I looked up at the fading stars in the sky and caught the dying fall of a shooting star. It seared brilliantly across the sky, trailing sparks and flame behind it as it died into the western horizon. I heard whispers of concern from the village. “A sign!” someone called, but there were few to take any notice. I knew what it was. An angel, a messenger from God. Beautiful in its fall, it was the brightest, most brilliant object in the whole firmament as it went, cascading and tumbling in its plunge into the darkness. I remembered Luke’s Gospel, when Jesus spoke to his returning missionaries. “And he said unto them, I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven.” The messenger’s fire died as I watched it, in a fall like Lucifer, brightest of the Angels, most magnificent, who had led so many into opposition and eternal exile from Heaven, whose despair had led to utter defeat. A last glimpse of glory, a final, defiant railing against the power and strength of God, a terminal burst of magnificence.
A Fall like Lucifer, I mused, brightest of Angels, whose pride led him to despair and took so many with him.
A fall from greatness, which turned to spite and even now waged war against God’s creatures on Earth, corrupting, despoiling, filling with despair and then seducing to evil.
A dying fall.
The camp was coming awake. It was as if a veil lifted, and I saw the scene for the first time. Children sat and gazed in wonder at an early juggler. A group of toddlers giggled at a clown. The mob of swimmers charged through the camp again. Soldiers on temporary leave sat at their tents, smiling and playing with their children. A woman was nursing her baby while another howled with outrage at something or other. Two boys were wrestling each other in the dirt, a group of their friends encouraging them on with shouts. Little girls sat together and played house with their little peg dolls. A puppeteer entertained another group of children. Children swung from the trees. Children made a noise. Children squealed and laughed and fought and played. Everywhere, the noise and racket of children at play. Nothing unusual, no, nothing unusual at all. The soldiers with their children: nothing strange at all.
This was normal, utterly normal. The noise of children was normal everywhere, in small villages and large towns, packs of children playing, shouting, crying, laughing - it was everywhere.
But Dumbarton had been so quiet. There were so few children there. A place like that should be teeming with them, as the river teemed with salmon. The thoughts I’d had, the discussions I had with Eata, I had missed what was in front of my eyes when I was at Strathclyde’s capital, what I had been told in my Vision. The only excuse I could offer myself was that I’d just come from Iona, and of course there were no children there at all, but even then I’d known that something was amiss. I had known it, and now I saw it. I compared Dumbarton’s almost silent castle and town with this riot of noise, and I knew something was seriously wrong, it wasn’t an outbreak of infertility, or the absence of the soldiers on Owain’s campaigns, it was something else. It was something that was so awful that I could barely bring myself to confront it, not now, not yet, not here lest the very thought bring disaster on everyone in the camp.
The woman at the hut, the one with the child who had been ill. When last I saw her – what had she been holding? Was it her child? Why was it so quiet?
I started to walk back up the hill to the monastery, barely acknowledging the greetings that came from everywhere and everyone, large and small. I walked faster. I must speak to Colman, I could not attend the resumed Synod. I started to trot as I looked at the sky again. The shooting star had died away but I remembered it, remembered the dying fall. I broke into a run. A Fall like Lucifer.
A Fall like - Oh, God, let it not be so, let it not be so -
Ieuan.
I knew, I knew it with my heart and my soul and all my being. Ieuan, Ieuan, Ieuan. Ieuan was at the dark heart of the evil in Strathclyde, trying to resist the invasions - he had offered to help me to resist the Romans. His hope had gone and despair had led him to -
I was in the velvet darkness which was neither comforting nor welcoming nor rejecting of me but allowed me passage through the black that twinkled with light as I tore silently through the dark, seeking one essence, one being out of all the millions that were around me, some of which inclined towards me but I rushed past them with total intensity.
