Livingstone Saga, Book One: Birth

by Janell Rhiannon

  “Did he now? He did not approve of my selection?”

  “It is permitted to study script. He said I must become a scholar in my own studies,” Celestino explained. “But I wish you to keep teaching me Tristan and Isolde.”

  Iseo poured wine from the decanter on the table into a mazer. “I will take that as a compliment of my womanly ability to chose an entertaining story, since women are not worthy of much else,” she quipped.

  “My Maker is worthy of much praise.”

  His voice again, speaking the words my Maker, reached into her chest, squeezing her heart until it physically ached. The words to beg him to stop using that term refused to form in her mouth. When she felt the heat of Celestino’s inquisitive gaze, she could not glance up.

  “My Iseo,” Celestino corrected himself. Despite her attempts, encouraging him to call her by her given name, he continued to use the possessive greeting.

  “How is your meal?” she asked. The back of her parched throat screamed for soothing wine.

  “It is very good. I had much hunger.”

  “Bueno.”

  “I have offended my Iseo?” Celestino asked, puzzled by her refusal to look at him.

  “No, Celestino. You have not offended me at all.” She gathered the strength to finally glance up and meet his stare. “I am grateful you see me as more than just a lowly woman.”

  “May I ask a question? I mean not to offend.”

  “Por favor, ask.”

  “May we have the water, instead of wine?”

  Iseo laughed. “Surely, you possess a jester inside that stoic exterior. Sí, I will fetch water for us. Only if you finish the wine first.”

  Celestino lifted the mazer to his lips, stopped midway, and set it down to wipe his mouth with his napkin. He again lifted the mazer, nodded to Iseo, and drank the remaining wine in a large gulp. He made no face and pushed the mazer back towards her. This time she was certain his lips curved in an awkward smile.

  *

  “You are ready to continue?”

  “Sí, Father.” Celestino took his seat at the table.

  Father Tomas opened the great book. “We are still in the book of Genesis.”

  14. And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heauen, to diuide the day from the night: and let them be

  for signes and for seasons, and for dayes and yeeres.

  15. And let them be for lights in the firmament of the heauen, to giue light vpon the earth: and so it was.

  “God speaks and it becomes so. By words.” Celestino lent voice of his understanding.

  “Sí. That is His Holy Power alone,” Father Tomas agreed, before continuing to read.

  16. And God made two great lights: the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night: he made the stares also.

  17. And God set them in the firmament of the heauen, to giue light vpon the earth:

  18. And to rule ouer the day, and ouer the night, and to diuide the light from the darknesse: and God saw that it was good.

  19. And the euening and the morning were the fourth day.

  “This is the sun and—”

  “Moon. The stars are the small flames in the heaven,” Celestino finished.

  “Sí.”

  “I prefer, the moon and the stars.”

  “Por que? Why is that?” Father Tomas was curious about Celestino’s declaration. Most humans preferred the daylight...then again, Celestino was not truly a human.

  “This light reaches for me. The way I feel my Maker reach for me.”

  “Interesante. I have never heard the power of the moon spoken of in such a manner.”

  “Is it wrong to prefer the moon and stars?”

  “It is not a matter of being right or wrong. We may all choose to prefer different things about God’s creation.” Father Tomas did not tell Celestino that it was his connection to his Maker that was cause for his concern. He knew full well the connection between Makers and their stony inspirations. He knew all too well. The priest stifled the warning messages inundating his mind about the dangerous ground of having a woman wield the power to pull the beast.

  A small bell on a rope rang, disturbing the quiet space of their conversation.

  “Ah. That is all for today. It seems I must make my way back to the main quarters. Apparently, my presence is required. I trust you can find your way to your chambers?”

  “Sí, Father.”

  “Bueno. Perhaps Iseo will have time to teach you more about books.”

  With that parting, Celestino returned to his personal quarters. Iseo was not there, but the book about Tristan and Isolde was on the table under the window. He picked it up, studying the intricate artwork framing each page, running his finger across the raised gold leaf and heavy artwork.

