This is a fan translation of Cold Shores (Холодные берега) by the Russian science fiction and fantasy author Sergei Lukyanenko. The novel is the first in the Seekers of the Sky (Искатели неба) duology.
Chapter 3
In Which I Ask for My Sins to Be Forgiven but Receive Something in Addition to a Title
In a confessor's cassock, thrown over my, well, stolen cloak, I looked like a very heavyset, even fat priest. Such were rare among the Sister's servants; while many of them rejected their masculinity, sacrificing their sinful flesh, they didn't allow themselves to get out of shape. The Sister's servants had fought no less than the praetorians in times of war, they weren't the Redeemer's priests who weren't allowed to spill blood at all.
But there were few people by that point, no one looked at me, and we quickly walked up to an inconspicuous door parishioners weren't allowed to enter. I took one last look back at the emptying hall. It would've been the best time to hide under a pew or behind the rich draperies on the walls…
"Keep up, my brother," the priest said without turning. I accepted my fate and followed him.
There was a corridor past the door: no windows, dimply illuminated, lamps hanging far from one another, with maybe only half of them lit. No rich furnishings, but there were convenient beams on the ceiling, I could hang off one and hide, no one would think to look for me up above…
Damn, what was I doing?
Looking at a holy place with the eye of a thief!
My confessor was walking fast, so I had to lengthen my stride to keep up. Twice we ran into other priests wearing their usual dark-yellow clothing. They didn't even glance at me, probably many of them here, didn't know everyone, or maybe guests from other temples were frequent visitors. It was very quiet, and this deep silence seemed to be weakening me, taking away the last of my willpower; if the confessor were to tell me, "Come out and surrender to the Guard," I'd probably do it…
Suddenly we ran into an old woman around the bend. She was bent over and washing the floor with soapy water. This common sight brought me to my senses a little. It seemed there was nothing to it: dirt tracked in everywhere, so the kind woman had decided to serve the Sister in this way — nothing but praise. But no, the tension immediately fell.
We walked the hallways a little more, and I had a feeling the priest was deliberately trying to confuse me. Then he opened a tough oaken door, indicated that I should enter, and came in himself. He pulled out matches—also fairly ordinary and cheap, even sailors sometimes lit up with them—scraped it against a wall, and lit a dim oil lamp.
"Sit, my brother."
The room was tiny, without a single luxury. Just a rug lying on the floor, but without it there was nothing, just cold stone everywhere, no fireplace, no window, no wooden paneling. A simple narrow cot, a tiny table, a hard chair. That was it. Tough looking stick were sticking out from the slits between the stones in the wall. They were hangers with some clothes on them. An icon with the visage of the Sister, a simple one, of the kind a poor peasant might have. The lamp on the table, a jug of water, a clay mug, and a sheet of paper with a stylus.
An ascetic.
The priest carefully covered the stylus with a cap and put it away into his pocket, as if ashamed of such luxury; the stylus really was a nice one, carved, bamboo, wrapped with copper rings. He sat on the cot, and I took the chair, as there was nothing else available.
"I'm going to ask you one more time, my brother. Answer me honestly, don't fall into sin. Are you really the same Ilmar the Thief the entire State is looking for?"
"I am," I answered. "Why bother asking, brother? Would someone else risk claiming the same?"
"Some already did," the priest countered calmly. "Here and in other cities. Here are many sick people in the world, there will always be those willing to put any crime on themselves just to satiate their pride."
"Nothing to be proud of…" I whispered, more for myself than the priest. "I'm Ilmar."
"Then tell me, who did you meet on the way from the Isles of Sorrow?"
An odd question. We hadn't met anyone.
"No one, didn't even see any birds…" I answered.
The priest sighed and looked at me with obvious disappointment.
"Oh!" I exclaimed after a moment's thought. "We met a ship, an imperial liner…"
The confessor's eyes glinted.
"What did you do on the shore?"
"Nothing…" I broke off. "Well…"
He waited.
"The flyer Helen and I made love after the boy had left. Not out of lust, out of fright! There's no sin in that, is there?"
The corner of the priest's mouth twitched. Had he also been castrated? His voice and figure said differently.
"No… not for a secular man. If everything was voluntary…" He broke off. "What did Marcus, Junior Prince of the House, give to you?"
He'd clearly known the answers to all his previous questions and was only asking to test me. But now… now his tone was different.
"A title. The Prince made me the Count of the Isles of Sorrow."
"And?"
"A dagger," I reached into my cloak under the priest's piercing gaze, found the sheath I'd purchased in Lusitania, and pulled out the dagger.
