ignoring the fact that she would no longer have been untouchable. Is this right, Revered Son Zoltan?"

"Yes." Zoltan gazed at the Senior Warden, unblinking.

"And as for this absence of hers... This one enigmatic year..." The Senior Warden shuffled the papers before him. "Between Mishamont 356 and Corij 357. You, Zoltan, would have us believe there was something shady in it. But did you even consider the fact that she might have been ill? Perhaps it was disease that took her eyes."

Yes, Zoltan had considered it. But it was just one possibility among others - a highly unlikely one. For some reason, her inner circle kept quiet about it, but Zoltan intended to dig up the truth. "With all due respect, Senior Warden," he said, "if she was ill, why don't they just say it?"

"Why would they say it?" interposed Lydon, amazed. "You're the only one who's interested, Zoltan. No one else gives a toss. The people hardly even know she was away."

"Be that as it may," said Zoltan, "her blindness is clearly a disadvantage that should also be taken into account. She needs assistance, which opens the door for corruption. It cries out for shady characters to try and take advantage of her and the church."

Displeased muttering was heard through the room. "Now that's just discrimination," someone observed.

"I'm just being practical." Zoltan poured himself a cup of water, sat down and took a sip. "Someone must be."

"What did she ever do to you?"

The question caught him by surprise. Startled, Zoltan looked up from his cup. The man in the opposite seat, right beneath Elistan's portrait, was looking at him piercingly.

Everyone's eyes turned to Zoltan. He swallowed, not knowing what to say. His face was as red as a beetroot. "This is not about me," he said quietly. "This is about the church."

"Don't squirm. I'm asking you a perfectly simple question: why do you hate her so much?"

"I do not hate her. I love my god."

This time it was Bogos who came to his rescue. "As do we all, Zoltan. But if this mysterious wealth of hers is all you can offer, you're in this on your own."

"Fine." Zoltan gave a rigid nod. "Thank you for your support. Don't say I didn't warn you." He stood up, collected his papers and left the room with frantic gesture.

Zoltan hustled along the corridor, tingling with anger and shame. For so long he had been praying that people's eyes would be opened, and now time was starting to run out. Perhaps he would have to put his faith in a miracle - that on Revered Daughter Crysania's inauguration day Paladine would simply strike her down. Or not strike down, nothing so violent, obviously, but somehow make it happen that her coronation would not come to pass. Zoltan could not believe that the Platinum Father would concur with Elistan's decision, not any more than he himself did. But he also could not afford to wait until the last moment to find out. He needed to step in to help fate.

"Hey. Wait."

Hearing these words, Zoltan turned around and saw that two young men of the vestry had followed him, the same ones who had been listening to him with dawning interest.

"We haven't been introduced," said the blonde and taller man, going straight to the point. "I'm Adik. This is Farag."

"Been acolytes for two years," Farag added, nodding his head. "You said some interesting things there, friend. I think we'd like to hear more."

"Supposing you're correct," said Adik cautiously, "you can't just go and throw these accusations around. You'll need evidence. Hard evidence. Perhaps we could help you get it, me and Farag."

Zoltan looked at the two, his soul filling up with Paladine's word and justice. This was yet another sign: he was on the right path after all. "Platinum Father be praised," he said to the young acolytes, his eyes glazing over with tears of joy. "You two must come and meet my friends this evening at my house. We'll discuss details. See what can be done."

"Mind if we bring some friends of our own?" Adik asked, glancing quietly aside at his companion.

"Please do. We need everyone we can get."

Farag's brow furrowed in thought. "You know what they say about first impressions being the correct ones?" He pursed his lips pensively. "I don't know... There's just something not right about her."

"And we shall find out what it is, precisely."

With these words Zoltan held out his hand to the young men. They shook it gravely, one after the other, intent on doing god's will.
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Evermore: The Gathering