Vasilios sat up and smoothed one hand across his hair and down his rumpled tunic. Markos sat next to him.
“Did you speak with the Bishop?”
“I did,” Markos said. “His secretary confirmed that the monastery of the Archistrategos Mikalos is indeed on a cliff top, and he gave me a map and detailed instructions for how to get there. I did not actually speak with the Bishop himself, since he is at court at the moment.”
“And we will be leaving soon?” Vasilios asked, and Markos nodded.
“Yes, soon.”
“Then I should get up.” Vasilios made to stand, but Markos tugged him back down by the hand.
“In a minute. I was enjoying sitting here with you.”
“Later,” Vasilios tried to make his voice stern but failed. “Once this is over.”
“Promise me,” Markos said, and Vasilios stared at him before nodding.
“I promise you that once we have exorcised this demon, we will sit together in your garden again.”
“All right.” Markos smiled and reached forward to lightly brush the side of Vasilios’s face before standing. “We should see if Patros and the others are ready to leave yet.”
Vasilios nodded, stood, and followed him.
THEY headed out toward the desert a short time later. Besides Patros, there were two other soldiers whom Patros introduced as Lucius and Arsaces. Both were built like massive walls of muscle. Lucius’s dark hair was streaked with gray and Arsaces wore a close-cropped beard along the line of his jaw in the manner of the Northern Islands, although his skin was not as unusually pale as Eòran’s or Bröndulfr’s.
“Do you want your own horse?” Patros had asked him, and Vasilios hesitated but then shook his head.
“I don’t think I could keep up on my own horse.”
“Two to a horse will mean we travel more slowly,” Patros pointed out. “Can you ride at all?”
“I can,” Vasilios said, “just not well.”
“All right. I’m going to put you on your own horse. I have a sweet-natured one that will suit you well, I think, and I’ll tell both Lucius and Arsaces, not to mention the General, to keep an eye on you and lend aid if it looks like you are not coping as well as you might.”
Vasilios wasn’t at all sure about the plan, but he nodded anyway.
Now on the road heading toward the foothills once more, Lucius rode in back of the group, and Arsaces led. Vasilios tightened his grip on the reins and tried to get back into the rhythm of moving with the horse’s stride, instead of letting it jerk him.
Markos drew his own horse alongside him. “Are you doing all right?” he asked, and Vasilios fought down irritation and reminded himself that Markos was being kind.
“I’m fine,” he said. “As long as I can keep from falling off, I should be fine.”
“Good.” Markos made a clicking noise with his tongue to egg his horse forward to ride slightly in front of Vasilios again. Vasilios kept his eyes on the road ahead of his horse, in case he had to guide it around something, which he feared he would not be able to do. Their little group was not going fast, and the horse Patros had given him was indeed mild tempered, so he’d managed to maintain a good pace with the others thus far.
Even though Vasilios couldn’t see them, he knew Theofilos was behind him on a small gelding from his own stables. Patros and Aritê rode behind him, or at least they had last time Vasilios checked. Aritê could not ride at all and thus shared a horse with Patros.
Vasilios’s horse tossed her head, causing his attention to return to the horse under him and the road right in front of them.
“We’re going to circle around the edge of the foothills and then cut through them tomorrow,” Markos told him when he next drew his horse alongside Vasilios. “It’s getting dark, so we’ll probably stop for a few hours and then start again.”
Vasilios nodded and kept his eyes on the road.
When the light faded slightly from the sky, they stopped by a narrow stream and let the horses water as they passed around food rations. Although some of their company took turns sleeping, Vasilios did not sleep at all. Even with Malachi’s healing, his back was a mess of aching bruises. His legs and arms were sore after a short time on horseback, and he didn’t much care for the idea of trying to lie on the hard ground. He sat instead and watched the stars appear in the sky and charted their paths while people and horses moved and grew quiet around him.
