As Brother Matthias let his thoughts drift freely, he did not hear the approaching footsteps. Jostled from his contemplation, Matthias saw the face of Brother Gregory. The look he wore was ashen gray and riddled with concern.
“Brother Gregory,” said Matthias. “What bothers you?”
Brother Gregory was taciturn. His gray hair was unwashed and unkempt. The wrinkles in his face were deep set like trenches in the French countryside. His bushy eyebrows resembled gray caterpillars.
“Brother Luke claims he spoke with God himself last night.”
Matthias jumped from his position. This was not a good thing. Brother Luke was the Abbot’s strongest opposition and had developed a large following with the younger members of the Order.
“Where?” asked Matthias. “Where and when did he speak with God?”
Brother Gregory sighed and wiped sweaty palms on the front of his robes.
“Last night. Last night in his dreams. He said that God demands we return to the old ways. Said God demands a sacrifice.”
“Brother Luke has probably been indulging in too much of the communion wine,” Brother Matthias said, mostly to convince himself.
“For some reason, I doubt it.”
The two monks stood sullenly in the muted light of Luminus. They both knew, regardless of the truth of Brother Luke’s claims, this would need to be discussed with the Abbot.
Karl Friedrich had grown very frail over the last six months. Now, unless it was a blessing or necessary speech to the gathered brotherhood, he mostly kept to his chambers. Matthias looked longingly to the stars again before the two monks turned and entered the hallowed halls of the Abbey of Antoninus.
Inside, the main chamber of the Abbey twinkled magnificently from the autocandles held high in the chandelier. Shadows danced in darkened alcoves and beneath the cornices and groins of the vaulted ceiling. The chamber smelled of incense, tobacco, and tension. Murals of St. Anton adorned the walls in lifelike detail. His brown hair, shaved into a tonsure with a machete the legends say, gleamed from the sweat of his devotion. The flensing blade in his right hand seemed to shimmer with the will of God.
Matthias immediately noticed the contingent of young monks seated around the long “wooden” table in the center of the room. Brother Luke sat at the head. Iciness radiated from his form.
“Hello Matthias,” said Luke. “I see you came with your reinforcements.”
Matthias managed a weak smile and looked to his right. Gregory was not there. He looked to his left. Gregory had disappeared. Now, realizing he was alone, Matthias stood tall.
“God is the only reinforcement I need.”
A cacophonous laugh rose around the table.
“Which god, Matthias?”
“The one true God!”
Laughter again filled the room. It was cut short with a sharp look from Brother Luke.
“Oh Matthias, you’ve been so blinded by the teachings of that old fool. His days will soon be numbered though and we will be able to return to the original teachings of St. Anton. Don’t you agree, brother?”
Matthias did not reply. He turned defiantly and strode off down the hall leading towards personal quarters. The mocking words of Luke followed him:
“I’ve seen and spoken with God, Matthias. You soon will too, whether you wish to or not.”
Matthias continued down the corridor. On either side he was flanked by rows of unassuming oak-like doors. Each door had a plaque affixed to it. Each plaque bore a number. This was how the monks were known to the register. Matthias had always been troubled by this. He was of the belief that if one wanted to be personable with his underlings it was wise to always record them by name. Let them know they and their opinions matter.
Matthias stopped in front of the large set of double doors leading to the Abbot’s chambers. He hesitated; hand on the knob, and thought of the best way to break this troubling news to the elderly man. He had always respected the Abbot but didn’t necessarily agree with his methodology. This, and the revolution that brewed like a pot of overflowing coffee, troubled the young monk, who still had much to learn, to his very core. He knocked gently.
“Enter.”
The Abbot’s voice was barely audible and much labored.
