Tears of a Heart

by Chase Blackwood

  “There is normally a secret ballot that is cast by all the monks who have spent more than a month at the monastery. The votes are collected over the course of the day, tallied, and by the end of the day there is an announcement. In most cases the announcement is followed by a speech from the new abbot.” Odilo rubbed his chin thoughtfully a smile resting subtly upon his lips, “and if I’m not mistaken they’re working out the finally tally now,” he said pointing to James in the corner with the younger monk, Luke.

  “What happens if there’s a tie?” Aeden asked curiously.

  “As far as I know that almost never happens,” Odilo said looking toward Adel.

  “I’ve never heard of it happening, but I’m sure it has. Normally there is a senior monk that seems most suited to the job and most people simply vote for him,” Adel said expertly.

  A hush fell upon the table and soon Aeden saw why. James stood facing them with his hands out in a placating gesture. His face carried the subtle expression of confused authority.

  “Let us begin with a prayer for divine guidance from our lord Salvare,” he began.

  There were the sounds of shuffling feet, robes moving, and benches scraping across the ground as the monks stood. Then the prayer began.

  “Salvare, lord above all others we ask for your strength,

  not to lend us power for unholy deeds, or to disobey,

  but to better follow your will, to understand your desire

  so that we can prostrate ourselves before your greatness.”

  The monks then took their seats once more. James remained standing watching over them. His eyes paused on Aeden for a long moment before he began.

  “A secret ballot was cast, and you, my brothers, have voted for whom you may have felt was best to lead, but…” James paused as he searched for the right words, pious, forgiving, and condescending, “recent events may have clouded your judgment and hidden Salvare’s message from your hearts.”

  No one spoke, but there were quite a few displeased looks as monks turned to look briefly at each other.

  “The lord always watches over us, protects us, and at times challenges us to atone for our weaknesses, our mistakes, our impure thoughts. Today he poses another challenge, one this monastery hasn’t seen in over a hundred years,” James looked about the table before finishing his thought, “A contested vote.”

  A faint murmuring swept across the room like ashes scattered by the wind. The murmuring died down, allowing James to continue.

  “It appears Salvare has sought to test us in a trying time,” he looked down at a small wooden icon he held in his hands. “The two votes are for myself,” he took in a breath as if to control his emotions, “and the other for a very young brother from another monastery. Aeden of the Red City.”

  Chapter 35

  “Leadership is a quality best reserved for those who don’t desire it.” Saying of Sawol

  The air grew still as if the breath of Vintas had exhaled a long, frosty breath. The stillness shattered and the monks broke into questioning conversation. A tied vote between an obvious choice and a novice from another monastery was too much for most to stay silent.

  Aeden briefly caught the angry glare of Bosco, the emotionless stare of Neri, and the broad smile of Adel.

  “Abbot Aeden,” Adel whispered, still smiling.

  “Actually he’s still a novice and shouldn’t have been considered for the vote at all,” Odilo said without a trace of malice.

  Part of Aeden felt proud, as if his father were watching him and finally approving of his leadership qualities. Another part of him was terrified. He didn’t want to be stuck in one location for the rest of his life. The thought of being a monk and taking the vows were more than he wished to think of. An image of the archduchess leapt to mind. Her dark hair splayed across a pillow as she smiled; it was an image he had dreamed of many times. The image was becoming mixed with reality. Aeden wasn’t willing to give up on certain dreams just yet.

  “I can’t be abbot,” Aeden said to Odilo.

  “I know, I don’t think you will be either, but a split vote normally has to be decided. It’s possible that a monastic priest will have to decide.”

  “A what?” Aeden said, the words sounding familiar as if he had seen them before.

  Adel jumped in pleased to offer what he knew, “they are part of the Church hierarchy. The rankings are novice to monk, to abbot, to monastic priest, to deacon, to archdeacon, then finally to high priest.” He glanced at Odilo briefly.

  “There are positions that are held with responsibility and authority that weren’t mentioned, like the tithe counter, cellarer, kitchener, sacrist, and the almoner for example,” Odilo piped in.

  “And the carrier,” Adel stated.

  “Carrier?” Aeden was overwhelmed with how much he didn’t yet know about the Church.

  He was familiar with the positions within the monastery. He knew at the Red City Monastery that the abbot was Filbert, the sacrist was Blaise, Odilo was the almoner, and Monahan was the tithe counter. He’d talked of deacons and high priests, but he still felt remarkably ignorant at the lack of depth of his knowledge.

  “The carrier is the man in charge of the pigeons, taking care of all the messages in and out of the monastery,” Adel clarified.

  “Actually the carrier is a revolving duty and isn’t a titled position with any authority like the others,” Odilo corrected.

  Adel nodded and twiddled his fingers, a habit Aeden had noticed him undertake whenever he was corrected.

  There was a lull in the conversation. Aeden’s mind spun as he struggled with his ever changing reality. There was a reason he didn’t want to be a leader when he was younger, it was too much responsibility. He always felt there had to be someone smarter, stronger, and better suited to leadership than himself. Why had he been chosen?

  “Silence!” James shouted from the other side of the room.