I looked deeper, deep into the Otherworld, the realm I inhabited in my Sight. There was the fire. Beyond it lay my heart’s desire, I knew - but not now, not yet, not yet - and there was stone, a face of impenetrable rock which spread in all directions and to the ends of the Universe and beyond. There was no way past, no way through. I searched for an eternity until I found the door. I knew this was the place and didn’t consider why: I considered the door. It was massive, bolted and bossed and sealed with iron. There was fear in me: beyond the door lay madness, or I thought there was. I remembered a door beyond which there was madness. Was this it? I hesitated. My fear was in my memory. This was the door behind which madness lay - but not my madness.
The door was closed but it would never be locked against me again. It could not be. I pounded on it with hands like hammers and it fell into splinters at my feet, shards that melted into nothing and I looked into the room.
There were children everywhere. Children split from ribs to groin whose sightless eyes were bloody gashes that wept blood that fell onto the floor and collected into pools and gathered into lakes and their sightless eyes stared at me. They were stacked on shelves, piled into cupboards, piled on worktops and stuffed under benches and there were hundreds and thousands of them and the hooded figure in the room and in the glade that had threatened madness but had deceived me because this was not my madness it turned and I saw its face and it was the face of my friend and blood was dribbling from his mouth and down his chin and he tried to conceal it but I had seen it and I KNEW all that had happened and the face of my friend was old and the price he had paid had drained the life force from him and I could see through the face as if it were muslin to the beast that the face had sheltered and concealed which grinned at me ravenously and extended a claw to me to gather me in
I started up the hill again, back towards the monastery, to the infirmary and the source of the cold evil I had detected and had ignored.
You don’t understand, the voice that had been my friend’s called. I took a swig from my bottle of medicine.
I walked faster.
Now you understand, said Padhraig, sometimes you take so long to see, but now you understand
I broke in to a run. I was in both worlds, in Whitby and elsewhere. I knew where Ieuan was, he could hide no more. He had put up a concealing spell, which had distracted me all the way from Dumbarton, through Lindisfarne, to Whitby, to here. But in the end he had been distracted. The effort he had put in to saving Cedd had weakened his defence, and now it was useless. He could shield his thoughts no longer because I had broken the door behind which madness lay. But not my own madness, though my head whirled and screamed at me in confusion, not my own, that was a deceit and a veil behind which the truth lay.
It was getting colder as I got nearer to Cedd’s sick bed, and now I knew why: he was still trying, desperately, to keep me out. I sprinted into the infirmary and down the corridor, thrusting monk and nun alike out of my way. The door at the end burst open and Ieuan was there, facing me, knowing that I knew and looking for escape, gathering himself for a burst of Power which I could prevent if I could just get to him in time. I reached for the knife at my belt, it wasn’t there but my bare hands would be enough and I ran towards Ieuan with my hands reaching to stop him in whatever he would do and Ieuan looked straight at me and threw a handful of dust into my face.
Before I could stop myself I breathed in a lungful of the powder that Ieuan had thrown. It blocked my nose, filled my mouth, raced into my lungs and started to choke me. I stumbled and fell to my knees, fighting for breath, feeling the gritty stuff choking me. I shoved my hands into my mouth and tried to scrape it out, it was everywhere, between each
crack in my teeth, I reached my fingers almost into my throat to drag it out, it was choking me and the more I shifted the more seeped in from my cheeks, my teeth and my lips, I fought to breathe and every breath sucked more in. I couldn’t breathe at all. I tried, I tried, I tried and my throat sucked in and my chest heaved and there was fuzz before my eyes and I was suffocating, I was panicking, I was getting dizzy as my head demanded air
Be calm. Dispel the illusion.
I calmed my brain, deliberately and without trying to take a breath that would not come, not yet. I thought of the clear air of the hills above the monastery, the wild air of Iona during a storm, the quiet air of Lindisfarne on a spring day, I concentrated on the air of the hills at Whitby. I could pick out the buzz of the bumblebees and I smiled, and I was calm and breathed naturally, in and out, in and out, without strain or impediment. The spell was broken.
I was on my hands and knees and there were people about me. I took a deep breath and stood up, looking around for the adversary, who had been my friend. I was surrounded by confused monks and nuns; some of them were rubbing various parts of their bodies which had been bruised as I’d pushed them out of the way.