Matthias pushed lightly and entered the main chamber. The room was filled with autocandles, flickering delicately and casting the scent of frankincense into the air. The high ceiling was covered with immaculate frescoes of the life of St. Anton. From his victories over the nation of Vidkun, to his martyrdom at the hands of Unologists, it was all there for the people to behold. The man on the bed was dwarfed by his surroundings. Once, Karl Friedrich had been a mighty and powerful man. Now, the ravages of age had taken their toll. The hollow creature before Matthias was but a shadow of his former glory. He looked up with sunken and dark eyes at his disciple.
“Matthias,” said the Abbot, shock displayed across his shriveled features. “What troubles your soul?”
Matthias was torn. His mind twisted this way and that. He feared his news might kill the Abbot in his already frail condition. He knew he could not lie about something of this magnitude.
“Brother Luke claims he spoke with God last night. I’m not sure I believe him, but it troubles me all the same.”
The Abbot wheezed, a thick, wet sound filling his windpipe.
“So it builds. The strong smell the weak and jump at the chance to exploit their problems.”
Matthias looked to the floor, shame spreading across his face.
“Matthias, you know my time is drawing to a rapid close. My body aches and shakes. I simply can’t breathe like I once could.”
Matthias looked up at the Abbot, his expression a mix of wonder and fear.
“Soon, very soon indeed, you’ll need to take my position. You’re the only one I trust to lead this Order. If you don’t stand tall against Brother Luke, we could lose this Order. When your followers show dissent, you must stand up to them. You must show them who is in charge. That is the one thing I must give St. Anton. He fiercely ensured his followers only followed his teachings or they were swiftly excommunicated.”
“I understand,” replied Matthias. “But I’m not certain this is a war I can win. Brother Luke’s followers are devoted to him and it would take much to sway them in my favor.”
The Abbot laughed dryly, which turned into a hacking cough.
“You must try, Matthias. I will aid you the best I can. I trust you and this is why I chose you. We cannot allow our Order to fall victim to infighting. I grow weary. Come back when you know more.”
“I will. Rest easy, sir.”
Before Matthias left the Abbot’s chamber, he heard the older man softly snoring. He crept out silently as a cat and reflected where the future was leading him.
* * *
Matthias went to bed that evening with a heavy heart. Luke’s assembled throngs seemed nearly insurmountable. He was a man of resolve though. His years in the seminary had revealed what sort of man he wished to be.
He lay down on the firm bed and rested his head on the extra firm pillow. Firm beds were the norm for all brothers of the Order. It was believed that rigidity would lead to penance. As Matthias shut his eyes, a scream sliced through the halls of the silent Abbey. He jumped to his feet and ran for the door. Opening it wide, he peered out. Brother Gregory stood in the darkened hallway, gazing off in the direction of the scream.
“What is it, Gregory?” asked Matthias.
“I don’t know, but it can’t be good.”
Matthias joined him in the hall and the two walked off into the sweeping darkness.
* * *
Above the moon, the remains shimmered a strange shade of yellow. Though sound does not travel in the cosmos, one could almost hear an imperceptible hum.
Brothers Matthias and Gregory halted behind the massed group in the hall. The monks were collected, fifteen persons deep, from the chamber. From the location and the murmurs, Matthias knew it was the Abbot
’s chamber.
Immediacy overtook Matthias and he began to push his way through the wall of bodies. The going was slow. Shock and horror seemed to root his fellow men like stubborn weeds. He did not blame them, but it made what he knew to be true that much harder to see with his own eyes.
Emerging from the human wall, he stood in the dim light of the autocandles. Brother Luke’s followers had taken on the role of investigators. Matthias was not surprised. Two heavyset brothers flanked the door. When he attempted to enter, the brother on the right pushed him away. Matthias recognized him as Brother Andrew.
“Let me pass,” Matthias said.
Andrew pushed him again, stronger this time.
“No one is allowed to enter, on Brother Luke’s orders.”
Matthias stood dumbfounded.
“I am second in command after the Abbot!”
A fiendish grin passed across Andrew’s face.
“Not according to Brother Luke, especially if you are the one responsible for this.”