  The conversations died down as the monks turned to look at the older monk.

  “Clearly we will have to resolve this as soon as possible. I suggest that for now I will take the position of abbot in everything but name and tomorrow we will send word to the monastic priest of Nailsea for an audience to settle the matter.” James looked about the group.

  Many of the monks were nodding their heads in agreement. Those who weren’t nodding their heads turned to look at Aeden. It was then that he realized they expected some sort of response. He had been half voted in as the new abbot after all.

  “I’m in agreement with Brother James. Until such time that we can get this matter resolved I suggest that we carry on with our holy work as was done under Abbot Gilbert, may Salvare watch over him.”

  Aeden’s voice echoed more loudly than he intended and faded into silence. Odilo wore a strange expression half between pride and amusement. Adel was openly smiling.

  “That’s why you were chosen,” Adel whispered.

  Chapter 36

  “The face is a mask meant to convey polite indifference.” Caliph of Sha’ril

  It was two days before they received a response from the monastic priest of Nailsea. It wasn’t the response that either Aeden or James had been hoping for. Instead of making a decision and swiftly ending the matter, the priest referred them to the Deacon of Treton. In a way it was almost perfect, for that was where the pilgrimage was supposed to visit next. But it did delay the uncertainty of the future.

  It was Adel’s theory that the priest of Nailsea knew this and simply decided to wash his hands of the matter and send it up the holy chain of authority. Whatever the reason, the monks were to travel the following morning, provided the scribes had finished their copying of the Book of Divinus.

  In an effort to speed up their efforts, Aeden told them that they would leave with the book whether they were finished or not. This elicited some quiet grumblings and a few severe looks, but it also set a fire to their movements.

  The next morning had come quickly. As they all had so few possessions
getting ready for travel was easy. A warm meal was provided after Morning Prayer. The monks were given sacks of dried foods from the kitchener as they left the refectory.

  The Book of Divinus had been hastily copied the night prior, only finishing before Morning Prayer. Bosco was once again in possession of the holy book, a look of self-righteousness transfixed to his thin features.

  The Red City group was together again, standing at the steps of the monastery’s western entrance. The notable absence was Thomas. His pale face, moral rectitude, cheese-loving person had been gifted to god and would no longer interject his words of knowledge, his awkward jokes, and his pious beliefs upon the group. He left a palpable gap that was only partially filled by the presence of James and a younger monk named Luke.

  The sun was struggling to peer through an iron-gray sheet of clouds that blanketed the sky, creating a low ceiling. The air was cool to the point of being chilly. The grasses were damp with the morning dew, looking heavy and tired in the soft gray light. Standing in sheer contrast were blackened parcels of land lingering as burnt reminders of the imperial raid from days earlier.

  The band of seven monks wound their way down the twisting path toward the walled city of Nailsea. The stone road to the north passed through the heart of the city, predating the city by a few hundred years.

  They passed through an arched entryway now more heavily defended by Nailsean Guards. Stone undercrofts topped by wooden living spaces hugged the street. The monks walked past the drab section of the city and cut right once they made it upon the wide and worn stone road.

  The smells and sounds of humanity clung to the air like a leech upon fresh skin. Yet even the smells of pastries and baked goods were not enough to lift Adel from his look of mourning, or to permeate the determined gait of the traveling monks.

  They passed through the city quickly and found themselves on a quiet stretch of road. Peasants were already working the fields in their final efforts to glean something from the land before the cold of Vintas forced them inside their homes. The sound of stakes being driven into the earth echoed mutedly across the fields as field masters used the end of Hearvest to delineate farming plots for the following year.

  Had Thomas been with them Aeden would have asked him questions about the whole process. Instead they walked without word. James walked ahead with the not-so-subtle air of a man who wished to be seen as in charge. Luke kept up with his hellish pace. Bosco brought up the rear, already looking miserable as if the chill in the air and the rapid march were purposely there to annoy him. Everything was almost normal.

  It had taken them nearly five days to work their way to the Old City of Treton. They had stopped at a monastic cell in the woods for one of the nights, enjoying the warmth of a fire and the comfort of a good meal. The monks there were reserved, lean, and rigid. Nonetheless, it had been better than sleeping in the forest or a verder’s hut for that matter.

  The second day saw them crossing the Dath River, a wide and slow moving body of water that separated Bodig from Gemynd. A small town near the river provided some food and shelter. It rested in the shadow of a large church run windmill. Gemynd’s grain was all ground by the millstones of Church owned mills.

  The ragged populace offered gifts and money in exchange for prayers and judgments, but Odilo declined much to the protests of the populace.

  On the third night they were able to find shelter with a farmer and his family. He let them warm themselves by the fire as the days were turning cooler and the nights even colder. The leaves had fallen off most of the trees and lay dead and rotting upon the stone road.

  The fourth day they happened upon another monastic cell. Unlike the cell in Bodig, this one was flush with precious metals, beautiful sculptures, and fat monks. It was a shock for them but nice to have a warm meal and a straw mattress to lie upon for the night. They prayed twice as often, ate three times as much, and worked half as much as they did in Nailsea all in the span of half a day and a night.

