Covenant's End - Ari Marmell Page 0,93
of Lisette. It didn't feel right, though. Everything he saw shouted that this was an exhausted, desperate woman.
Even as he ordered she be allowed to approach, however, his brow furrowed as much in anger as curiosity. The sheer impropriety…. That frown deepened further still as she stumbled up to the dais, leaving fat puddles to soak into the carpet of every single step.
“Young lady, if this is not absolutely the most urgent—”
Struggling to breathe, she wheezed something at him. Though he hadn't been able to make it out, a frisson of alarm ran through him all the same. “I'm sorry, what was that?”
Again she rasped at him, carefully forming each word between ragged breaths.
Sicard, suddenly dizzy, had to grab tight to the pulpit to avoid falling. He could only guess how pale he must appear, but he'd lost enough blood from his face that it had actually gone chilly.
“Why?” he whispered.
The messenger looked up, seemed to regain control of herself in an instant. “She thinks she's about to die.” Then, more softly, “If she hasn't already, I think she's right.”
He reeled, struggling to comprehend, overwhelmed even as seconds ticked by that he knew he couldn't spare. His eyes, somehow empty, cast about every which way, perhaps seeking help. Though what form help could even take at this point was a question he couldn't answer.
He couldn't do this. Couldn't. People thought excommunicating the Finders’ Guild had been tricky? That was nothing! This situation wasn't just unprecedented, it was unimagined; nobody had ever seriously even considered it. The Church had no systems, procedures, even casual recommendations in place. Sicard didn't believe he had the authority to make a decision such as this, in part because he didn't believe anyone did!
When he'd made the offer, he'd known he was getting into a massive hornet's nest of liturgical law and debate that would have taken years to resolve!
His wildly flailing gaze turned rightward, settled on the congregation—and stopped.
A couple hundred people watched him—rapt, intent, awaiting his explanation of what had just occurred. Shifting, worried, curious, but calm. They trusted him to tell them what was happening, and how best to handle it.
He, who had been Bishop of Davillon less than two full years, who'd been assigned this charge in a dark period, when city and Church were nearly engaged in open, bitter conflict.
They trusted him now, and many of them had been given reason to trust—many of their lives saved, for all they didn't know it—by a deity not even their own.
And maybe that would be enough. Legalities, formalities, official decisions could wait. The belief of one congregation, the will of a single quorum of priests, might just be enough.
Sicard stepped back to the pulpit, clutching it with both fists.
“My friends, we have given thanks to Vercoule, to Demas, Banin, Tevelaire, Khuriel…All the great, all the blessed gods who have watched over us for so very long. Since before Galice was born, since we were nothing but savage tribes in the wilds, we have known the deities of the Hallowed Pact, and offered them thanks and glory.
“Now I am going to speak to you of another, a god of whom none of you have ever heard.”
A cresting wave of shocked whispers and bewildered questions nearly swept him from the dais. He pressed on, raising his voice to be heard over the throng.
“A deity of the northern lands who was never one of ours, a deity with no reason to love Davillon, or Galice.
“Yet a deity who has, to the best of his ability, watched over every one of you!”
The sanctuary fell deathly silent.
Sicard felt his voice about to break. He wished he could move faster, worried that every second might be too late—yet he had to build them up to it. He had to make them believe!
A surge of contentment welled within him, despite those concerns, washing away the pain and fear yet lingering. This was the right thing to do; he knew it was.
Thank you, Widdershins. I wish I could have done something for you, too.
“Let me tell you, my friends, of a young woman some of you have heard of and think you know. A young woman named Adrienne Satti. And of Olgun, a god from so very far away, a god nearly lost to the world. Of how he saved her, and she him, and how they both risked all—yes, all, even the god!—to save you.
“And of all Olgun has done, I believe, from the depths of my heart and soul,