Markos had been right: they rested there for a few short hours before saddling the horses and heading off again. Their group followed the road along the slope and curve of the mountains, sticking to the foothills and partially flat ground while they did so. Eventually, though, they cut into the mountains themselves, moving between red-and-brown cliff faces.
The sun had begun to turn the sky brilliant blue once more when Markos moved to ride alongside Vasilios.
“There.” He pointed up. “There is the monastery of the Archistrategos Mikalos.”
Vasilios squinted up at the cliffs Markos pointed to, but could not as yet make out the buildings perched on top.
“If you say so.” He fixed his gaze on the road again.
The road that they traveled on narrowed to a well-packed path and began to slope up. Guiding their horses along the path grew more difficult since the road ahead became narrower and more uneven as they climbed higher. A little sparse scrub grew along the sides of the road, but they were mostly surrounded by dark-red rock and sand. Vasilios could now make out the buildings ahead of them, surrounded by a wall and perched on the cliff edge.
When their group came to a halt a little ways from the wall of the monastery, it was sudden enough that Markos had to reach out and grab Vasilios’s reins to bring his horse to a stop. They all dismounted and formed a loose circle.
“All right,” Markos said when they were all gathered. “Theofilos, Vasilios, Aritê and I are going to request audience with their Abba. Patros, Lucius, and Arsaces stay here with the horses for now.”
Lucius nodded, but Arsaces was frowning. “Shouldn’t one of us go with you, sir?” he said to Markos, who shook his head.
“They are monks, Arsaces. I think I can handle anything that might come up.”
“In this case, I think you’re right,” Patros told him. “I don’t think the threat—if it comes—will be from inside the monastery.”
Arsaces hesitated but finally nodded, and he, Patros, and Lucius turned toward the horses. The rest of them headed on foot toward the small wooden door set in the massive wall that surrounded the monastery.
There was a large iron ring set into the wooden door, Vasilios noted as they drew close to it. Markos grasped the ring and knocked hard several times. Long moments of silence passed, while they all looked at each other, and Markos reached for the iron ring again.
The door swung open to reveal a tall, thin man in a long black habit with a close-cropped beard starting to go gray. He stared at them all suspiciously before speaking. “Travelers,” he said. “I regret to have to inform you that we cannot take you in. God bless you on your travels.”
“Wait.” Markos grabbed the door as the monk began to close it. “We seek audience with your Abba. We come from the capital under the blessings of the Bishop himself. It is about a most urgent matter.”
The monk hesitated. “Wait here,” he said finally and closed the door again.
“Well”—Markos ran his fingers through his hair—“he didn’t tell us no at least.”
Vasilios crossed his arms over his chest and tried to fight down the nerves that kept trying to creep up on him. Theofilos scanned the area around him, while Aritê merely stood quietly. Finally the same tall, thin monk pushed back open the door. “Come with me.” He looked even less pleased than he had before. “But not her.” He nodded at Aritê. “No women are allowed past this point.”
“I don’t know.” Markos was frowning now. “Amma Aritê is a very Holy woman, and plays an invaluable role in the matter we have come to discuss.”
“I am sure the Holy Amma is beyond reproach in her service of God.” The monk’s gaze lingered on Aritê again, this time equal parts curious and assessing. “But never since the founding of this order has any woman been allowed to step beyond the wall.”
“I will stay here.” Aritê was smiling ever so slightly as she said it, and she turned to look at Markos, Vasilios, and Theofilos. “Find the one God has led us to. I will be here when you have found him.”
“If you are sure.” Markos shook his head but turned back toward the door in the wall and the brother still standing in the doorway. “What about eunuchs?” he asked, gesturing briefly at Vasilios. “May he enter?”