  It was upon the fifth morning that they started once more upon the road north, then branching east on a well-worn path to the city of Treton. They left behind the comfort of the stone road and walked in solitude for several hours before the forest gave way to some open fields.

  As they neared the old city Aeden’s stomach felt watery and weak. He caught sight of the ruins of the fallen city. They were nothing more than a few weathered pieces of stone that had been too large to be used in the construction of the rebuilt Treton after the historic fall of the city. The sight provided little distraction as they branched off the main road and took a smaller road to the fortified complex of the Deacon of Treton.

  He wasn’t sure exactly why he felt nervous. Perhaps it was the fear that he’d be chosen as the new abbot despite Odilo’s reassurances to the contrary. Perhaps it was the stories he had heard of the power of the deacons of the Church. They had the authority to judge and sentence one to death if they deemed it Salvare’s will. But more likely it was the pervasive fear that imperial soldiers would swoop on them out of the woods, mounted on their giant war horses, swinging their bloody blades, killing everyone he now knew and held dear.

  Despite his fears the final leg of their journey passed without incident.

  Ahead of them stood the walled compound of the deacon. Instead of a white-walled monastery, open and inviting, there stood a squat gray structure that was more reminiscent of a military garrison. Two slovenly guards stood at the gates of the compound. Their demeanor was lazy yet alert.

  A red pennant hung flaccid in the windless afternoon. The image of an oak tree and a sword could just barely be made out.

  “We have business with the deacon,” James spoke out, ensuring he was cast in the light of leadership.

  The guards took note of their gray robes and closely cropped hair and without word waved them through.

  They passed wooden stables on the right. A few bored stable hands sat chewing straw upon bales of sodden hay. The neighing of large horses within the stables lent a gentle note to the air. To their left was a round stone building with two chimneys spewing smoke. Those would be the kitchens. A few strong men in armor stood outside as if waiting for something to occur. They had the vigilant look of eagles tracking their prey.

  Directly ahead was the wide, low stone building of the deacon. A narrow stairway led to a single door framed by two narrow glassless windows. The building felt as old as the earth and as solid as a boulder.

  Where were the poor, the huddled masses of the weak and sick? Wasn’t the Church supposed to be a beacon of warmth, light, and openness? A place to help those in need? Aeden had been expecting mothers’ holding their babies hopeful of blessings or farmers with simple disputes seeking judgments, not the cold functionality of military-style buildings. Not the presence of strong men easily capable of violence.

  Strangely, his group of shaven headed monks seemed out of place. Aeden felt he would have fit in better in his leather armor with his sword strapped obviously and proudly upon his back.

  Letting go of his thoughts he followed the other apprehensive monks up the narrow stairway to the tight landing before a stout wooden door. Before any of them had a chance to knock, the door swung open on heavy hinges.

  “Excuse me,” a tall man in armor said as he stepped to the side allowing the monks passage.

  The man was trailed by a younger man carrying the items of the first. A squire of sorts Aeden thought. As soon as the monks entered the cool entryway the tall man and his younger companion swept out of the room and closed the wooden door behind them, sealing them in the tomb-like entryway.

  “Welcome brother monks, I’ve been expecting you,” a dark haired man in his thirties said with open arms and a straight face as he approached them.

  “Deacon,” James said nodding his head.

  The man laughed a short barking laugh before he spoke.

  “I’m the subdeacon, Deacon Edwin is currently occupied. But I am in his full confidence and more than willing to
confer any judgments in his stead,” he said as he led them into another room that was lined with carpets. A roaring fire burned heartily along the far wall in a squat fireplace.

  “I understand there is some dispute as to who will be abbot,” the subdeacon said as he took a seat on a comfortable chair. “But before we delve into that business, please tell me of news from Nailsea.” His dark, deep set eyes held the subtle hint of curiosity and expectation.

  Aeden glanced about and noticed that there were no other chairs in the room, nor had the dark-haired man offered them food, drink, or somewhere to rest their travel burdened legs.

  None spoke for a moment, leaving the subdeacon’s words to fade into silence as his hooded expression turned into a frown. Aeden felt compelled to speak.

  “There was an attack on the marketplace,” Aeden said his voice low yet strong, “me and my brother monks were busy within the stalls or moving supplies from the monastery storehouses. A fire broke out on one side of the market followed by another on the other side, a distraction allowing the pre-invasion party to kill the Nailsean guards, before the main body swept through the town upon horseback, cutting down men, women, and children, including seven monks.”

  The subdeacon regarded Aeden thoughtfully for a moment, staring intently upon him. “Was there anything else?” he inquired.

  Before anyone else had a chance to speak Aeden blurted out, “I caught sight of one of the raiding party. I saw his eyes; they were as green as grass and his hair through the gap in his helmet, red like flame.”

  The subdeacon then looked to the other monks present as if his gaze alone could decipher the truth, before settling upon Aeden once more. The subdeacon briefly raised an eyebrow as if in thought before allowing his face to become passive again.

  “Interesting that you were able to get so close and survive,” the subdeacon said rhetorically.

  Aeden was beginning to realize that the subdeacon was a clever man. Despite the nature of his statement Odilo responded.