He threw only a casual glance at the knife. I didn't hand him the dagger, and the confessor didn't ask for it.
"And?"
"Nothing else," I answered in confusion. "He's a pauper himself, that fugitive prince… I was richer than him when we ended up on the shore."
"All right, Ilmar…" It seemed the priest had believed that I really was the fugitive. "Why did you come to the temple?"
"To confess to the Sister… to hide…"
The priest put his palms together, closed his eyes, and moved his lips silently, clearly making a brief prayer to the Sister.
"It was the Sister's grace that was bestowed upon you, Ilmar. Her hand guided you. Praise the Sister, thank the Redeemer."
Just in case, I whispered a thanks, as if I hadn't done plenty of that on the way to Amsterdam.
"My name is Brother Ruud," the confessor said. "I will hide you from the Guard."
What?
I couldn't have imagined that even in my wildest dreams. Well, obviously, the Sister's servants would never give up a fugitive to the Guard, they were forbidden from doing that. I could've even imagined the priest giving me some advice or toss me a coin, as if to say, "The Sister's grace be upon you, save yourself, you poor soul."
But to hide?!
To risk the wrath of the House?!
Secular affairs were far from the faith, and the Possessor held no power over the Church. That was the truth… but I wasn't some dumb peasant from a remote village that placed his own local pastor over the provincial governor. If the Possessor willed it, even the Church would suffer, well, not the Church itself, of course, no one in their right mind would raise a hand on it. But it was the simple people who served God, they lived on earth, and the Sister's stern glare and the Redeemer's loving gaze couldn't protect them from everything. While people didn't speak of it often, there had been a case when Possessor Clodius had deposed the Successor after the Church refused his request to take a second wife. The legends were silent on how it happened, and the priests didn't like to reminisce on that at all, but bishops from all the provinces had come, from Lusitania to Bohemia, and elected a new adopted son for God.
No, the Church wouldn't quarrel with the Possessor… definitely not…
I looked at the priest, but his gaze was firm and imperturbable.
"You are under my protection, Brother Ilmar," he said. "I will hide you."
"Why?" I asked.
"To keep the Guard from capturing you. The city is flooded with troops."
"I'm not a fool, Brother Ruud. I'm asking why you need to hide me."
"The Sister has bequeathed us to save poor lost souls…"
"Brother Ruud! The Sister's mercy is boundless. And the souls of her servants are full of kindness. But tell me, why do they execute murderers in town squares, chop off thieves' fingers, teach lessons to escaped peasants with whips? Tell me, why haven't you protected them all from harm? Then I might believe that you don't want anything from me."
"It is not in human power to save everyone. We help when we can…"
"Brother Ruud, for you, lying is twice as sinful," I said."
The priest quickly put his hands in a pole shape and whispered a prayer. It seemed my words had been spot on, he was sensing lies within himself, an attempt to avoid answering the question.
"You're right, Brother Ilmar," he said after finishing his brief prayer. "The Church is unable to save every fugitive, and it has no intention of interfering in secular justice."
"Then why do you want to hide me?"
"Successor Julius, God's Stepson, has commanded for all the servants of the Redeemer and the Sister to deliver Ilmar the Thief and Junior Prince Marcus to him… should they run into them."
I twitched.
To the Successor himself?
So the Lord's Stepson himself wished to see me? Me, a convict!
"Will you obey the will of Successor Julius?"
"I will," I nodded. "I will, my brother."
And suddenly my vicious thieving temper woke up and forced me to ask, "And what if I'd refused, Brother Ruud? Would you have called the Guard? Or would you have forced me to come yourself?"
"Do not judge what has not been done," the priest answered calmly. "I know you're a faithful man and honor the Lord. Why would you resist holy will?"
I nodded, "All right, Brother Ruud. I obey, hand myself over to your protection, and am prepared to go with you."
"Wait," the priest said reluctantly. "Brother Ilmar, it's not that simple. I can't just go and deliver you to Possessor Julius. The walls have ears, and people have tongues. The House has different plans for you, Ilmar. If the Guard learns that you're here…"
For a moment, I pictured a crazy, unthinkable scene. The Guard storming the temple, and priests walking towards them with swords…
Whoa…
What had I gotten myself into?
"I cannot tell anyone that you're at the temple," Ruud seemed to be thinking out loud. "Anything can happen, and if blood is spilled…"
Oh, my immeasurable sins…
"I am an unworthy and weak servant of God." Ruud looked at me. "I can't deliver you to Urbis myself. We will go to the bishop, and you will admit to him who you are. No one else! Understand?"
