The Gift

by Bryan M. Litfin

  “Thank you, Stasia,” Liber said through a stuffed mouth. He grinned, biscuit crumbs clinging to his unkempt beard.

  After dinner a sense of peace descended on Ana as she relaxed by the sea with Liber. He lay a few paces away, muttering his strange words to the sky. Ana found herself soothed by the steady chant that tumbled from his lips. Her belly was full, and the wine made her sleepy. She gazed at the stars, thanking Deu for his protection and provision. Even the chain around her ankle wasn’t a bother as she pulled a clean sailor’s blanket over herself and succumbed to her drowsiness. For the first time in a long while, Anastasia fell asleep unconcerned about what the next day would bring.

  Teo didn’t know whether to look at the side panels or the rear wall or the ceiling. Every surface in the Painted Chapel presented such an astonishing panoply of action and color that his eyes were drawn in too many directions at once. He tried looking at the floor, but even there the intricate pattern of spirals and squares mesmerized him. Finally he turned toward the Overseer—the only person in the whole chapel who wasn’t overwhelming. “This art is incredible,” he said.

  “It was created by a master painter of the Ancients.”

  Vanita nodded. “He was truly a master.”

  “Ana would have loved to see this.”

  As soon as Teo uttered the words, a sharp pang of grief stabbed him. Ana had always been captivated by beauty, especially anything sacred. Teo recalled how awestruck she had been when they first entered a temple of Deu. They found the place by accident after he rescued her from outsiders who had abducted her from Chiveis. Was it really by accident? Teo now believed Deu had led them to the temple so they could find the Sacred Writing together. The reminder that Ana was no longer with him ripped open the wounds in his heart. He winced, shaking his head. Why did she have to die? Why isn’t she at my side for this discovery too? My God, I miss her so much! Teo grunted and tried to push his memories of Ana away but was only partly successful. The pain had a fierce hold on him and refused to let go. He realized he would have to live with an aching, ever-present sadness for a long time.

  At the far end of the room, a door opened and a group of men and women entered the chapel. The Overseer led Teo and Vanita through an opening in an altar screen so they could approach the waiting Christiani. Most of them wore brown, so Teo assumed the lone figure in white must be the Papa. He was a short, wiry man, and much younger than Teo had pictured him to be. Although Teo knew the Papa would have to be in his midforties if he was a boy during Borja’s purge, he was nonetheless startled by the fit, energetic man who stood waiting near the altar.

  As Teo walked forward, the Papa looked straight at him and said, “What do you notice, Teofil of Chiveis?”

  Teo hesitated, unsure what he was being asked. “You mean—”

  “What captures your attention? There is much here to see. What do you notice out of all that confronts you?”

  Teo glanced around. His eyes settled on a triumphant figure high on the far wall. The man in the painting was fair-haired and naked, with only a cloth covering his thighs. His right arm was raised high, and the light of heaven glowed behind him.

  “That man is the focal point,” Teo said.

  The Papa smiled. “Correct. Who do you suppose he is?”

  “Because of his prominence, I would assume he’s the Promised King.”

  “Does anything else come to your attention?”

  “I could stand here forever trying to take it all in. There’s a man holding a human skin. There are people being dragged down to hell. Up there on the left I see people holding the cross of Iesus Christus. Is he in the scene anywhere?”

  For a long time the Papa was silent. He had dark, close-cropped hair with a smattering of gray at the temples. His nose was long and aquiline. The man exuded a kind of aristocratic air, though not in a haughty way. Teo felt drawn to his charismatic personality. But when the Papa finally spoke, his voice was troubled.

  “The Pierced One is in the scene,” he said. “He is the man you first mentioned, the focal point. That is Iesus Christus. Although you cannot see it from here, he has bloody wounds on his hands and feet. What do you make of that?”

