L'Eglise Aristotelicienne Romaine The Roman and Aristotelic Church

[Kalixtus]

Vesperian’s reply was met by a smile from the Cardinal, one that did not quite reveal whether he was pleased with the answer, or whether it was precisely the kind of answer he had expected, having already glimpsed the promise of what might yet blossom within him. In either case, there was no further addition from him, much as with David, whose few words had nonetheless spoken a truth. They had something to create.

Kalixtus acknowledged Ferecide’s words about the Moirai with a quick snipping motion of his index and middle fingers. A wink followed, accompanied by a faintly amused smile.

When they finally took their seats at the table and listened to their host’s speech, Kalixtus’s thoughts followed Adelene’s as the wind shapes the waves.

The wine touched his lips, and Kalixtus listened with genuine interest to the many words being spoken. He would gladly have delved into their depths and examined the reasons behind them, but he did not need to. He knew the wounds. He knew the blood flowing from the veins of the Church, spilling into the world and threatening to drown much of what had been painstakingly brought to bloom. He himself had stood beside those wounds, examined them, and attempted to initiate painful treatments. Yet as one wound healed, another was torn open, while some had already begun to fester, carrying the stench of death. He knew this.

“Indeed,” his voice rose above the clinking of goblets and cutlery like a warm summer rain beneath the radiance of eternal light, each drop glittering like a falling diamond. “The challenges are immense, and I condemn no one who recoils before the sheer scale of the task. Yet just as every mountain is climbed with a first step, so must we unite all our strength for the good of the Church, and more than that, for the good of the world and of mankind. Our Church is ill, and its diagnosis must be taken seriously. Once, the clergy were regarded as the greatest and most powerful of healers. This generation must now reclaim those ancient virtues, those mighty instruments. Yet whereas once they healed mankind, today they must heal the Church, for the sake of mankind itself.

“Nothing less will suffice. The cancer is eating its way through the body, deforming it, altering it, paralyzing it, killing it. We must begin to recognize these things,” Kalixtus said, his gaze passing gravely over those gathered around the table, “and act upon them, for the sake of us all.”

His gaze came to rest upon Adelene, and he offered him a smile.

“Healing is only possible if we are willing to raise the knife and make decisions. Step by step, cut by cut. Then, once the rotten and diseased parts have been removed, this Church can live. Then it can blossom once more and become what it has always been: the guardian and keeper of the creation of our Almighty Father.

“For that, we will need the determination of men like you, Ferecide. Your words move me. Your image is true and wise. We must awaken the clergy. We need every single one of them; every soul is worth fighting for. We need them if we are to preserve that which keeps our hearts beating.

“Whether young”—his gaze turned toward Vesperian—“or old. This is the path: one final battle, or the ship goes under. Or the patient perishes, and we are left merely to oversee the final, agonizing convulsions of a giant that has failed before the world and before the eyes of God. That, my friends, is not an option!”

Kalixtus cut a fig in two with his knife and concluded, his expression resolute:

“Never!”

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