The monk hesitated briefly but then nodded. “He may.” With that, he stood back and let the three of them enter the complex inside. Behind the wall, the monastery was a collection of whitewashed buildings with red tiled roofs. Men in long, black habits, sandals, and close-cropped beards moved between the buildings. Some of them carried books, others tools for mending buildings or gardening. Some of them walked in pairs, talking quietly to each other. They stopped when they saw Markos, Vasilios, and Theofilos, and watched the group. There was a wide stone walkway between the buildings leading toward the large church complex at the center of the community. The roof of the church rose well above any other building beyond the wall, domed and with a cross rising from the center. Vasilios, lagging a little behind the group, felt a cold chill settle inside him as he recognized the church roof and cross—it was the same as in his dream.
He quickened his pace until he was walking beside Markos and Theofilos. “I know this,” he said, voice soft but urgent. “I have seen this place before. This is indeed the monastery from my vision.”
“Thank God,” Markos said. “I had been worrying that after all this, it would end up not being the place we need at all.”
The monk who was leading them pulled open the great wooden doors that led into the church. There was a passageway between the door and the sanctuary, with a flight of stairs leading up to the second floor. The monk led the way up the stairs, then along a dimly lit wall, before knocking on a wood door with an intricate pattern of interlocking crosses carved into it.
“Come in,” a voice called from the other side of the door, and the monk pushed the door open and stood aside for the three of them to enter.
“The guests sent by the Bishop, Abba,” he said, before turning and heading back down the hall. The room turned out to be a study, the walls lined with bookcases filled with more books than Vasilios had ever seen before in his life. An elderly man, his beard completely white, sat at a desk facing them as they stepped into the room, his back to the window. To the older man’s left sat another man, tall and thin, this one clean-shaven with gray hair.
“Welcome, strangers,” the man with the white beard said. “I am Abba Gregory, and this is Brother Nicholas. Brother Methodios tells me you have come with the blessings of the Bishop.”
“Yes, Abba.” Markos inclined his head to Abba Gregory in greeting. “We have come about an urgent matter that we believe a member of your order may help us with.”
“Tell us.” Abba Gregory sat back in his chair, and Vasilios forced himself not to stare greedily at the bookcases surrounding them and instead fixed his attention on Markos.
“Several months ago, children began to disappear, at first from families in the lower-class districts but then from increasingly well-placed families,” Markos started. “Soon, too many children had gone missing to ignore, and the Emperor called upon the Bishop to solve the problem, appointing myself as his right hand in his matter. The Bishop soon came to believe the disappearances were the work of a demon, but we did not know how to find this demon or even what it would appear to us as.
“Then”—Markos glanced briefly at Vasilios—“the Lord saw fit to grant Vasilios a vision of the creature. A prophetic dream, which he came to me with. His vision had granted him the knowledge that the demon was preying upon these children and devouring them alive, as well as how we might know it by appearance. Yet still we had no luck finding or casting out the creature. Theofilos Yalim”—Markos looked over at Theofilos—“who is a wise and learned man, spoke to me of a powerful and Holy Amma he had met in the desert who might aid us, and so we went to her and begged her aid, which she granted us, and through her skill and her faith, the Lord used her to drive back the demon and call it by name.
“Yet she could not cast it out and back into the pits from whence it came without the assistance of another. Again the Lord granted that Vasilios might have a vision of where our aid would come from. That vision led us here.” Markos bowed his head again, taking a breath after recounting his story.
“So we have come, Abba, with nothing but obedience in our hearts, and we beg you that you might know who among your order would aid us.” There was silence, and then Abba Gregory sat forward, resting his folded hands on his desk. “Tell us, then,” he said finally, voice measured and strong despite his age. “The name of the one you seek to cast out.”
“Gyllou, the enemy of Michael,” Vasilios said, and everyone turned to look at him.
Brother Nicholas shifted for the first time. “Abba,” he said, voice deep and resonant, “If this is true—”
“It is too soon to know that, Brother,” Abba Gregory told him, although his gaze did not leave the three of them.
“Abba, with all respect and obedience to your word, if the demon Gyllou even now walks upon the Earth, we must give them aid, and whatever happens, trust that we are in God’s hands.” Brother Nicholas had turned now to give his full attention to Abba Gregory alone, ignoring the other people in the room.