"Yes, my brother…" I whispered. "May I have a drink?"
"Drink, Ilmar. Sate your thirst. But all I have is clean water…"
I thirstily gulped down an entire mug. The water wasn't actually that clean and fresh. Stale, and probably for more than a day. Brother Ruud the ascetic… forgive me Sister, but even now I'd rather have a swig of light wine…
For some reason, I assumed that the bishop's residency would be somewhere up above, under the very roof of the temple. Instead, we didn't walk up far. I realized the bishop was probably an old man, and climbing steps wasn't easy for him.
There were guards here. Only priests, just wearing crimson clothing, with the short bronze swords permitted by the Sister. The swords were deceptive, made of a special kind of bronze that was more expensive than steel.
They didn't stop us. It seemed Brother Ruud was in good standing and allowed to see the bishop. We walked past two guard posts, then stopped at a door that looked no different from the others. Ruud knocked quietly. A minute passed, and the door opened. A young man, as pale as Ruud, was standing there.
"Good evening, Brother Castor…"
"Good evening, Brother Ruud…"
Castor threw a quick glance at me but didn't inquire.
"We need to speak with His Grace."
"Brother Ulbricht is preparing to retire for the night…"
"Service to the Sister knows no rest."
It was so simple for them! Castor stepped aside, letting us pass. We entered a large hall that looked a lot like an office of some bureaucrat. Desks covered in paper, a glass bottle with a dozen styluses soaking up the ink in it. A mechanical calculating machine towered next to a wall, glinting with its oily copper gears.
Whoa! Did the temple really have such a need for accounting?
"I will ask Brother Ulbricht…" Castor said without much enthusiasm. Only then did I notice another door in the wall. Why would the Bishop of Amsterdam, the Sister's Brother Ulbricht, repose next to the office?
The priest slipped through the door, and I walked up to the window. I looked outside. The lanterns were still lit on the square, and the mail patches on the guards' leather jackets glinted in their light. Two or three patrols were walking around the temple.
I'd made it just in time.
"Enter, brother," Castor called quietly. "His Grace will see you."
For some reason, Brother Ruud took me by the hand, as if afraid I was going to melt into thin air or run away. With Castor's eyes following us, we entered the bishop's bedchamber.
Hmm. The Sister's bishop definitely wasn't an ascetic.
An expensive Persian rug covered the entire floor. The walls were also covered in rugs, tapestries, paintings, seemingly not even for luxury's sake, but because each had the Sister's image woven, embroidered, or drawn on it. Probably offerings to the temple from the parishioners. And yet this pile of soft junk would be more suitable in the bedchamber of an old female aristocrat than the abode of a man of the cloth.
The furniture was also expensive, magnificent, and the bed—low, wide, with iron balls decorating the headboard—would be more at home in the bedroom of some wealthy rake than a priest…
And the smell… The room seemed to be filled with incense and perfume. What was going on?
But when I saw the bishop himself, all the mocking and unkind thoughts immediately left my mind.
The Bishop of Amsterdam, the Sister's Brother Ulbricht, was paralyzed. He sat in a light wooden chair on wheels, dressed in nothing but a nightgown. Not an old man yet despite his age, but all dried up, his blanket-covered legs were thin and motionless.
"Wait there, Brother Castor…" the bishop said.
The priest behind us left the room wordlessly, closing the door.
"Good evening to you, Brother Ruud," the bishop said quietly. "And to you, unknown brother. Forgive me for not getting up, but these days I wouldn't be able to stand in front of God's Stepson either…"
I dropped to my knees, crawled up to the bishop, and pressed my lips against his weak hand, "Bless me, holy brother. Bless me, for I am sinful and wicked."
A heavy scent of sickness was coming from Brother Ulbricht. No wonder the room smelled of perfume, to conceal the scent of a weak body… And that was why the bedchamber was right next to the office, as the bishop didn't have the strength or the health to move.
"Accept my forgiveness," the bishop said calmly. "What is your name, brother?"
"Ilmar, Ilmar the Slick. A thief."
The bishop's hand quivered.
"The very same Ilmar?"
"Yes, holy brother…"
"Ruud?"
"It's him, Your Grace," the priest replied. "I asked everything that was in the secret message, and he said everything right."
Brother Ulbricht tearful eyes peered into me.
"Roll up your right sleeve, Brother Ilmar."
I obeyed.
"How did you get that scar?"