“Where’s Ieuan?” I demanded.
“The healer?” one of them - Cerdic? - replied. I nodded urgently. “He just ran off, out of here, back down the corridor. What’s going on? You have caused injury in your haste. What is it?” I was already on my way, running back down the corridor.
“I apologise,” I called back over my shoulder. “The need is great. Call Chad to tend his brother. Someone look in on Cedd now and make sure he’s all right. Do it now!” And I ran off in pursuit of Ieuan, out into the yard. I looked around and saw a cloud of dust hanging in the air on the road back down to Streanashalch, gleaming tantalisingly in the early morning light. The Romans were making their way to the chapel for their morning offices. They were singing and swinging incense again.
The guard at the gate could say only that an elderly Irish monk had ridden out minutes before, at urgent pace and making for the village. He had not given his name or his business. I was desperate to get after him but I needed leave of Colman to go. I made for the sleeping quarters but thought again and turned towards the chapel. Our people were leaving as the Romans were arriving and I sprinted over to Colman of Lindisfarne.
“Abbott, Father Abbott,” I rushed breathlessly, “I must have a horse, I must leave, now! I -” I could go on no further. Colman drew me to one side.
“Anselm, I can see you’re distressed, but whatever it is must wait. The Synod isn’t over yet and you’re needed here.” I stood, still breathing heavily, and calmed myself to explain the situation to him.
“Colman,” I began quietly, “there is great urgency in my request. You know as well as I do that the Synod is effectively over. All that remains is Oswy’s order. There is something much more urgent.”
“What could be more urgent than the future of our Church?”
“The lives of untold children, now and maybe in the future. The future of a kingdom.” I knew in my heart that the only future Strathclyde had was decline. “I have done wrong. I brought here, to the heart of our community, someone steeped in great evil. He has given in to despair and yielded to the worst temptations of the Enemy.”
“Who? What?” for once, Colman wasn’t confused: he was being as brief as he could and wanted equally brief answers.
“Ieuan. He it is who has returned to the old ways, to blood sacrifice, sacrifice of children! He’s been killing children and raising…” I swallowed hard and looked around at the Abbey. I would not name this enemy, not here. “…raising one of the old demons. The patron of the Wicker Man. For power to divine and See as I do. To gain power and influence. He has traded his very soul for power.” Colman was shocked this time.
“How do you know?”
“My heart has known for some time, I think, but I wouldn’t accept it, I suppressed it. I finally realised this morning. I’ve Seen into his heart. It is horrible. He must be stopped.”
“Where is he now? I thought he was with Cedd. Has he damaged him in any way?” I shook my head.
“No, I don’t think so. He’s always used his true Gift for good. But Cedd is weak.”
“A strange and wicked thing. A Healer who kills, for gain. Where is he?”
“He left not ten minutes ago. The guard at the gate said that an elderly man, dressed as one of us, rode off towards Streanashalch.”
“We must raise a troop to catch him. I must tell Oswy, regardless of the consequences.” I shook my head again.
“No. Remember he is powerful. He will confuse any pursuit by ordinary people, yourself included. I must go after him. I can withstand his spells.”
“Has he attacked you?”
“Yes, I came after him and he cast a spell on me. It was an illusion, I dealt with it.”
“Could he have killed you?” I paused and thought through the incident again.
“I’m not sure. I don’t think so. The spell he used wouldn’t have killed me. I thought I was choking - my whole body believed it - I was choking to death, but as soon as I lost consciousness the spell would have been broken. He wasn’t trying to kill me. Not this time. Just to delay me.”
“But you dispelled it?” I nodded. “Would anyone be able to do it? Sorry, stupid of me.” I’d given him a look which briefly questioned his intelligence. “Very well, you must go. What shall I tell Oswy?” I slapped a hand to my forehead. I’d forgotten.
“Things get in the way. I must see him before I go. There is a message I must take back. I can’t go without it. I’ll go to him now.” I made to leave but was interrupted by another voice.
