WindLegends Saga 9: WindRetriever (19 page)

Raphaella held his hand as they came down the serpentine stairway from the second floor.

He seemed to need her strength, the touch of her hand to sustain him, and when they reached the bottom of the stairs, he still kept her hand in his.

"Do you wish me to walk with you to the ceremony, Father?" Raine asked from the doorway of the great parlor.

Not for the first time did Raphaella wonder what the two of them, father and son, had spoken of when Raine had gone to Conar's room. Before that time, Raine had never used the words mother and father, but now, he called the two of them by those names.

"I would like it well," Conar answered and held out his hand to his son.

Raine hesitated for only a moment, then joined his parents. He took the strong sword hand of Conar McGregor in his own and felt the power that coursed through this man's soul. It was the first time he had actually touched his father and the sensation startled him into speechlessness.

The evening air was damp, the smell of salt water hanging like mist as the trio crossed the drawbridge. It was just after seven of the clock and the sun was nearly past the horizon. The road leading to Odess was already an ebon ribbon stretching toward the coast. As they turned the western corner of the keep, Conar came to an abrupt stop, his hand jerking in Raphaella's.

Torches, planted in the ground, more torches than he could count, lined the pathway up to the glade on each side of the gravel walk. Sputtering in the slight breeze, the flames leapt and cast a soft glow on the ground. He had only caught a fleeting glimpse of the glade through a hole he had scraped in the paint on his bedroom window, but although he had not been able to see the verdant pasture clearly, he had been told it was beautiful. Now, the entire glade was ringed with more Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 85

torches, each held aloft by hundreds of hands. The light from those torches lit the faces of strangers.

"The men and women of Odess have come to pay their respects to the fallen warriors of the Wind Force," Raphaella told him. She felt his hand jerk again and covered it with her free hand.

"They wait for you, Father," Raine whispered.

Conar looked down at his son, then nodded. He seemed to stumble as he started forward, but walked with his head high, his shoulders squared. With Raphaella and Raine at his side, he did not wander from the pathway.

Father Nicki did not miss the hiss of outrage when the Tzarevna saw that her husband's hand was clasped in the hands of the woman walking beside him. The priest didn't care for the arrangement, either, but he seriously doubted the man coming toward him would have been able to make the short walk up from the keep had he not had help. There was a look on the young man's face that bespoke terrible, heart-wrenching pain and a grief driven so deep it would take a long time to heal.

"The man beside your lady is Father Nicolai Beshanko. He is the local priest," Raphaella explained as they walked. "The other man, the one standing beside Yuri, is Ivan something-or-another. He's a deacon in the church."

Conar had no idea what a deacon was, but he suspected the man was an assistant to the high priest standing next to Catherine. He glanced at a dozen young boys standing self-consciously behind the one called 'deacon. The boys were dressed in long white robes cinched with a dark belt.

Their presence sent a chill down Conar's spine and he lowered his head to speak with Raphaella.

"What are those children doing here?" he demanded.

"They will be part of the ceremony as I understand it," Raine answered, thinking his mother would not know. "They are like acolytes, Father."

"Acolytes?" Conar repeated. A haunted look passed over his face. "I was an acolyte when I was ...." He shivered, unable to continue.

"They are called altar boys by your lady's church," Raphaella said, looking past him to impale her son with a look that said he didn't know everything about his mother. "Their purpose is to assist the priest during the ceremony. They have no such purpose as you had when you were a boy, beloved." She heard him sigh with relief.

Sajin saw Conar looking about him, nodding absently to the strange people he passed, who either doffed their caps to him or curtsied. He knew his friend was looking for the wagon upon which the bodies of his men had traveled to Raphaella's keep. Seeing Conar lower his head to the woman at his side once more, he would have laid good money down that Conar was asking where that wagon was. When he saw Raine point back toward the keep, Sajin smiled.

"I can go no further," Raphaella said as they came to the perimeter of the glade. "This is holy ground, blessed by the priest just before sunset and I can not trod upon it." She slipped her hand out of Conar's. "Neither can your son accompany you past this point, beloved." She held her hand out to Raine and was genuinely surprised when her son did not hesitate to take it. For just a moment, the boy held both his parents' hands and in that instant, Raphaella felt the immense power that was being transmitted between them. As soon as Raine let go of his father's hand, the feeling disappeared.

"Thank you, Raphaella," Conar said and was somewhat surprised he meant it. Apparently so was she for the woman did something he would have thought her incapable of doing: she blushed.

"We will be at the keep if you need us," Raine said, instinct telling him his mother was Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 86

beyond speech. He tugged at his mother's hand and they began to walk back through the corridor of torches.

"Go to him, Your Grace," Father Nicki said softly.

Catherine handed her missal to Yuri and stepped away from the place where a temporary altar had been erected in the middle of the glade. She hurried toward her husband, watching his expression of dismay at being left standing just inside the fiery ring of torches.

"Come, milord," she said to him as she reached his side. She took his hand in hers. "We are waiting for you."

He couldn't see the details of the faces around him, but he could see the smiles, the looks of respect that hovered behind those smiles. He didn't know if it was because of who he was, what he had been, or because he was the husband of the woman beside him. He had always known Marie Catherine was well-loved by her people and he suspected he had been accepted solely on the basis of his association, his attachment to her. Yet had he asked any of the two hundred and seventy-four people, the entire population of Odess, why they had come to pay homage to men they hadn't even known, each one of them would have said they had come to honor him as much as the men who were to be laid to rest.

"Prince Conar McGregor," Catherine said as they reached the altar, "may I present Father Nicolai Beshanko."

Father Nicki held his hand out. "It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace." He was greatly relieved when the man before him took his hand in a strong, unprejudiced grip. "Everyone calls me Father Nicki."