"As a child, Your Grace," I whispered. "I fell from a tree. I tell everyone it's from a Chinese saber cut, but that's a lie. In truth, it's a scar from a sharp stone."
"What did you take at the pagan temple in Thessaloniki seven years ago?"
"There wasn't anything valuable there, holy brother… A few ancient scrolls, I couldn't read them, and no one gave me a good price… I donated them to the Sister's temple in Athens…"
Brother Ulbricht smiled, "And if someone gave you a good price?"
"Then I would've sold them, Your Grace. I'm sinful."
"We're all sinful…" The bishop looked at Ruud. "The Sister's grace is with us, brother. This really is the thief Ilmar. I know other questions too… but they are no longer necessary. It's Ilmar the Slick. A thief among thieves, a master of his craft, a robber of ancient graves…"
"Forgive me, holy brother…"
"You're forgiven. Already forgiven. Answer my questions, and everything will be all right."
Where did that weak body get so much strength? I immediately calmed down, like a foolish child that had first tasted the mysteries of the faith…
"Brother Ruud, who else knows about him?"
"No one, Brother Ulbricht. Ilmar confessed… and I realized who was sitting next to me."
"The hand of the Sister…" the bishop said again and cupped his hands. I followed his example, and we spent the next minute praying together in silence.
"Tell me, Ilmar, where is Prince Marcus?"
"I don't know, holy brother…"
"Tell me the truth, the Sister hears you through me."
"I don't know, Brother Ulbricht! On the shore, he seemed to have up and disappeared! I tried to find him but couldn't."
"Why did you look for him?"
I shrugged. If the Sister could hear me, then she could probably see me too. She would understand. What could I say, how could I explain? Maybe I'd gotten attached to the boy, maybe I'd wanted an explanation, or maybe I'd wanted to help…
"Answer, Ilmar."
"I don't know. I didn't wish him any ill."
"That was the right decision. Damned for all eternity will be he who kills him, thrown into the hellish cold, into the icy deserts… the Sister's servants will take care of his earthly punishment!
I shuddered. There was such furious fire in the bishop's eyes… such holy faith! As if he hadn't been talking about a boy, betrayed by his loved ones, damned by the House, but about the eleven traitors who'd given the Redeemer to the mob…
"Don't fear, Ilmar…" The bishop sensed my confusion. "My wraith is not directed at you. So you don't know where Marcus is?"
"No."
The bishop sighed and fell into thought. Brother Ruud was standing to one side, silent and motionless, as if he'd forgotten how to breathe.
"You couldn't have come here by accident… you were guided by the Sister's hand… Brother Ilmar, tell me, what did the boy give you?"
"A title…"
"Vanity! What else?"
"A dagger."
"Show it to me."
Brother Ulbricht looked over the dagger, peered into the patterns on the handle and the blade, into the ferocious profile of the engraved eagle. The movements were skilled and careful; apparently, he'd served as a temple guard and knew how to use a weapon.
"Yes, yes… it really is a House dagger…" he spoke without much interest. He returned the weapon to me. "Is that all?"
"It is, holy brother."
"Tell me, did the boy teach you the Word?"
"No."
"Did you hear what he speaks when he reaches into the Cold?"
"No… he whispers it with just his lips…"
"The movements of his hands? Body position? Time interval between the Word and the Cold?"
I said nothing, disoriented by the unexpected torrent of questions.
"Your Grace," Ruud said. "A skilled hypnotist may be able to put Ilmar into sleep, and he will remember much."
"Yes, perhaps…"
The bishop seemed to grow weaker. I hadn't lived up to his expectations… would he order me kicked out of the temple, right onto the square with the enraged Guard?
"At least we can learn the Word's interval and movement phase," Ruud discussed. "Or maybe in the hypnotic sleep Ilmar will be able to read the speaking formula by the boy's lips…"
"It will give us nothing," bishop countered. "Nothing…"
"But the Sister brought Ilmar to us!"
"Maybe just so we could hide Ilmar. He has already earned the Sister's protection just for saving Marcus from the mines."
"But if there is even a slightest chance…"
"Yes, of course." The bishop raised his gaze on Ruud. "You are young, full of hope and optimism. You burn with the holy fire of asceticism. You're right, Brother Ruud, I'm the one who'd too old and weak to have empty hopes… My brother, you are going to take Ilmar to Rome. You will escort him to the Redeemer's Successor, and, if that be God's will, it will help us… all of us. Brother Ruud, come here!"