“Just one moment, please. Anselm. Colman.” Wilfrid acknowledged the two of us. “Where are you rushing off to, Anselm? I hear rumours of conflict and confrontation, in which you are involved. I would like an explanation.” His arrogance was racing ahead of his anticipated victory.
“It’s nothing to do with you, Wilfrid, and needn’t concern you. None of your people were involved. Anselm has an urgent task, that’s all, and if you will excuse us -” Wilfrid placed a hand on Colman’s arm, restraining him. Colman looked at it but it remained there. “Take your hand off me, Wilfrid.”
“Just a moment longer then,” he took his hand away. “We’re all of one Faith, and will soon be of one practise, so there will be no distinction between ‘our people’ and ‘your people’. All will be subject to the same Rule and discipline. And I think it would be wise for all to stay. Anselm in particular, as I have something in mind for him.”
“Anselm has an urgent task. It will not wait on you, or your Bishop, or the Pope or your arrogance, Wilfrid!” Colman’s voice was rising angrily. “You do not command him, he is of my community. I say he goes, on a task of which you know nothing! Now let us be!” Wilfrid was about to speak when Oswy strode up.
“What’s the matter here?” he demanded.
“I require that Brother Anselm stay, my Lord. I have a task in mind for him. He seems in an unseemly hurry to get away.” Wilfrid spoke urbanely, but his words reeked of expected and absolute power.
“Prior Wilfrid, I promised all clerics safe passage to and from this Synod. I have not yet pronounced my judgement. Beware of anticipating it. If Magister Anselm feels he must leave before the conclusion, I’m sure he has a good reason and will tell me. Me. Not you. I believe you have other duties to attend, not least keeping your own flock under control.” Wilfrid seemed about to speak but he thought better of it, bowed briefly and left. His parting glance at me was full of anger and venom.
We shall meet again. The thought was as clear as if he had spoken it aloud. and you will bend your knee to me, Irishman. There was no feeling of deliberate contact – he didn’t have that Power: just that his thought was so strongly held it was like a shout, and I heard it clearly.
When he had gone far enough away, Oswy turned to us.
“I’ve received reports of uproar in the infir
mary and an elderly man, apparently of the Lindisfarne community, making a hurried departure this morning. An explanation is required.” Colman and I looked at each other. The Abbott indicated that I should explain.
“My Lord, the man I’d thought was my friend is the one who left so suddenly. I’ve discovered something about him that must be stopped. I must go after him and bring him to justice.”
“What has he done?”
“Something so unspeakably evil I wouldn’t even whisper it in these precincts.”
“I will raise a troop and they’ll hunt him down.” He turned to deal with it.
“Sir,” I interjected, and Oswy turned back to me, slowly. There was anger in his eyes at the interruption. “Sir, there would be no point. Your men would be confused and may even die at his hands, before they got within sword’s length.”
“What manner of man is this ex-friend of yours?” I hesitated before answering. “Tell me.”
“He’s a Druid. He is - or was - a Healer. A truly great one. His Gift was greater than mine. He’s fallen into evil practices and is dangerous to anyone unprepared.”
“And what has prepared you?”
“I was a Druid before I converted to Christianity. We were at school together. And my Gift gives me defence against him.”
“Where did he come from?” I hesitated. I didn’t want to answer. “Tell me, monk, where did he come from?”
“Dumbarton, sir.”
“So. Strathclyde hides behind pretty words and peaceful overtures while it turns itself into a witch-realm.”
“No, sir, I don’t believe that. I detected no evil in either King Owain or his brother. I believe them to be honest.”
“As you believed this Druid to be your friend?”
“That was my fault. I wanted him to be the same man he was when we last saw each other, years ago. I didn’t want to see through the shield he’d erected, so I didn’t try. Owain and Gawain I had no reason to trust, I didn’t know them and I hadn’t met them before. They couldn’t deceive me. Had the Druid attempted to shield them I would have known and been suspicious. Owain is honest.”
The Monk (Prince Ciaran th Damned Book 3) Page 33
