“Why do you think only the same monks step behind the lectern? You can’t debate the holy Scriptures. Tronchet made it clear to you, didn’t he?”
Lissandro smirked. “I will speak of all this to the king on my return. This place will be cleansed.”
“Please don’t. As nauseating as Tronchet’s words may be, many monks and villages depend on this place for their survival. The new laws of our iron king will change this world, not the burning of this place to the ground. Let men like myself take care of Tronchet. Dissidence rises within these walls,” the monk whispered. Lissandro nodded, lowered his head, and resumed his reading.
After Terce, the first copyists entered the scriptorium and took their places at their desks. Lissandro rose and walked discreetly through the rows to observe their work. Most of the monks wore glasses, and some had magnifying glasses fixed on adjustable wooden structures. Since the men had an eternity to make a page, each move of the quill or the brush was delicate and precise. Small flasks of paints and powders hung on the side of some desks. Though he burned to ask for information, Lissandro did not dare to break the utter silence. He didn’t think that these men, working with concentration and meticulousness on their calligraphy, would appreciate the questions of a tourist. Lissandro sat back next to Brother Gildas. The fact he hadn’t taken food for more than a day made his head dizzy. They stayed the whole morning. Lissandro disappeared under his cloak with embarrassment each time his stomach complained of its agony. When the bells rang Sext and the copyists left for the ceremonial, Brother Gildas called for him.
“I may have found what you are looking for. I will translate the page into the common tongue. Why don’t you go and have dinner with the others in the meanwhile?”
Lissandro rose with enthusiasm but turned towards the monk. “You have skipped the ceremonials the whole morning. Won’t you have a problem with Tronchet?”
“I am the dean and eldest of this congregation. I’d like to see him try.”
“Should I bring you something?” Lissandro asked.
The monk smiled. “Eat, boy. You will barely have enough for yourself.”
Lissandro left and headed to the refectory where he was shown to a seat. A light soup of parsnip and a slice of black bread was put in front of him. Everyone ate in utter silence while one of the monks recited aloud the Scriptures at the lectern. Lissandro stared at the faces around him. They were dry and pale, faces that had endured privations and too much insomnia. Lissandro didn’t know if they were the fanatics Louis had mentioned, but they were not the fat clergymen he had expected. Where did these men come from? If some of them disapproved of Tronchet as Brother Gildas had said, could they be here to receive an instruction they couldn’t get elsewhere? If they came from noble or merchant families, what could such a wretched place secluded from the world bring them? The high number of older faces proved that their vocation was a lifetime abnegation. Or maybe the village outside the walls was a reminder of the Tarpeian Rock that fate held for them should they cross the gates? What Lissandro knew was that the day genuine faith and compassion would leave these walls, evil would take their place. Despair already loomed above them.
Brother Gildas waited for him near the lavabo outside the refectory and accompanied him to the courtyard. Lissandro’s mount had been prepared. His bags hung on the saddle.
Brother Gildas handed him a satchel. “Here is the book you needed. Return it to the abbey once you are done with it. I hope this will allow you to find a cure. Nysa Serin needs to be saved.”
“Thank you, Brother.” Lissandro took the satchel and put the strap over his shoulder. He walked to his horse and mounted. “Send a message to the king if you need anything. I will talk in your favor.”
Hands tucked up in his sleeves, the old monk pressed his lips. “You are in our prayers.”
May God hear you. Wrapped in his woolen cloak, Lissandro turned his mount around. The clatter of his horse’s hooves on the cobblestones broke the silence, and he passed under the gatehouse.
9
“So, you won’t come back?” Brother Benedict asked. With a spatula, he smoothed a yarrow salve on a chubby woman’s bruised thorax on which the skin crackled and smelled foul.
“I’m sorry. This is my last day here,” Selen answered from under his mask as he mixed drops of elderberry tincture into two bowls of broth.