  *

  Father Tomas knocked on the Monsignor’s door.

  “Enter.” The Monsignor’s familiar voice sounded through the door.

  Father Tomas had rarely been summoned to the Monsignor’s private chambers, and he was surprised to discover they would not be conversing alone. Sitting in a chair next to the fire was a young cleric, whom Father Tomas did not recognize. The cleric rose to greet him when he entered.

  “Allow me to introduce our newest ecclesiastical member. Father Tomas, may I present Father Avriel.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Father.” The young priest bowed his head slightly, as a sign of deference to the older priest.

  “Gracías, Brother. I am sure you will find service at Compostela invigorating.”

  “Indeed. I could not have phrased that better, Father Tomas. It seems you will be serving our young Father as his,” the Monsignor paused before he said, “mentor.”

  “Mentor?” Father Tomas questioned more sharply than he intended, revealing more of his true feelings than he wanted.

  “Sí. Mentor in all aspects of your duties.”

  “All...aspects?”

  “All. Unless you are deaf, or your ears full of wax, I will not repeat myself.”

  “But, surely...the parts of my...I have another I am training—”

  “Father Avriel was sent here by recommendation of His Holiness the Pope. See that he is trained as commanded.”

  The admonishment forced Father Tomas into a corner from which he could formulate no argument providing escape. If the Pope had sent Father Avriel to study under him, then it must be so. That the Monsignor took no exception concerning his training of Celestino distressed him. He had never trained someone in the art of consecrating a gargoyle.

  “I will do my best, Your Excellency.”

  The Monsignor looked up, his stare boring harshly into his subordinate’s eyes. “Sí, ensure that you do. And that no harm comes to him.”

  “As you will.”

  “You are both dismissed. I have my own duties to complete before the day wanes to eve.” Both priests made their departure into the hall. Father Avriel obviously intrigued by the conversation, asked, “Do you know where I will be sleeping? And what the Monsignor meant by no harm? How am I in harm’s way?”

  “Brother, there is much you need to learn and quickly. I do not think you fully prepared for the mysteries of God you are about to encounter. As for your sleeping quarters, follow me. You will most likely be placed in the room recently vacated by Father Juan.”

  “Does Father Juan travel?”

  “To heaven.”

  “I am to be in a dead man’s room?” Father Avriel asked, sounding vaguely horrified.

  “Father, we are priests. Not immortals.”

  Chapter 6

  The Brotherhood Grows

  Several moments passed between Father Avriel and Father Tomas without either of them speaking. The newly arrived priest shifted in his chair.

  “Perhaps you can provide a tour of the grounds?” Father Avriel offered to break the awkward silence.

  “Shh, let me think.”

  Father Avriel shifted again, putting his finger inside th
e neckline of his robe and scratched his collarbone. “Father, if I might suggest—”

  “No! No, suggestions. How does one begin such a conversation?” Father Tomas spoke into the room, not so much to the young priest, as to himself. “What could be keeping Iseo, I wonder?”

  “Who is Iseo, Brother?”

  “Someone with whom you and I shall be working closely…that and…I wonder what is keeping her?” Father Tomas rubbed his forehead. “I trust your quarters are suitable? I am afraid they will be quite simple compared to anything you may have had in Rome.”

  Father Avriel sighed. “I expected nothing more, or less. The quarters are quite satisfactory.”

  “You sound sincere. A humble man, I would not have expected that, you being from such a privileged station.”

  The door opened and Iseo entered, carrying a tray with two goblets and a silver decanter. “My sincerest apologies to have kept you both waiting. I was…preoccupied.” She quickly set the tray on the small table and poured them each a full measure. “Iseo, I would like to introduce Father Avriel. He is newly arrived today.”

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Father.”

  “And I, yours,” he said. “Tell me, are you the only female here?”

  Iseo smiled politely. “Sí, Father.”

  “Sit, my dear. Join us,” Father Tomas interrupted the introduction.

  “But, I was headed back to my…workshop,” Iseo protested.

