The Worlds of the Sheaf

Veglia - Part 3

     "I do not serve Ramthara for material rewards," she snapped, some life and fire coming back to her, and Timothy felt a great weight of relief to see it. This was more like the old Daleen! "I serve Her for Her greater glory, not mine."

     "Of course," conceded Timothy gracefully. "Forgive me, I spoke without thinking. I merely meant that your reward would be the joy and satisfaction of seeing Ramthara revered by those who had not even heard Her name before you came." She nodded, accepting the correction. "Why don't you return to your quarters now?" the cleric of Caroli suggested. "Who knows, you may have more success sensing the presence of your Goddess in the peace and solitude of your own room. Or if you prefer, Drenn and I will leave you alone here."

     "No, that won't be necessary," Daleen replied. "I'll come back some other time. Thank you for your kind words. You've made me feel much better. You are truly a follower of the Lady of Healing. Your words alone have the power to bring peace to a troubled soul."

     "You're welcome," said Timothy as the woman left.

     Could she be right? he thought hopefully. Did he still have the granted power of the soothing word? He hadn't been consciously trying to soothe her, but it wouldn't be the first time Caroli had worked through him without his knowledge. He made up his mind to test it the very next chance he got. If he could confirm that he still had his granted powers, it would be positive proof that Caroli was still with him, despite the gulf that had opened up between them.

     "She was right about one thing," Drenn said once the woman was safely out of earshot. "Her faith is weak. Why was she chosen for this mission? There must be many who would have borne up better than her."

     "Our glorious leaders wanted a wide range of faiths represented on board," replied the cleric of Caroli. "Not necessarily for the holy power we can wield, because they knew we would be distanced from our Gods in other universes, but because those we meet during the course of this mission will almost certainly worship Gods as well. If they are a warrior race worshipping a warrior God, then you will be expected to build a bridge of understanding between them and us, and Daleen gets the job if they're nature worshippers, like the shae folk. In fact, the fact that we can't channel holy power may be an advantage. They won't feel threatened by us."

     Drenn stiffened, and for a moment a look of anger burned in his steely grey eyes. "I do not need the power of Samnos to be threatening," he said, giving the cleric a stern look..

     "No, no of course not," said Timothy hurriedly, cursing himself for a fool. "I didn't mean to suggest..."

     "Save your words for the woman," Drenn warned, and he marched back towards the door, disappearing out into the corridor without a backward glance.

     Timothy found he was more worried for the priest than scared for himself, though. He's just as scared as the rest of us, he realised, and even more scared of showing it. Doesn't the fool realise it's perfectly normal for a priest to be scared under these circumstances? Sundered from the object of his worship? He'd have to speak to him. Try to make him understand this, but carefully. Very carefully.

     He tried to pray some more, and took comfort from the distant presence of divinity he was just barely able to sense, but it was a frustrating experience and he didn't like the sense of remoteness it gave him. He confirmed his faith and devotion as quickly as possible, therefore, and left to walk the corridors of the ship, deep in thought. The knowledge that his ability to heal the sick and injured was severely impaired at the very least, and possibly lost to him altogether until they returned home, was a heavy weight on his mind and he was dreading the first time someone came to him, begging his services. Daleen might be the one who was finding their present circumstances hardest to come to terms with at the moment, but Timothy knew it would be he who would have to carry the heaviest burden in the weeks and months to come.

     Of all clerics and priests, it was the followers of Caroli the Healer who were most often asked to channel holy power. Only the followers of Nimbus, Lord of the Winds, God of weather and the skies, came close. Priests of Samnos could still fight. Clerics of Tizar were still wise and priests of Caratheodory could still do mathematics, but clerics of Caroli could only heal with the direct assistance of their Goddess. Without Her, they were limited to boiling up herbal remedies and sewing up wounds with catgut.

     The officers and bridge crew already knew and understood, of course, but how many of the enlisted men did? What would happen when one of them came to him with an injury and found he was unable to help them? He suddenly realised he would have to tell them. Explain the situation to them. They would have to be even more careful than they normally were to avoid accidents. They had to be told that, without the power of Caroli, even a simple scratch from a rusty nail could prove fatal. How would they take it? He felt some apprehension as he contemplated their confusion and rising anger, but there was no putting it off. It had to be done. With a heavy sigh, therefore, he descended the stairs to the crew lounge.

     He found, to his surprise, that there were seven men present. All the enlisted men not currently on guard duty, despite the fact that some of them were supposed to be in bed, members of the night shift. Five of them were gathered around one of the two long tables playing a card game of some kind. Ihvon seemed to be winning, if the large pile of silver and copper coins beside him were any clue, and he was currently facing Brullion down, the two of them hunched over their cards. Examining each other's faces for any clue as to the other's hand and confidence. They each had a man standing behind them, giving enthusiastic words of encouragement. Another of the cavalrymen behind Ihvon and a navy man behind Brullion, while Matthew Winterwell watched the whole thing with a frown of concern.

     Only two men seemed uninterested in the game and were sitting at another table, whispering conspiratorially. Timothy was surprised to see that one of them was George Stone. Back on the Hummingbird, he'd struck the cleric as a friendly, outgoing fellow, so why was he now acting as though he'd been excluded from the main group? He didn't recognise the other man, but by his uniform he was also an infantryman.