Maybe he would return later, but for now, he had to agree with Louis. He needed a break. He had drained his strength to bring consolation to everyone, to give hope to the most desperate cases. However hard he tried, he could not share Brother Benedict’s vision. Where the monk saw victims, the gods’ will, and a disease to cure, Selen saw broken families, abandoned elderly, and terrified children. If he didn’t stop, his soul would pine away, and he would stand there, emotionless, cold, and dead.
Selen picked up the tray with the two bowls of broth and headed to the corner of the room. The young woman lay huddled up under her blanket. Her face and neck were covered with sweat and were a dark shade of pink. The buboes on her neck were swollen to the size of eggs and on the verge of exploding. Selen placed the tray on the bedside table.
“Do you want me to help you eat?” he asked her softly.
The woman barely twitched her eyes. When the patients were in such a state of stupor, they usually did not last the day. At the side of the bed, her son sat on the floor. He was a cute, young child with golden locks and large hazel eyes. The child was busy playing with his wooden toy, a small puppy on wheels. Surprisingly, he had not fallen sick yet. Selen took him by the waist and sat on the side of the bed with the child over his lap. The first time, the child had cried at the sight of his bird mask. Now, he was used to it.
“Mummy is a bit tired, so we will eat while she rests,” Selen said, as joyful as he could.
He took one of the bowls next to him and fed the boy with a spoon. Though he was a bit old for that, the child enjoyed the interaction with someone. Selen knew that Lissandro would have strangled him to be so close to the sick, but Selen did not care. He was conscious of the risks, yet he was still a human being. What kind of monster would leave a child by himself near dead bodies?
The boy ate with appetite. Once he was done, Selen put him down on the floor again.
“Now, we will see if Mummy wants…” Selen fell silent. The young woman’s pupils were dilated.
For a while, Selen sat, motionless. He looked at the child, bent over, and took him in his arms.
“Here, take your little puppy,” he said, handing the toy to the child. “We’re going to another room now. I want you to say goodbye to Mummy.” The boy waved his little hand towards his mother’s corpse. “Good,” Selen whispered, patting his head.
Keeping the child against his chest, Selen stepped back through the room. Some patients, forgetting who he was underneath the mask, stared at him with dread. Selen knew that in his monstrous costume, he looked like Death herself. And today, Death carried away a little child.
They went through the halls and upstairs to a room on a separate aisle. Selen opened the door. A sister in her grey and white gown looked at him. In a mortar, she ground white poppy seeds before mixing them with milk. Another sister distributed apple slices to dozens of children. The younger were toddlers. The older were the children still not old enough to enter school. All were orphans, and some were sick. Though the colorful decoration was lovely and toys lay everywhere, this room was the saddest one of the whole building. Selen hoped that if there were a cure somewhere, there would still be children alive to receive it. He placed the boy on a narrow couch.
“I have to go now,” he said with a tug at his heartstrings.
“No,” the boy said, grabbing his beak. The child’s eyes were turning red. Soon, he would cry.
Forgive me, Louis, Selen thought. He took a step back and removed his mask. His hood fell on his shoulders.
“Your Majesty, no!” the sister shouted behind him.
The child grinned. He pointed at h
im. “Funny color.”
Selen smiled. “I have to go, but maybe we will see each other again later. Don’t lose your puppy.” He waved at the child in the same childish way the boy did to his mother. Stepping back, he turned towards the sister. “Take care of the children, please.” Selen put his mask on and left the room.
Selen walked back to the doctor’s office. He washed his gloves with alcohol and changed clothes. Before he left the room, he looked at his bird mask. “I hope we will never meet again,” he said to the costume. He stepped out of the room, followed a hallway which led to the back of the building, and left the hospital. His horse waited for him in the yard. Selen mounted and rode back home.
The sun was setting beyond the mountains when he arrived in the palace’s stables. The lads hurried to take care of his horse. Selen was exhausted and headed directly to the king’s apartments’ bathroom. After an hour riding in the cold, the warm mist of the place was a blessing.