  “Workshop?” Father Avriel asked. “What artistry do you undertake? Pottery? Do not tell me you are a blacksmith?” he teased, laughing at his own jest.

  Iseo’s eyes widened and they begged Father Tomas to dismiss her quickly.

  “I understand your haste, but I would like you to hear what I have to say to Father Avriel.”

  Iseo looked uneasily between the two men, becoming aware that a great deal of tension hung in the air. She exhaled a bit too loudly.

  “It involves Celestino,” Father Tomas said flatly.

  With that pronouncement, Iseo sat without another word.

  “Who is Celestino?” asked Father Avriel.

  “Ah, that is the question. How do I answer you? Indeed, how do I answer you,” he took a drink from his cup. “I do not know where to begin.”

  “Excuse me, Father, is this appropriate? Is it allowed?” Iseo asked, her voice shaking.

  “It was not my choice. It was a directive.”

  “Surely, there is a mistake—”

  “His Holiness makes no mistakes. He chooses all of us. It is his sacred duty. God chooses your kind by granting the gift, and the Holy Father chooses us for ours.”

  “What are you talking about, Brother?” the young priest asked, as he shifted again.

  “Exorcism,” Father Tomas decided to start with that piece of truth.

  Father Avriel looked at his mentor in disbelief, rubbing his cleanly shaved chin. “I am to be trained as an exorcist?” The Monsignor’s caution rang in his ears. “Is that not considered...dangerous?”

  “Sí. It is,” Father Tomas replied, “but it is a necessary duty we must carry out for the people. They have only us to save them from being pawns in the battle between Heaven and Hell.”

  “I know…very little of this rite.”

  “That is why His Holiness chose me as your mentor. I do.” He eyed the young priest. “You are committed to the Lord, are you not?”

  “Certainly. What a question!”

  “I refer to any outside claims on your person. There is no arrangement waiting in secret to claim you from the church? Perhaps a woman?” Father Tomas questioned his new Brother.

  “Nothing keeps me from fulfilling my obligations to God,” Father Avriel assured.

  Father Tomas surmised that the younger priest told the truth by his annoyed countenance. No one chose to be an exorcist out of sheer joy to serve God. It was more akin to the challenges of mythological heroes who answered the call to begin unbelievable quests and endured hardships where death was always a possibility, if not a certainty. The fact that demons and the Fallen worked tirelessly to ensnare human souls to spite God was a fact kept well hidden from the hysterical masses. Such truths would only overwhelm them, perhaps lending more weight to superstitions and a turning away from God. The potential reaction of the uneducated populous mandated the church to operate with caution.

  “Have you ever witnessed a person possessed?” Father Tomas asked.

  “Sí.”

  “What do you know of demons and the Fallen?”

  “I believe that no matter my response, it will not be enough in your eyes,” Father Avriel replied.

  The elder priest considered the statement before answering. “Truly spoken. Iseo?” asked Father Tomas.

  Iseo had sat without speaking a single word during their entire exchange. The thought of exposing Celestino terrified her. He was her creation, and her instinct urged her to protect him. Secrecy seemed the only security he could truly have in a world where demons and evil angels sought to destroy him for his God inspired duty.

  “Iseo?” Father Tomas repeated.

  “Sí, Father?”

  “Find Celestino. Inform him of the...changes in his training. Prepare him to meet Father Avriel.”

  “Sí, Father.” Iseo practically ran from the room.

  “Who is Celestino?” Father Avriel asked.

  “Our best defense against the dark side.”

 

  Chapter 7

  Of Men and Angels

  Celestino sat in the chair under the high privacy window, listening to the outside sounds drifting into his chamber. The lamenting sound of some animal or human intrigued him. He had no image of what could possibly make such a mournful song. The tingle in the center of his chest filled him with the now familiar knowing. He stood up to answer the door, opening it before the knock even came.

  Iseo’s eyes flew open in surprise. “Ah! You startled me.”

  “Lo siento, my Iseo.”