  Teo frowned. “It reveals once again that Iesus Christus is central to the Christiani religion. At the same time it obscures the identity of the Promised King. Why isn’t he featured more prominently than his servant? The king’s absence is remarkable. Where is his throne? Where are the symbols of his power? Something isn’t right here.”

  “Indeed, it puzzles me too. We see the servant, but not his master.” The Papa arched his eyebrows and stared at Teo. “Let me ask you this. What do you know about the Promised King?”

  “Only what the Sacred Writing says. The ninth chapter of Isaias says the government will be on his shoulders and will have no end. He has many names. He will rule from David’s throne and uphold justice forever. The zeal of Deu—or Deus, I mean—the zeal of Deus will accomplish it. That’s not exactly how it goes, but I remember the text well enough. And there are many others. I forget which chapter exactly, but the book of Daniel says a king will come down from the clouds ‘like a son of man.’ Dominion and glory will be given to him, and all languages and people will serve him. His kingdom will never end.”

  “You know the scripture well,” the Papa remarked.

  “I spent several months doing nothing but translating it.”

  “Do you have any idea what it means?”

  Teo reflected for a moment. “These prophecies say the Promised King was given an eternal kingdom. If it’s eternal, it must mean his power will one day return to his followers.”

  “So you believe that power is now lost?”

  “Yes. Look around—evil holds sway. Our enemies have the power now.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because the Christiani are considered foolish and weak. Borja controls everything. But if we had power, things would be reversed. Instead of being weak, we’d be the triumphant ones.”

  “Is that what you wish?”

  “It is.”

  “Step close to me, Teofil of Chiveis.” Teo obliged, though everyone else in the room remained in their places. The Papa clasped his hands behind his back. “I would like to tell you a story. I will share with you my greatest joy, and then I will describe my greatest distress. But in the end my story will conclude on a hopeful note. Do you wish to hear it?”

  “Yes, Holy Father.” The Overseer had referred to the Papa this way, and Teo hoped it was proper etiquette for him to do so too.

  The Papa waved to his attendants, and they brought chairs for everyone. The stool they brought to the Papa was lower than any other seat. With his already-short stature, he seemed like a child waiting to hear a fairy tale at Teo’s feet. Yet it was the Papa who did the talking, and the story he recounted was no myth.

  “I was five years old when Nikolo Borja outlawed Christianism. Those were terrible times indeed. I don’t remember much about them—only partial images now remain in my mind. I saw killings and burnings and things no child should see.”

  A shadow descended upon the Papa’s face. He bowed his head until he had composed himself, then continued in a sober voice.

  “I was the only believer to live through those dark days. At that time I was being trained as a Keeper. That’s what we called the boys who were taught to copy manuscripts—Keepers. We learned the art of calligraphy so we could preserve the Holy Book. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been taught any theology yet. I only remember what the rituals looked like, not what they signified. We now believe the Washing expresses our desire for forgiveness from sin, and the Meal binds us to Iesus. I recall some things about him—his love, his service to the poor, his healings and miracles. Yet I know nothing of what happened after he perished. Somehow the king triumphed despite his servant’s death. The texts you just cited from the Old Testament promised this.”

  “And there are others,” Teo said. “The seventh chapter of Second Samuhel pre
dicts that a descendant of David will be raised up. He will have a throne before Deus forever.”

  “That’s right. Great power was promised to the heir of David. Evidently the king possessed this awesome power, whereas the servant did not.”

  “That’s the basic issue, isn’t it?” Teo could see the crux of the matter clearly now. “Weakness and victory are mutually exclusive. I’m a soldier, I understand that. If you’re weak, you lose. Be strong, and you win. It’s always like that. Iesus Christus—the servant, the Pierced One, whatever you want to call him—he was murdered in defeat. We mourn for him because he didn’t have enough divine power. But the Promised King . . . he triumphed! So the question is, how? That’s what we have to figure out. If we could obtain that same power, we could overcome our weaknesses too. We could triumph like the king.”

