CHAPTER 32
Evolution is no disproof
of God! Indeed, it proves Her to
be. If all is 'evolving' towards a
perfection as you declare and the universe is as old as
you assert, then surely something has already reached the apex of all. I call that thing T'Chen! By whatever name you may call Her, She is
perfection above all!
- Grand Bishop Hoortis,
"Defending the Scrolls"
Sarwin
and Siverelle left the dance floor exhausted, having had been out there for
nearly an hour. Sarwin felt he was not
much of a dancer and seldom allowed himself to be seen doing it. But when he was with Siverelle, the muse
seemed to lighten his feet and he did it well enough. Or perhaps he just didn't care if he looked silly, as long as he
was with her. Siverelle enjoyed the
dance and the grace of her movements rivaled the strains of music that lit up
the air in the hall. Sardic did not
mind looking like a fool if he was seen with such elegance in motion.
"I
could use a drink," wished Siverelle aloud, unfolding her ornate fan and
breezing herself with it, "We were out there so long."
"I'll
get you something," volunteered Sarwin, picking up on the cue, "The
usual, I assume?"
"Please,
dear."
Sarwin
smiled and nodded, then turned and headed toward the bar. Siverelle walked over to their table and
took her seat. None of the others were
there at the moment, most were still on the dance floor, or mingling with
others in small knots about the room.
With her feet safely concealed beneath the long tablecloth, she kicked
off her shoes and sighed silently in relief.
At
the far end of the room was the large buffet table, in the center of which
stood a massive ice sculpture of Joris, the patron saint of travelers in the
T'Chen church. It had melted to half
the size it was when the party had started, evincing the lateness of the
hour. Siverelle glanced at the time. It was now well past midnight. They were now over two hours into Cartoth,
the first month of the saurian calendar.
5455 was history and a new year had arrived. Siverelle gave a silent prayer to T'Chen that it would bring even
more success to her husband and greater peace to the World. Glancing around, she saw that almost half
the guests had already left and many of those who remained were glancing
wearily at their watches, making their excuses to depart.
Sarwin
always threw a going away party before one of his expeditions, but this one was
much more extravagant than usual. He
thought it would be the most important of his journeys, at least to date, and
he felt it needed a proper send off.
Besides, this trip happened to fall close enough to the New Year that he
could use the excuse of making this bash celebratory of that also. Two parties for the price of one, as it
were. Fortunately, their patrons had
been more generous than usual and there had been enough funds left over to make
this party special.
"You
are a very lucky matron, Madam Siverelle."
Siverelle
turned with a soundless gasp at the unexpected voice from behind. She found the young girl Etyiam standing
there, dressed in substandard finery.
Siverelle was curious about the girl's approach, as Etyiam had
heretofore seemed to avoid talking to Siverelle whenever possible, never
addressing the older matron except when their common mission necessitated
it. The young Ordinary had never been
disrespectful of her mentor's wife, but very distant nonetheless.
Whenever
they were in the same room together over the last several weeks, Siverelle was
sure she caught young Etyiam staring at her, in an odd manner. Whenever Siverelle's gaze met hers, Etyiam
quickly looked away, but it wasn't long before those eyes turned her way again. Only Sarwin received more of the young
girl's attention than did Siverelle.
Although Siverelle tried to dispel the notion, the girl's behavior made
her feel uneasy.
Etyiam
was the only one at the gathering who wore the purple sash that children of the
church were expected to wear at formal events.
The young matron seemed a bit unsteady in her stance and Siverelle
suspected she had consumed more drink than she was accustomed to.
"How
do you mean, Etyiam?" she finally responded.
"He
loves you very much, you know," said the girl, with the slightest of slurs,
"He can hardly speak a paragraph that doesn't embrace your name. While in the midst of calculating the most
unfathomable formulas for our impending journey, he will pause to ponder what
to make you for dinner in the coming evening.
I know all your favorites, so often has he spoken of them."
"Sarwin,
yes," agreed Siverelle, "I agree, I am lucky indeed." Siverelle patted the chair next to herself,
"Sit Etyiam. You seem... tired. We never talk. Let us chat a bit."
"I
cannot stay," said the girl, "I have an appointment in the morning
and the night is long. Besides, I would
not dream to come between you and your love, whom returns to you
forthwith."
Siverelle
looked up to see that Sarwin was, indeed, approaching the table, a drink in
each hand.
"Ah,
my two loveliest crewmembers," he said with a smile as he laid his wife's
drink before her. "I'm sorry
Etyiam, I didn't know you'd be here, or I'd have gotten you one also. Here, have mine. I've had enough already."