"I am grateful you are here, Father Nicki," Conar said. "Very grateful."

"I was honored to be asked," the priest assured him.

"If you will tell me what I need to do ...." Conar's voice trailed off. He looked at Catherine, seeking help.

"Let us handle it," Father Nicki told him. He looked past Conar's shoulder and lifted his hand. When the Serenian looked behind him to see what was happening, the old priest put a reassuring hand on his arm. "I have given the men at the keep the signal to carry the caskets up here."

Conar flinched. "Oh," was all he could say. He felt Catherine's arm around his waist and was thankful for her encouragement.

One of the town's people came forward at Father Nicki's signal and dipped his head in respect to Conar.

"This is Gilbert Nostroilavich, Your Grace," the priest introduced the man. "He and his wife, Illa, are often soloists in our choir. He teaches literature at the Academy of Arts in Musco and speaks fourteen languages."

Conar surprised himself and the others by extending his hand to the teacher. "Hello," he said.

Nostroilavich took the Outlander's hand and smiled. "A pleasure, Your Grace."

"Gilbert's here on summer vacation from the Academy," Father Nicki explained. He crooked his finger at a slim, attractive young woman. "Illa teaches dance at the Academy, as well."

Gilbert's wife bobbed a gracefully elegant curtsy to Conar and smiled shyly at him. "A pleasure, Your Grace," she whispered.

"They are ready, Father," Ivan said, gaining the priest's attention.

Father Nicki looked back up the path and saw the procession was in line. He nodded to Gilbert and the man and his wife took their places by some musicians Conar had not noticed until Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 87

that moment. His gaze swept over strange-looking drums and stringed instruments he did not recognize.

"Let us begin," Father Nicki said.

Conar was deafened by the silence that suddenly fell on the glade. He looked about him, seeing the smiles of a moment before replaced with solemn expressions of concentration.

"In the name of our Father and our Son and our Holy Spirit," he heard the old priest saying as the man made a strange configuration over his face, chest, and shoulders. As Catherine and Yuri made the same pattern over themselves, Conar remembered seeing such actions elsewhere, but he couldn't remember when.

Father Nicki left the altar and walked down to the edge of the glade where he stood waiting for the six caskets being carried up the lighted pathway. The young altar boys, six of whom carried folded white cloths in their hands, stood to either side of him and the man called Ivan, holding a silver pail and ladle, stood somewhat behind him. As the men carrying the bodies of Conar's friends neared the old priest, the Serenian saw the priest reach inside the bucket and take out the ladle. As each casket was carried into the circle, the priest flung water at it.

"He is reminding us of our baptisms as infants," Catherine said quietly.

Conar didn't understand what that meant, but he thought perhaps it had something to do with purification and nodded.

When all six caskets were within the perimeter of the circle, the altar boys stepped forward and unfolded the white cloths and placed a cloth on each of the caskets.

"The cloths symbolize our baptismal garments," Catherine explains. "When we are infants, we are brought to the church to be cleansed of our original sin. The white signifies purity."

One of the altar boys stepped forward with a large white candle and began to lead the procession toward the altar.

"Let us pray!"

Conar glanced at Gilbert as the man and his wife began to sing in unison, first alone, then accompanied by those gathered.

"As the first to be brought forth died, so shall we all leave this world. Just as our Lord rose from the dead, so shall we all come to life again."

Conar found he could not look at the caskets as they were brought before the altar and placed side by side. There were names carved into the wood, but he knew if he but saw one of those names, had he even been able to read it, he would have fallen prostrate on the ground and howled with grief.

"I'll explain to you as Father goes along what he's doing," Catherine whispered to him and he could only nod in understanding.

The ceremony was beautiful he thought as he listened to the words being read from a large book by the man called Ivan. When Ivan was finished, Gilbert and Illa led those gathered in a prayer song that made Conar's heart thud heavily in his chest.

"May we respond!" Gilbert and his wife sang.

"Our Lord is the Shepherd who leads his flocks through pastures green with new life. Here we may take our rest.

"Our Lord is the Captain who steers his crew over restful waters. Here our souls are refreshed.

"Our Lord is the Guide who leads his caravan down the paths of righteousness. Here we learn His ways.

"We might walk through dark valleys of fear, but evil will not touch us for He walks at our Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 88

side. His rod and staff beat down our enemies and gives us courage to travel on.

"Our Lord is the Master who sets a place at His table for His servants. Here in the presence of our persecutors we are raised up.

"Our Lord is the Savior who anoints the heads of His followers with scared oils. Here we are restored to life.

"Our Lord is the Provider who gives His family the Living Water to drink. Here our cup overflows with His love.

"We will find only goodness and mercy when we follow Him each day of our lives. And when we pass from this world, we will live in His house forever."

When the singing stopped, Conar watched Father Nicki step forward, make another strange symbol on his head, mouth, and over his heart then begin to read from the large book, as well. He paid close attention to the reading the priest gave for it touched him deeply and seemed to reach out to his ears alone.

"Blessed are those who have little for they will have all in the kingdom of God," Father Nicki called out.

"Blessed are those who mourn for they will have their tears dried by God.

"Blessed are those who seek the righteous path for they will find their way to God.

"Blessed are those who have shown mercy for they will receive mercy in return from their God.

"Blessed are they who are pure in their hearts for only they will come to see God."

Conar found the old priest looking at him and as the man spoke, he felt a great lump form in his throat.

"Blessed," Father Nick said softly, "are those who are the peacemakers in their world for they are the true sons of God."

Conar's gaze fell to the caskets and stayed. Just barely, he could see the names written there and his heart filled with a quiet peace. As the priest finished speaking, Conar knew the words had been created with his friends in mind.