A moment later, the priest was kneeling next to me. The priest placed his hands on his head and spoke, "In the name of the Sister, her will… to the joy of the Redeemer… I give you the rank of a holy paladin. I remove all your vows, free you from new ones, until you reach Rome and escort the thief Ilmar to God's Stepson! From this moment, everything is in your power, there are no and will be no sins on you, any of your actions that forward the mission will meet with the Redeemer and the Sister's approval!"
Ruud shook.
No wonder. I'd gone weak in the knees from the fear. A holy paladin, that wasn't even a bishop or a cardinal. This rank was only given to those who spared neither themselves no others for the faith, who had to do a task that would make the whole world rejoice! Was the bishop really prepared to take on such a responsibility, to divert all of Ruud's sins, both past and future, onto the sinless Sister through himself in order to deliver me to Urbis in the vague hope that I might remember something?
And then the bishop spoke the Word.
An icy wind blew at us. Brother Ulbricht reached into nothing… and pulled out a tiny shiny object. A steel pole on a silk string, a holy symbol…
"This pole is made from iron touched by the Redeemer…" the bishop said calmly. There was no reverence in his voice, only weariness. "Wear it as a sign of holy asceticism, Brother Ruud. Those who know will recognize it. That is all. Faith be with you."
"Faith be with me, Brother Ulbricht," Ruud whispered, accepting the sacred pole in his cupped hands. He kissed it and carefully placed it around his neck.
"Go. Take my carriage… have Brother Castor prepare the order. And depart at once. No one can be trusted right now. No one, understand?"
"And if the Guard stops us?"
"Tell them that you are going to… no, not Rome. Anywhere else, say any other city. Brother Ilmar will also wear our clothes and claim to be a priest…"
"How can I, Brother Ulbricht?" I asked.
The bishop sighed, "You're right. We shouldn't start a holy task with deception. Brother Ilmar, is your faith strong?"
"It is, holy brother…"
"Do you believe that the Redeemer is God's adopted son, the first of earth's sons, and that the Sister is his sworn sister, the Lord's adopted daughter?"
"I do…"
"Have you stepped away from the faith even a little? Have you conducted pagan rites, prayed to false gods, blasphemed against the sacred pole and the miracles of the Lord's Word?"
"No, Your Grace…"
"Good. By the grace of the Redeemer and the Sister, my unworthy brother, I grant you the rank of a holy missionary to carry the true word into the darkness. I release you from your sins."
I had no words to answer him. I kissed the bishop's weak hand, accepting it into my cupped hands as expected, and only then thought that a man's fate was a toy in the hands of the Almighty. Two weeks ago I'd been a simple escaped criminal. Well, fine, I was still a convict, but now I was also the Count of the Isles of Sorrow and a holy missionary.
Fate was a strange thing.
"Go," the bishop said.
"Brother Ulbricht, is Brother Castor loyal to you?" Ruud asked, still on his knees.
"Yes, as far as I know. But I'm not certain whether I'm the only one he's loyal to."
"Is he kind to you?"
"He is, Brother Ulbricht. Very kind and caring."
The bishop's eyes were now full of sadness and sorrow.
"Your Grace, what should I do?"
"There are no sins on you, Brother Ruud."
We rose from our knees. The bishop reached over to his bed and picked up a bell, then rang it. A few moments later, the doors of the bedchamber opened.
"Brother Castor," the bishop said quietly. "Prepare all the orders Brother Ruud, the Sister's holy paladin, tells you to."
"Brother Castor shuddered and bowed his head.
"I release you from all your sins, Brother Castor," the bishop added.
He didn't get it. Even I understood, and Brother Castor still didn't. He wrote out the papers asked by Ruud, applied the seal, his stroke, with the bishop's signature already in place. I kept throwing glances at the door from the office to the bedchamber to see if the bishop was going to change his mind, roll up in his chair, call over…
"Everything is ready," Brother Castor said, handing the papers to Ruud. He accepted them wordlessly, and then pulled out a thin stiletto so fast to make any murderer envious.
"Forgive me, Brother Castor," the holy paladin said, plunging the blade into the chest of the bishop's secretary.
Without a sound, Castor dropped to the floor. His eyes remained open and were staring up at his brother in Sister in confusion.
"I release you from your sins," Ruud said. "I forgive you spying for the House, for what you have done, and for what you wanted to do."
His face didn't even twitch. There was no malice in his eyes, to say nothing of regret.
"Let's go, my brother Ilmar," Ruud said, turning away from the body. "We still need to get you clothes, prepare for the road, and give the order to the stable. Let's go, we are low on time."