Just then, the chamber door opened and another monk emerged. Matthias took his chance. He pushed past the guards and newly emerged man. The scene he walked into was straight from The Inferno. The walls and floor were coated in blood and viscera. The murals and frescoes were more colorful, almost as though the blood made them richer. The mutilated body lay on the crimson soaked sheets. The body’s lidless eyes gazed out with terror on its surroundings. The flayed skin lay in a shapeless heap on the floor.
“Who let him in here?”
Matthias looked away from the body of his former superior to the accusatory voice. Brother Luke stood, confidently flanked by three of his closest cohorts. His robe was stained a deep red and his cold eyes stared harshly at Matthias. With a wave of his hands, Luke’s brothers in arms had Matthias restrained. He started with a sharp tone:
“I’m placing you under arrest according to the rules of the Order.”
“Why me?” asked Matthias.
A malicious smile crept across Brother Luke’s face.
“Why? You murdered our beloved Abbot!”
“Murdered? It wasn’t me! Do you see blood on my vestments?”
“You clearly changed into other vestments. You were also the last to see him alive. Brother Gregory saw you leaving this chamber at midnight.”
Matthias scoffed. He had not seen Gregory, nor thought he would ever be betrayed by him.
“Take him from here.”
Matthias hung his head in shame as he was led away. He knew Brother Luke was responsible for this horrendous act, yet he also knew there was no way to tie him to it. Matthias’ allies were few and far between and those he did have were unlikely to provide support. The winds of change had taken hold.
* * *
In orbit, the remains shifted their kaleidoscope of colors to a vivid crimson. If one were to observe them closely, a shudder could be seen coursing through the unconnected parts.
* * *
Matthias sat in his cold and isolated cell. The skylight, the “eye of god” as the brothers called it, shone a shade of ghastly red upon the lithe monk.
How had this happened, he asked himself.
He supposed he should have seen it coming. He was just wishing he had had more time. More time for everything. More time to learn from the Abbot and truly appreciate his valuable teachings and knowledge. More time to study whom amongst the Order would have been important allies.
Alas, those times were gone and would never come again. Matthias was alone on this rocky sphere without a friend in his corner. He knew his penance would not come from his own hands.
Suddenly, Matthias heard the key unlocking the heavy wooden door. Aged hasps groaned like an elderly man preparing to stand and he stood tall. He would not allow Brother Luke or any of his foul breed see him grovel and ask for forgiveness. When Gregory entered the dank cell, Matthias was mildly surprised. Deep crimson washed over the older monk with a sense of realization.
“What is it you want, Gregory?” Matthias asked sharply.
“I wish you would just confess. I know you didn’t do it, but they need someone to pin this on. They need a scapegoat.”
“Well they won’t get it from me! I have faithfully served the Abbot and the Order ever since I joined. I refuse to take the fall for a crime I did not commit. And who are you to tell me to take the fall? You helped them frame me!”
A look of shame crossed Brother Gregory’s face, before a grimace of anger took over. He stepped forward and slapped Matthias, hard, across the face. He followed this with a well-aimed spit in the younger monk’s face. Matthias stood in silence solemnly.
“You wait, Matthias. Things are changing. They plan on crucifying you in the morning. You just wait.”
With that, Brother Gregory left, shutting the door forcefully and locking it behind him.
Yes, Matthias thought, things are changing.
* * *
Matthias slept fitfully that night. He tossed and turned on the stone platform that served as a bed. Terrible nightmares plagued his sleeping mind. Visions of blood and flaying. Visions of violence. Visions of innocence lost.
When he awoke in the morning, the halls of the monastery were silent and cold as the stone they were erected from. With bleary eyes, he looked about his confines. The four stone walls remained and everything else seemed the same until he looked closer. The light from the “eye of god” had changed to a decayed green, and a large pool of blood seeped beneath his cell door. He approached the heavy oak-like doors and the stench of death assailed his nostrils. He pushed the door and, in response, it swung open freely towards him. Matthias stepped into the hall.