"As
have I, good sir," replied Etyiam, "No thank you."
"Ah,
yes. Well..." Sarwin sat down and stirred his drink. "Will you join us then?"
"Etyiam
was just telling me she has an appointment in the morning and that she must
leave us now," said Siverelle, "I had already invited her to sit."
"Ah. Something of interest, Etyiam?" asked
Sarwin.
"Nothing
of consequence, sir."
"No
need to be so formal here, Etyiam," said Sarwin, "You are among
friends. So are you excited about our
upcoming adventure? Only five days away
now."
Day
five. Seventeenth hour.
"I am, sir... err...
Sarwin," slurred the girl, "I wish I could have the chance to
speak to Shradia directly when we see her, but I understand we must remain at a
distance. Unseen. Still, the chance of seeing the Prophet in
person will be a great blessing for me.
I am eager to begin. Allow me
again to thank you for approving my attendance. I realize my inclusion was... compulsory. Thus, I yet feel unworthy."
Sarwin
waved his hand dismissively.
"Please Etyiam," he said with a smile, "You are not a
burden. You know your stuff. I was impressed at how quickly you picked up
all I've taught you in the last few weeks.
If the church had to send someone with us, I can think of no one I'd
rather have 'forced' upon me."
"You
are too kind, Sarwin," she replied with a bright smile, "I look
forward to being on this expedition with you.
I hope my contributions to it will please you."
"I
have no doubt, Etyiam," said Sarwin.
"I
must go now, sir," said the girl, looking at her watch.
"Will
you be at our tactical meeting tomorrow afternoon?" he asked.
"I
will sir," she replied.
"Goodnight
then, Etyiam," said Sarwin.
"Yes,
goodnight Etyiam," echoed Siverelle.
"Good
night Sarwin," said Etyiam, again with a big smile. She turned and ambled toward the exit,
without the slightest acknowledgement of Siverelle. Sarwin was too occupied fishing fruit from his nearly emptied
drink to notice the snub.
"You
are too kind, Sarwin," teased Siverelle, echoing Etyiam's words, once the
girl had left the room.
"What..?"
asked Sarwin, genuinely ignorant as to her meaning.
"Oh
come on," said his wife, "I have not grown so distant from my
adolescent years that I don't recognize the infatuation of a young matron. That girl has feelings for you, my
dear."
"Who? Etyiam?
Naaah..." replied Sarwin, "She's just being respectful toward
her boss, that's all. Infatuation? Please...
I am twice her age!"
"Trust
me, that makes it all the more likely, my husband," she replied, nuzzling
Sarwin, "I was a young matron once too, and most adolescent males seem
very childish to a young matron. Girls
mature faster than boys, you know."
"I
think you're reading too much into this."
"Am
I?" she replied, "I suggest you be careful with this one,
Sarwin. She is working for the church,
you know. She could be our
undoing."
"I
trust Etyiam," defended Sarwin, "I think she's on our side."
"Are
you so sure, my love?" argued his wife, "For one so young, there is a
lot riding on her shoulders. She has
her temple upbringing on one hand, her obviously strong faith and no doubt the
pressure of the senate to keep a close eye on us. On the other hand, she has her obsession with you. I think it is you she cares about, not your
teachings or your ideology. If that
obsession should falter, well... it
could be dangerous for us."
"So
what are you saying?" asked Sarwin, "That I should feed into this
infatuation of hers that you think she has for me?"
"You'd
better not!" she replied, with a playful jab of her finger into his
shoulder. "Just be careful,
Sarwin. Don't do or say anything to
make her dislike you. Or disrespect
you. Let's keep her in our corner."
"I
would have done that anyway," he said, with a wry smile.
Siverelle
looked off toward the door through which Etyiam had exited and through which
others exited now.
"She
is so eager to see the Prophet," said Siverelle, "You're not going to
tell her, are you?"
"Not
until the jump," he said, finishing the last of his drink, "I can't
risk her reporting us before we leave."
"Ah,
so you're not so naive after all, are you, my husband?"
"I
don't like to keep her in the dark," he defended, "but there's too
much riding on this. We'll all hang in
the plaza if we are exposed."
"Honestly
Sarwin," asked Siverelle, "How do you think she'll take it?"
"I
don't know," he replied, staring into his empty glass, "but by the
time she finds out, it won't matter.
The temple and the senate will be far, far away. It will only be the seven of us and
her. That puts the odds in our favor,
doesn’t it?"
Siverelle
did not answer. She starred blankly at
the dissolving ice sculpture, lost in her own thoughts.