  The Papa nodded. “Yes, Teofil. We believe the New Testament will tell us the secret to everything. Then the king’s power will be ours, and Borja will have met a force he cannot withstand. We will defeat him with a rod of iron and break him into pieces like a potter’s vessel!”

  “And you’ve been working toward this goal since you were a boy?”

  “I vowed in my heart as a youth that I would restore the religion of Christianism. Today the Universal Communion in Roma is allowed to exist—against Borja’s wishes. As long as we stay quiet, we can carry out our rituals and maintain our buildings. We have some followers in the city, and outside of Roma there are monastic communities scattered around the countryside. There are also some underground believers in Likuria and Ulmbartia and even beyond that.”

  “Don’t forget the Forbidden Zone,” the Overseer reminded.

  “Thank you, Brother Ambrosius. Yes, there too. And in addition to all this, the Order of the Knights of the Cross has been reinstated, though their number is small. Only a few knights exist among the aristocracy in various places. There is a sizeable group at Marsay, but that city is distant, and I have not been able to establish contact with it. Therefore my ministry is focused on those Christiani whom I know. I send secret messages of encouragement to them, either by faithful couriers or by pigeons if the distance is too great. In this way I provide spiritual direction to my sheep. Much prayer do I expend on their behalf! I am their pastor, and they look to me for guidance. Deus strengthens me for this task each day. Indeed it is my greatest joy.”

  “You spoke of sorrow as well. What did you mean by that?” Teo hesitated to bring up an uncomfortable subject, but he was finally beginning to understand the Christiani religion and wanted to find out as much as possible.

  “My greatest sorrow is what we have already discussed. For forty years I have sought the New Testament of Deus but have been unable to find it. I can recall little of what it says. As a novice Keeper, I had begun to learn the techniques of handwriting and scribal copying, but I was not of age to have entered formal catechesis. Though I often heard the holy scriptures recited in the liturgy, my childish mind did not retain the most important things. That is why finding the second part of the Holy Book is my heart’s greatest desire. And I believe we will soon achieve it.”

  The sound of pebbles falling from a high catwalk disturbed the stillness in the chapel. Some scurrying creature had probably dislodged them, or perhaps they had simply come loose as the ancient building decayed.

  “This place is infested with rats,” the Overseer said. “It is a sign of the days in which we live.”

  Vanita spoke up for the first time. “Holy Father, we want to help you find the book. I believe Teofil is uniquely gifted for this kind of task. He is not only strong and brave, he is also an expert in ancient languages.” She glanced at Teo. “I’m sorry to say I didn’t perceive his worth at first, but I recognize it now. Do you think he can help you?”

  The Papa rose from his stool and gazed at the ceiling of the chapel. Finally, with a gleam in his eye, he turned his attention to Teo. “A week ago I had a strange dream. A man who looked much like you appeared to me. That man had three tongues in his mouth. I could see them moving when he spoke.”

  Teo arched his eyebrows. “Sounds like a hideous monster.”

  “No. I believe the tongues were symbols. How many languages do you know, Teofil of Chiveis?”

  “Well, I speak my native tongue, of course. And I can converse in Talyano, though not always with ease. But I get along.”

  “Any others?”

  “Yes. I can also translate a language the Chiveisi call the Fluid Tongue of the Ancients. We call it that because it’s more melodious than our own speech. Few among my people can read it. But I was a professor, and that language was my academic specialty.”

  The Overseer and the Papa exchanged glances, then the Papa gestured to one of his attendants. The woman disappeared and soon came back with an ironbound chest, which she set upon the altar. After removing a heavy key from within his robe, the Papa unlocked the chest and carried a cloth-wrapped object to Teo. He carefully unfolded the cloths. A slim leather volume was there.

  “Can you read this?” the Papa asked.

  Teo cradled the delicate book and opened to the first page. The handwriting was faded but legible. Across the top were scrawled the words, Le journal intime d’un disciple de Dieu vivant dans les jours sombres. Teo looked up at the Papa. “It says this is the personal diary of a follower of Deus living in gloomy days.”