He faced the narrow table against the raw, brown stone wall. One item at a time, he undressed. His bare feet kissed the marble floor. He wriggled them on their sides and tiptoed. With a mother-of-pearl brush, he unbraided and loosened his hair. It was greasy with the day’s sweat and reeked of smoke and strong vinegars. Or maybe it was his hands’ smell? The stench was everywhere on him.
From a shallow mazer, Selen picked a jasmine and rose soap and went under the cascading water for a shower. The hot water livened up his frozen skin. His long, lilac hair stuck on the back of his thighs. The soap firmly in his hand, he washed his lightly muscled body as thoroughly as he could. After each day at the hospital, he needed to cleanse himself from any filth that could have slipped through his clothes. He could not take the risk to carry the disease everywhere, especially to Louis. Selen smiled. His love had promised to surprise him at his return. One more reason to be immaculate, he thought. Once all the soap had been washed away, he moved to the adjacent hot pool. Slow-burn candles lit the rim. He followed carved steps descending into the water.
Not only his body needed to be purified; he needed to empty his mind of all the sorrow of the day. Lissandro had told him to separate the days’ events from his private life. Once at home, he should no more think nor talk about what he had seen. His crying yesterday had been a mistake. He had been exhausted and had let himself be overflown by his emotions. Selen repressed the need to think of Kilda’s baby. He is one among thousands, he thought.
Selen let himself float with the water. He thought of Lissandro. His friend must be arrived at the abbey by now. Maybe he would find something. Maybe in a week, all this would be over. While lost in his reflections, Selen palpated his body in search for bumps. He smiled at the thought that Louis would do the same in an instant. His hand slipped on his length, but he resisted the urge to caress it. Instead, he swam to the edge and pulled himself out of the water. Selen put robes on and prepared himself mentally to go out. After each bath, he cursed the fool who had built the bathroom in a separate building. The previous kings probably used the room a few times per year and exclusively during summer. He opened the door and hurried to the solar. Once inside, he closed the door behind him and waited for the heat to embrace him again.
Louis sat at his desk, reading papers. He lifted his head and smirked. “Haven’t you lived for four years in the Frozen Mountains, running in the snow and washing in the river?”
Selen squirmed with embarrassment. “I may have been spoiled by the comfort granted to my status… A little.” No, not a little. He had been careful to train every day to stay in shape, but he enjoyed the comfort of the solar and his colorful clothes. Moreover, though Louis had imposed strict rules on the food, forbidding any luxury or unhealthy products, Selen enjoyed the most delicate fruits and dishes he was authorized to eat. He knew it was not what Louis expected of him. Shame flooded in him. He turned around and went out in the garden again.
It was dark now, except for the moonlight. Barefoot, he walked on the frozen, moist grass. The cold air felt like needles on his skin. He stopped near a bench and sat down on it. He concentrated on his breathing. It wasn’t so terrible, after all. He had faced worse in the Frozen Mountains. In front of him, Louis went out of the solar. He was still in his shirt and jerkin. His friend walked towards him slowly and sat down next to him. They stayed silent for a while until Louis handed him a frozen flower.
“I’ve been watching these for a while. Do you know what it is?” Louis asked.
Though it was dark, Selen recognized the shape of the leaves and the round flower. “It’s hibiscus.”
Louis slipped the flower in Selen’s wet hair. “Did I reproach you anything that you felt the need to go out?”
You didn’t need to. Selen had no idea what to answer. He chose what seemed closest to the truth. “I’m not afraid of the cold.”
“I have more clothes than you, and I am already frozen,” Louis said. He got up and held out his hand. “I still have something for you.”
Selen took Louis’s hand and followed him inside the solar. He shivered.
“Stay near the fire,” Louis whispered.
Close to the flames, it didn’t take long for Selen to feel his blood run through his body again. He held out his hands and enjoyed the warm feeling. He felt Louis tug at his robes.
“May I?”
“Of course,” Selen answered.
Louis raised his robes over his head and stepped back. Selen still faced the fire, feeling more and more uncomfortable. For an instant, he thought of hiding his nakedness with his hands. “What is going to happen to me?” he asked.