“We will speak of this, Brother, at another time.” Abba Gregory did not raise his voice, but it was an unmistakable command nevertheless. “I am afraid I must speak with the Brother in private,” he said, turning back to the three of them. “I will have another brother escort you out.”
“Please,” Vasilios said. “Please consider our request, Abba. Children are dying, and I….” He paused, unsure of what to say. “I have never truly believed,” he said, “but I was guided here, to you, for a reason.”
“We will consider it,” Abba Gregory told him. “Now please, you must go.”
With no other choice, they filed out into the hall. There, a much younger monk met them. “This way, please,” he said and guided them back down the stairs and out of the church. They circled around the side of the building, passed under a small archway, and entered a small walled garden. “Wait here.” The young monk smiled at them. “The Abba should not keep you waiting long.”
The monk turned and left. There were no benches in the small garden, so Markos sat on the ground. After a minute, Vasilios sat beside him, and Theofilos sat as well.
“I wish we knew who exactly we were here for,” Markos said.
“I’ve never heard of anyone with the gift to cast out demons from this order,” Theofilos admitted. “Actually, I don’t know much about this order at all. They keep themselves separate from the world. I have heard that they hold some beliefs about the workings of the Holy Spirit that are considered to be on the wrong side of heretical by the Church, although the Bishop still sanctions them as an order.”
“Heretical or not,” Markos said, “I still wish we knew why, exactly, we are here.”
The garden door opened and shut quietly behind them, and Vasilios looked up and turned to see who had entered the garden. Then he froze. He must have made some kind of shocked and strangled noise, because Markos turned quickly and then gasped.
“I believe,” the person coming toward them said, “you came here to find me.”
Vasilios’s mind refused to deal with what he saw. The man was dressed in a black habit, like every other member of the order. Dark hair cut neatly around his ears, he was clean-shaven, with dark-copper skin. He looked young, Vasilios thought, taking in the man’s strong jawline and broad shoulders. But that was from the waist up.
&nb
sp; From the waist down, the man had the body of a serpent—giant and sleek, dark red with deep brown, almost black, markings across it. The man moved like a serpent, silent and graceful, weaving across the grass toward them, and Vasilios clenched his hands into fists and willed himself not to back away.
“Oh my,” Theofilos said, his voice holding more awed wonder than the raw fear threatening to overwhelm Vasilios at that moment.
The man-serpent stopped in front of him and inclined his head politely. “I am Brother Stavros,” he said, “and I believe that I have been expecting you.”
“Brother?” Markos asked, tone incredulous. His gaze flicked down the serpent half of Brother Stavros’s body and then back up to his face.
“Yes.” Brother Stavros seemed slightly sad. “I have been a brother dedicated to this order and to God for the better part of my life.”
“I mean no disrespect, Brother,” Theofilos said, “but I find it hard to believe that any order would welcome one such as yourself.”
Brother Stavros turned toward Theofilos, and Vasilios couldn’t help flinching away.
“It is true,” Stavros said. “I don’t believe many would. The Church itself would never condone it. One of the brothers here many years ago had a vision, though, that from out of the desert, the brothers would find a gift from God. While out one day, two brothers came across a child, young, almost dead, half-man and half-serpent. One brother was afraid and ran off, but the other, Brother Nicholas, took the child and brought him back to Abba Gregory. Abba Gregory called the brothers together, and for two nights and two days they prayed to God for guidance for what to do. On the third night, Abba Gregory had a vision of an angel of the Lord, and the angel said, ‘We have given him over to your care, for sometimes, even the seed which falls on fallow ground takes root, and a tree in the desert sometimes bears fruit.’ So the brothers raised me as their own.”
Vasilios stared at Stavros, feeling a strange surge of recognition at Stavros’s words. It was a sensation almost like falling. For a moment, it was as if he too had experienced the vision Stavros spoke of.
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