04-21-2023, 09:01 PM
Armande was surprised at the ease with which he fell back in to the formal ceremony and speaking of Vatican life. To be sure, it was a necessity. Manners, modes of address and speaking, were the social lubricant that allowed people of power- real or imagined- to get things done. Foolish bureaucracy, certainly. Artifice, yes. Ego-centric, of course.
And yet somehow, for 2000 years the Church had maintained its power and position through all sorts of crises: internecine fights. schisms and civil wars, crusades- both formal and informal, machinations amid political earthquakes, shifting social climates, religious rivalries, and the general rise of technology, atheism, apathy-ism and now, the return of the gods.
Amid the natural world filled with ideas and beliefs- what Dawkins had termed memes- all competing for growth and dominance among a finite number of believers and adherents, the Church had continued to exist and flourish, even if not at the same level she once did. The Organization as an organism had adapted enough to its changing environment that he could not see any reason it would lose its place during its 3rd millenium of existence.
And so, it would be foolish to discount the customs and habits that had let that tree continue to live and thrive while newer weed-like competing systems had appeared, grown to dominance, and then disappeared leaving barely a trace of their brief existence. There was something to be said about conservatism and tradition.
Still, Armande conceded, it was exhausting. Extraordinarily so.
Now that the were in private, some, at least, could be dispensed with. None of them would bow to Patricus, let alone kiss his ring. Not when their roles had become so clear.
And, to be frank, the man was in a foul mood, his eyes cutting and words dismissive. The pleasure he had felt back at their room with the Eyes- the relaxation, the contentment, the flush of alcohol, and the potential for more!- as well as that unexpected enjoyment he felt speaking to one who had been a promising mentee, leeched away at his demeanor.
The relaxed open persona dropped and he shifted in to something more formal and distant. He ignored the man's claim- not snorting in response- and was about to speak when Valeriya cut in witheringly. And despite himself, a chuckle did escape. He kept his face still though his lips twitched with the effort of not grinning insolently. He couldn't hide the smile in his eyes, though, and looked at Valeriya and nodded. "Indeed, my heart."
He looked at the Key in Patricus' hands. The fact of its existence- conceived from dreams and visions, birthed by faith and devotion- tied all of them together. "Vision are not ours to command. The Eyes see what they see. And before, they saw, just the two of them. And now they require all of us to see again. That, and the Key."
This was not a prescribed ceremony. There was no protocol or preparation. No specific invocation. Except that he knew the Eyes would pierce the veil. He looked at Rowan, nodding slightly, before turning to Valeriya, a nod for her. Then to Patricus. "As it is cold, shall we begin?"
They Eyes would lead, one or the other. It did not matter which. Indeed, what one did, it was as if the other did. Alike as mirrors, and yet as different as night and day. Their ka-tet, they three together. Their unit. But for this, Armande and Patricus would have to be still and only aid in the vision as the Eyes peered.
And yet somehow, for 2000 years the Church had maintained its power and position through all sorts of crises: internecine fights. schisms and civil wars, crusades- both formal and informal, machinations amid political earthquakes, shifting social climates, religious rivalries, and the general rise of technology, atheism, apathy-ism and now, the return of the gods.
Amid the natural world filled with ideas and beliefs- what Dawkins had termed memes- all competing for growth and dominance among a finite number of believers and adherents, the Church had continued to exist and flourish, even if not at the same level she once did. The Organization as an organism had adapted enough to its changing environment that he could not see any reason it would lose its place during its 3rd millenium of existence.
And so, it would be foolish to discount the customs and habits that had let that tree continue to live and thrive while newer weed-like competing systems had appeared, grown to dominance, and then disappeared leaving barely a trace of their brief existence. There was something to be said about conservatism and tradition.
Still, Armande conceded, it was exhausting. Extraordinarily so.
Now that the were in private, some, at least, could be dispensed with. None of them would bow to Patricus, let alone kiss his ring. Not when their roles had become so clear.
And, to be frank, the man was in a foul mood, his eyes cutting and words dismissive. The pleasure he had felt back at their room with the Eyes- the relaxation, the contentment, the flush of alcohol, and the potential for more!- as well as that unexpected enjoyment he felt speaking to one who had been a promising mentee, leeched away at his demeanor.
The relaxed open persona dropped and he shifted in to something more formal and distant. He ignored the man's claim- not snorting in response- and was about to speak when Valeriya cut in witheringly. And despite himself, a chuckle did escape. He kept his face still though his lips twitched with the effort of not grinning insolently. He couldn't hide the smile in his eyes, though, and looked at Valeriya and nodded. "Indeed, my heart."
He looked at the Key in Patricus' hands. The fact of its existence- conceived from dreams and visions, birthed by faith and devotion- tied all of them together. "Vision are not ours to command. The Eyes see what they see. And before, they saw, just the two of them. And now they require all of us to see again. That, and the Key."
This was not a prescribed ceremony. There was no protocol or preparation. No specific invocation. Except that he knew the Eyes would pierce the veil. He looked at Rowan, nodding slightly, before turning to Valeriya, a nod for her. Then to Patricus. "As it is cold, shall we begin?"
They Eyes would lead, one or the other. It did not matter which. Indeed, what one did, it was as if the other did. Alike as mirrors, and yet as different as night and day. Their ka-tet, they three together. Their unit. But for this, Armande and Patricus would have to be still and only aid in the vision as the Eyes peered.