“You have worked so hard these last days that I wanted to do something to take your mind out of it. There is a room next to this one that we have never used.”
“Oh, that room.” The room next door was a kind of salon—or boudoir as Louis called it—with fauteuils, couches, and small tables. Several times, Louis had wanted to get rid of it, but the decoration was so refined and filled with arts that Selen had insisted on keeping it. “But you hate the place.”
“And you like it. Close your eyes.”
Selen complied. He felt a cloth on his eyes. Silk, a blindfold. A thought flashed in his mind. He had seen such activities when he was a guard. Orgies and slaves. Blood and rape. His muscles straightened, and a shudder ran through his spine.
“Are you scared?” Louis asked, surprised.
Panic grew in Selen. “Please. I don’t want it. I don’t want to feel pain. I hate humil—” The cloth fell from his eyes. Louis grabbed him and held his face between his hands.
“What are you talking about?” Louis asked, looking at him in the eyes. “I would prefer to kill myself than to hurt you. Do you think I am capable of such things?”
Selen stared deeply into his sapphire eyes. “No, no of course but…”
“But you have seen it before, haven’t you? Listen, we can stop. That was foolish.”
Selen smiled. “No. I trust you. Put it on.” He closed his eyes again.
Louis fastened the blindfold. “You are free to remove it whenever you want. Come.” Louis took his hand and led him into the other room.
Selen walked slowly behind his friend, unaware of where he went. All he felt was the soft carpets under his feet. The room smelled of melted wax and a mix of sweeter perfumes he didn’t recognize. It was warm. A fire was on in the hearth. If he paid attention, he could hear the crackles and fizzes. His knees bumped against something velvety.
“You can lie down on your back.”
Selen bent over, his hands stretched forwards. While he groped around, he tried to remember the room’s furniture. This must be the chaise longue. As he lay down on his back, he felt Louis’s hands guide his right hand on the sofa’s right foot. Selen’s other hand went up the back and found a grip on the wooden carvings. Selen waited with apprehension, but neither rope nor chain came to bind his hands.
“Am I free?”
“Yes, of course. However, it will be more enjoyable for you if you do n
ot move. Oh, and the same goes for the talking.” Selen heard the insinuation. He would have to concentrate on his senses. “I have to say that I am not used to such things, so stop me when you want.”
Though he trusted Louis entirely, the fact that he was free of his moves dispersed his fears, and he relaxed. The velvet caressed his back as he installed himself more comfortably on the sofa. He waited for a while, wondering which part of his body would be touched first.
Louis’s long hair grazed his face as his love bent over him for a kiss. Louis’s lips skimmed his without applying the slightest pressure. Something light and silky grazed his cheek. Lazily, it went down over his throat and lingered in slow moves across his chest. Selen smiled. It had long barbs. A peacock feather. Louis’s lips moved from his mouth to his ear. The touch was warm and tickling. Selen tilted his head. While his friend’s full lips and teeth nibbled on his earlobe, the feather wandered further down, across his abdomen, and between his legs. The light softness was more entrancing than any caresses, and his member came to life. As soon as his hips shifted, the feeling stopped.
“Don’t move,” Louis whispered in his ear.
That’s mean, Selen thought. Good I did not speak. Louis’s hair grazed his chest, and something moist and cold touched him. Selen shivered. He restrained himself from talking and tried to guess what it could be. Yet, the frozen feeling on his chest was so exciting that his mind blurred. His nipples turned hard as the ice circled around them. It prickled in his spine. Louis’s cold mouth closed on one and pulled it, titillating it with light strokes of his tongue, while one of his hands kept playing with the ice across his abdomen. Still, it couldn’t be ice. It wasn’t melting. As it trickled down over his length, Selen gasped and threw his head backwards. Enjoying the ice meandering lightly on his loins and his friend’s mouth sucking on his nipples, Selen didn’t hold back his moans. His length was swelling and turning stiff when Louis pulled away.
“No, not for that,” Selen complained, indignant. Those were not even words.
Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter Page 8