  “May I…may I enter?”

  He opened the door wider, signally her welcome.

  “I am not yet accustomed to your anticipation of my whereabouts,” Iseo said.

  “My livingstone feels many things, including when my Maker approaches,” he explained.

  She blushed warmly because his ability to feel her presence embarrassed her. In some small way it was an intrusion on her privacy to know that someone sensed her comings and goings. However, that it was Celestino who felt her so keenly made the blush deepen into her heart. At this moment, the combination of experiencing his sense of her and his addressing her as my Maker caused the blush to push past her heart, sending a tiny tremor quaking through her bones.

  “Are you well, my Iseo?”

  She shook off the heat and entered the room. “Sí. I am fine.” The words sounded harsher than she intended. How do I explain any of this to him? She brushed his arm with hers as she entered. The warmth of his skin surprised her. She kept expecting him to be cold, or rough like the livingstone. But he was warm, like a man of flesh and sangre. She closed her eyes against the memory of him as he stepped off the carving dais cloaked in nothing. Such impure thoughts will surely send me to Hell.

  “I am well, Celestino. It is kind of you to inquire after me,” she remarked. Such common words for such a complex situation, she thought. She had not realized how protective she felt towards Celestino, until she was asked to reveal him. As long as he remained hers; her creation, her responsibility, her secret joy…she embraced all this with her entire being. Now, this Father Avriel—a stranger, who neither she nor Father Tomas knew anything about, sent from the Pope himself—unsettled her. She wondered what part of his training she might have to share with this new priest. I am jealous. She realized the sin immediately. I will have to confess this…or not. Perhaps, she thought, I can live with this particular stain on my soul a bit longer. No one has gone to Hell because of a small stain, she justified. She worried more of the egregious sins, the ones lurk
ing in the recesses of her mind, the sins she refused to lend voice to just yet.

  “My Iseo is thinking of other things?” Celestino asked, but it was more a statement of his observation.

  She smiled. “Very little escapes your watchful eye. True, I am preoccupied with my own thoughts.”

  “What vexes my Iseo?”

  “Vexed? What cause do you have to think me vexed?”

  “Your face gives away your concern,” he said. He wrinkled his forehead mimicking hers.

  Iseo laughed. “I pray I do not look so wounded!”

  The corners of Celestino’s mouth curled up into an almost smile, which made Iseo laugh harder. She laughed until tears filled the corners of her eyes. “I did not know I needed to laugh until I did. Gracías,” she said, still trying to catch her breath. He is God’s work, not my own. I must allow God’s will to direct his education and training, not my own selfish desires. She felt the initial pangs of jealousy dissipate as her mind firmed the truth of the situation. Iseo sat on the edge of the small bed and noticed its undisturbed state. “Do you sleep in the bed?”

  “This is what preoccupied your thoughts? My bed?” A sense of uncertainty Celestino could not identify made him stand up straighter. He did not want to tell her he that he had crept like a shadow along the outer wall to find her room and had watched her sleep. Nor did he wish her to know that he had transformed into a gargoyle in the dark corner of her chamber chasing elusive sleep.

  “What did you ask?” Iseo questioned. A seductive thought tucked not so neatly in the recesses of her mind strayed to consciousness. Before Iseo could stop it, her mind flashed the image of his beautiful face hovering above hers as they lay...

  “My bed vexes you?” Celestino asked again.

  “No. I only noticed it appears unslept in.” To her ears the words rang authentic. She closed her eyes against the image her mind continued conjuring. “I am simply concerned for you. That you are growing and resting adequately. Not that you will actually grow larger, but that you are growing inside. Growing stronger.” Why am I rambling! For the moment, her nervousness irritated her more than her impure thoughts.

  “You need not worry,” he assured her. When Iseo continued to sit without speaking, Celestino said, “You have yet to speak of your purpose. Or your vexing thoughts.”

  “Lo siento. Por favor. Sit.” Iseo indicated the small table where they often took their meals together. “I must tell you of changes to your training.”