Four brothers lay in the hall, unidentifiable by their torn and shorn bodies. Matthias moved on.
Bodies lay everywhere in the monastery. It appeared to him that all had been skinned alive. He moved on.
He went to the Abbot’s quarters, opened the door and sat cross-legged before the mural of St. Anton. He gazed into the saint’s unfearing eyes and began to weep. The last man on an isolated moon.
* * *
The shape orbiting the moon drifted away from its position. Its shade had changed again. It drifted off as a sky blue.
THE END
FELLOWSHIP
By Henry Snider
Melinda stared out the Dodge's window at the blur of trees. The Maine foliage banked the two-lane road, adding to the claustrophobic feeling overpowering her all day. She longed for the next town for, if nothing else, the open feeling that expanse of yards would give. Overhead, thunder rippled.
“It's going to rain,” she said flatly and looked over at her husband.
Jason remained his stoic self and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
“Jason.”
“I heard you. It's going to rain.” He waived an arm, coming just short of putting a finger in her eye. “Of course it's going to rain. It's Maine. It always rains in Maine.”
Melinda returned to her lack of a scenic view. “The...rain in Maine stays mainly on–”
“Us,” he cut in.
A laugh escaped her in the form of a decidedly unladylike snort which sent them both into hysterics. Their rental car drifted over the ever-unending solid yellow line and into the oncoming lane.
“Better straighten it out, before we get creamed.”
Jason let the car drift all the way across the line. “Creamed?”
“Yes,” she said, her giggle fit subsiding. “Creamed. As in greasy yellow corn.”
A blind curve banked to the left and the Dodge took it at better than fifty, still on the wrong side of the road. “We've seen one car in the last fifteen minutes, and that was a tractor.” They pulled out of the curve and eased back into the proper lane. “Besides, this is unspoiled territory. No other salesmen have been up here. From what I hear, that goes for the competition too.”
“Now that I can believe.” Melinda shifted her gaze to the long stretch of road before them and to the gray churning mass above
. “I mean there's nothing up here and if we keep going like we have been, we'll end up in Canada.”
“What's wrong with Canada?”
“French Canada to be exact.”
“Do I get to make a froggy joke?”
“Up here?” She shoved Jason lightly, sending the car back over the line. “You're likely to get your head clubbed. Besides, I bet you can see into Canada if you stood on the rooftops.”
Their radar detector blipped and Jason instinctively slowed. A muddy set of ruts came into view on the right side of the road, leading into the veritable wall of trees and dense foliage. As a mid-nineties sedan, complete with light bar came into view, the detector fired, sounding off an electronic woodpecker tone.
“Shit,” Jason muttered.
Melinda craned her neck to watch the state trooper pull out onto the road behind them, a spray of mud arcing off the rear wheels. The patrol car flew up and began to pace, keeping back about a hundred feet. She watched the silhouetted figure shift back and forth. A drizzle started, distorting what little could be see of the officer. The misshapen form shifted again, appearing as more of a bulbous mass than a person.
“Better hide the pot,” Melinda quipped.
“Ha...ha...ha.”
The spatter of rain ended as they crested the next hill, though low rolling clouds still threatened to release their burden. Lights flared red and blue in the rear-view mirror, adding an artificial splash of color to the muted countryside. Jason looked to the side of the road. A dip led to ten feet of wet grassy mud that served as a soft shoulder. Visibly gritting his teeth, he pulled the Dodge off of the pavement. Both passenger side wheels were off the road when a horn blared.
“Back on the road,” came from the patrol car's speaker. “Pull the car back on the pavement and stop.”
Jason pulled the wheel to the left and felt the right front tire sink and catch. A sickening grinding sound thrummed as the undercarriage rubbed against asphalt. They lurched forward, caught by their seat belts, as the car jerked to a stop.
“Shit,” Jason muttered a second time.
Melinda opened the glove box and rifled through the maps and cluster of suckers she'd wedged in there the day before.
Blood and Blasphemy Page 24
