I am ready, he thought, his feet slipping slightly with each step on the recently rain-muddied road. The hem of his ecclesiastical robe became wetter and more soiled, until finally he felt the uncomfortable cold, drenched wool slapping against his ankles and shins. He noticed Father Tomas walked without even the slightest indication of discomfort. In fact, he smiled and nodded to every villager they passed.
Long blades of field grasses and vegetation swayed with the wind. The earth’s breath inhaling and exhaling misty trails through the verge solidified in Celestino’s heart that the world lived. Sweet smells and the musk of dirt filled his nostrils. He could not help but smile. This is the world God created.
A farmer pulling a cart the width of the narrow road pushed Father Tomas and Celestino into a soggy dirt gutter, which was filled with recent rainwater.
“Sorry Fathers!” the farmer shouted over his shoulder.
Entonces, these are the humans whom God created in His image. The wretches whose souls are as precious as the flames of Heaven. The creatures God protects with His own sangre... and the assistance of Archangels and my kind.
Every step beyond the sacred grounds of Compostela felt unfamiliar, not only in sight and sound, but also in smell and spirit. He realized the further he and Father Tomas traveled from the center of the cathedral, the further away from God they were. He sniffed the air, noticing that it tasted different on his tongue.
By mid morning, they came upon the house of a man called Andres, whose wife sought assistance on his behalf. Celestino noted the clumps of wild lavender growing around the little cottage. The spicy scent barely masked the stench of evil clinging tenaciously to the humble dwelling.
A round, worn woman met them at the door. “Bless you, Fathers...for coming,” she said, as she kissed their hands. Celestino’s gaze lingered briefly on her swollen eyes and pale skin. “What is your holy name woman?”
“My holy name?” she questioned. “I am not sure I understand, Father.”
“The name bestowed upon you at baptism,” Celestino clarified.
“Madia.”
“You were baptized properly? By a priest in the holy waters of a church font?” Celestino pressed the issue further.
“And I have two proper godmothers and a godfather to prove it. Though my godfather passed five winters ago, God rest his soul.” Madia crossed herself.
Father Tomas watched as Celestino smelled the air, like a wolf catching the pale scent of his prey. Celestino eyed the woman, not so much with doubt, but with pity. “And your husband? He is the afflicted, is he not?”
“Sí. His torment never ceases, Father,” she answered.
“And was he baptized as a child?”
Madia looked down at the worn floor boards, wringing her hands into her apron.
“I require only your confirmation of what I suspect already.”
“His mother died with him still inside her, the midwife cut him out. She is the one who baptized him,” Madia confessed. “It was done proper, I assure you. Midwives take such matters as a grave and serious duty.”
“And your husband’s father felt no urgency to take the babe to a priest?”
“I tell you, all was done proper,” she said, defending her father-in-law’s decision.
“And yet your husband lies abed, tormented by demons...as you say, his torment never ceases.”
Madia’s fatigue and worry overwhelmed her body and she sank to her knees. She began to weep, as the icy finger of fear punctured her gut, tugging and twisting her insides. “Are you saying that Andres’ soul is unclean?”
“I am saying the Evil One seeks the weakest link in a human’s sacramental shield. Is he faithful?”
“Father! Such a question!”
Celestino was confused by the woman’s dismay. He looked to Father Tomas for guidance.
“He inquires concerning your husband’s spiritual faithfulness,” Father Tomas clarified for the distraught wife.
“I thought...your reference hinted at adultery. I could not bear it if you told me such a vile thing. After all I have done to...no mind...you were not asking me...he worshipped as often as the next man.”
“Did the Light manifest in his life? Did you feel God work through him?”
Madia looked to Father Tomas this time.
“He means was your husband a godly man?”
Celestino eyed his mentor. “That is what I asked.”
“Speak to her as if...she is not trained so...thoroughly.”
“Is that what you mean, Father? Was he a godly man?” Madia asked Celestino.
“Sí, that is my inquiry.”