  “That is what we thought. The book has come into my hands only recently. I have many monastic brothers scouring the earth for news of ancient texts. The Exterminati seek to thwart them, of course. Three good men lost their lives to bring us that journal. It is a miraculous work of the Lord God.”

  “And yet you haven’t been able to read it.”

  “Until now. The speech is unknown around here. But you can read it, can you not?”

  “Yes, I could provide a translation. Among my belongings at the port I have a lexicon. With its help I could decipher a book of this size within a day.”

  The Papa’s face lit up. “Excellent! I wish you to do that immediately, Teofil of Chiveis. I am certain this is why you have come to us. The diary will lead us to the New Testament.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  Taking the book from Teo, the Papa gently flipped to the last page. At the end of the diary’s entries, another hand had written a note in the Talyano speech. The Papa traced the words with his forefinger as he read: “These are the blessed thoughts of my friend Borregard, a noble knight and wandering brother. Together we endured much persecution. Together we evaded the killers of the evil society. Alas! Their poison has taken him to Deus. In a safe and secret place he has hidden the holy scriptures of our faith. Dwell upon his words as he died: ‘Whoever would find the heavenly book must recall the saying of the righteous Iesus: Erunt novissimi primi, et primi novissimi. Multi sunt enim vocati, pauci autem electi.’”

  Teo met the Papa’s eyes, waiting for the translation. The slender man holding the book looked straight at Teo and proclaimed, “The last shall be first and the first last. For many are called, but few are chosen.” A murmur of awe circulated around the Painted Chapel.

  “I don’t know if I’m chosen,” Teo said slowly, “but I can certainly translate that diary and see what it reveals. I’ll get my lexicon and come back to do the job.”

  “No. You have lingered in this place long enough. To stay longer would arouse suspicion that something important is going on here. Return to the port and blend into the masses. There you are just an anonymous man. No one will know your secret task, and that is our greatest advantage. In the meantime I will have a scribe make a copy of the diary. Tomorrow my brother Ambrosius will come to you with it. You will make a translation and give it to him when you are finished, then burn the copy lest it fall into evil hands.”

  “I will do it, Holy Father,” Teo said.

  Breakfast at the little inn by the sea was bread, cold sausage, and beer. Teo guessed the lunch menu wouldn’t be much different. Dinner would no doubt include beer to
o. The place offered simple fare for humble people, and that suited Teo just fine.

  At this early hour there wasn’t much movement along the docks. Teo saw only one ship preparing to leave port, a run-down barque whose men didn’t have the look of honest sailors. A few of them sat at a table across the barroom, cursing each other as they devoured their morning meal.

  Teo had awoken early and found he couldn’t get back to sleep, so he came downstairs for a bite. Perhaps it was just normal restlessness, but he suspected it had more to do with the secret diary he would soon be translating. Once the Overseer arrived, Teo would find a private place to work on the text. By sunset he should know where to find a copy of Deu’s mysterious New Testament. For now he amused himself by listening to the pirates’ idle chatter. Vanita was still sleeping upstairs. Teo decided he would take her some food rather than let her come down in the presence of such rough men.

  The barroom door banged open, and a stocky seafarer with a scruffy beard barged in. From the insignia on his greasy jacket, Teo could tell he was the pirates’ captain. The men jumped to their feet with guilty expressions.

  “Why are you slugs loafing here while we’re getting ready to leave?” the captain roared.

  The three men fumbled for excuses, but the captain wouldn’t let them speak. His vicious tongue-lashing whipped them into line. As they tripped over each other on their way out the door, the captain turned and bellied up to the bar. “Whiskey!” was his only demand, followed by a slap on the countertop.

  From the corner of his eye Teo studied the swarthy pirate. The man wore earrings in both ears, and one of his front teeth was made of gold. Teo smiled as he considered the captain’s penchant for finery. It seemed out of place for such a tough character.