The Wayward Godking by Brendan Carroll Page B

my grandson and others in this matter. I believe we have long since come past all that. None here believe you or anyone else can ex-communicate anyone, and if you can, from whom are you cutting them off, Edgard? From which god? Every man and woman in this room has God in his or her heart. Even you. Your threat of ex-communication does you no justice, Sir. You are angry with Dambretti. Why not just face that fact and admit he got under your skin? It is not as if you are immune to such things. Furthermore, my question is this: Whence would you exile my grandson from here?”
    The Grand Master’s face had gone from red to ashen.
    “Sir!” Simeon stood before his grandfather could say anything further. “Lavon is speaking of me. I am a Dream Walker.”
    “No!” Reuben objected and stood beside his brother. Simon’s two eldest sons faced their grandfather from the back row of the hall. “I am the Dream Walker. Simeon is trying to protect me.”
    “De Bleu said two. Two Dream Walkers.” Edgard shifted his attention from Mark to his grandsons. “I should have suspected you, Reuben. You have always been a disappointment to me.”
    “I will not listen to this!” Simon stood up abruptly.
    “Sit down, Little Brother.” Mark looked over his shoulder at the Healer. “He has no power over them. They are neither Knights, nor apprentices. They are free men or, at least they were the last time I looked. I distinctly heard him say ‘one of my Knights or apprentices’. Did I not?” The Knight of Death raised both eyebrows at the Grand Master.
    A tittering of voices filled the air, and Barry called for order, banging his gavel on the table.
    “I suggest we get on with what we came here for,” Barry said loudly as they settled down.
    D’Brouchart sat down slowly and shook his head in disgust.
    “Now,” Barry continued. “I believe we have established the possibility of using dream works to break this spell or whatever we are suffering. Simeon, Reuben. What say you of Brother Lavon’s suggestion? Can it be done? Is it feasible?”
    “I haven’t practiced the art in some time,” Simeon admitted and looked at Reuben.
    “It is quite possible to do almost anything in the dream states, Sir Barry,” Reuben spoke up. “I taught it to Simeon. I learned it from one of my boys while exiled in Texas. He was abandoned at a roadside park near Dalhart. He had only a few beads and feathers on him when he was found. Someone left him on a picnic table in willow basket. The authorities identified the beads and designs on his blanket as those of the Navajo Tribe. They named him Johnny Bluesky at the hospital because he was found beneath the clear blue sky and he had blue eyes. A very unusual trait for a Native American baby. At any rate, he was very special, very spiritual, as it turned out. He lived with us on the Island until he died of old age and I learned a great deal from him that I never learned from any of you. If anyone is to be exiled, it should be me. I am, after all, used to it.” Bitterness surfaced from deeply buried resentments, re-opening old wounds in not only his own heart, but those of his father and grandfather as well.
    “I may have spoken rashly,” Edgard said; his anger fading. “Sir Ramsay is correct, Reuben. I have no say in your affairs. You are still free to live your own life. If you prefer the primitive religions of the Indians to the Religion of Christ as taught by the Perfected Ones, then so be it.”
    “You are so full of yourself, Grandfather,” Reuben actually laughed. “I realize you have been around for a long, long time, but so have the Navajo and the Anasazi and the Hopi and the Mayan, for that matter. They have room for Christ, the Son of the Great Father, in their religion. Do you not have room for them in yours? You discredit them.”
    “Perhaps, you are right,” Edgard admitted. “I know very little of things that occurred across the sea after the fall of Atlantis. But tell me,