“He prayed every day. He was kind to me, the children. He would never have hurt a living soul. He paid his tithes as best he could.”
“Father,” Celestino said, “I wish a word with you. Alone. Outside.”
The two priests walked out under the clear blue sky. The warmth of late Fall released the purple spice of the lavender blossoms into the air. When Celestino felt certain they were out of earshot of any demonic spirit dwelling inside the house, he spoke.
“I believe the man’s soul is in mortal danger.”
“As are all souls caught in the labyrinth of possession.”
“It is more. I smell death within. The decay of his soul has already begun.”
“Souls do not decay, Celestino.”
“I have no other words, than this. I feel it ties to his baptism.”
“The church wholly supports the midwife’s right to baptize an infant under duress. How you can question the practice? It is necessary.”
“Perhaps,” Celestino puzzled over the situation, “something foul is at work.” His job was not only to save human souls from the grip of demons and the Fallen, but to defeat them and their allies as the enemies they were. They returned to Madia, who was waiting anxiously inside. “Take us to your husband.” Celestino said.
The room was dark and small. An oiled animal skin stretched over the window opening, denying even the slimmest rays of light to penetrate the shadows of the chamber. Celestino smelled Hell’s putrid stench oozing through the man’s bruised and blotchy skin.
Father Tomas approached Andres with experienced caution. Madia had refused to secure him to the bed, out of her sense of duty as a wife, making the approach more dangerous. He held his hand over Andres’s head before placing his palm on his forehead. The man writhed and hissed at the holy touch. Andres drew labored, irregular breaths. His eyes rolled around in their sockets like pebbles in an empty cup.
“This is where we begin, Celestino,” Father Tomas said quietly. Father Tomas opened a leather pouch from his waist and pulled four pieces of cord. He handed two of them to Celestino. “Go around to the other side.” Celestino did as directed. “Gently, bind each limb beginning with his wrists.” Once Andres was secured to the wooden posts of the bed, Father Tomas stepped back and motioned for Celestino to come to him. “What do you sense, Celestino?”
“This man’s soul is in grave jeopardy. It is already halfway to Hell.”
“Entonces, we must work to pull him back to our world and God.”
Celestino nodded affirmation.
“Observe closely. Demons are wily creatures. They will seek to deceive us into false security. When threatened with returning to Hell, they themselves, creatures of the burning sulfur, will shriek for mercy and beg to be left alone. Do not be moved by their pleas. They only look for another weak soul to inhabit.”
“I have none, Father,” Celestino reminded.
“You have something equally valuable to the Prince of Darkness. Do not listen to promises made by the unclean spirit spoken for your benefit.” Father Tomas’s grip on Celestino’s forearm tightened. “You must promise.”
“I promise, Father.”
“You have fasted and prepared?”
“I have. Do not fear for me. I am certain of my purpose,” Celestino spoke with conviction.
“Bueno.” Father Tomas turned his und
ivided attention toward the afflicted. He pulled out a silver cross, blessed by the Pope himself, which hung from a long chain about his neck. The father crossed himself and kissed the cross. He made the sign of the cross over Andres tightly drawn forehead. From the waist pouch, Father Tomas also produced a vial of holy water and a purple cloth, which he draped around his neck and shoulders. He took a mouthful of the holy water and sprayed a fine mist upon the afflicted man’s chest with a single breath. Andres screamed in utter agony, twisting in his bindings. He hissed and coughed, but the priest took another mouthful of holy water and spat a mist over his head. The possessed man’s flesh burned red and blistered, he screamed with the voice of twenty men.
Father Tomas knelt beside the bed and began the ancient rite to deliver the afflicted man from the clutches of Satan. He called the Spirit of God and the Archangels, and the Saints to guide them. Father Tomas placed his hand on Andres’s head. The evil gnashed his teeth and spat at the priest.
“I know what evil you unleashed, Tomas!” Andres snarled. “Speak his name! His name!” Celestino glanced at the priest.
Father Tomas, undeterred by the demon’s taunting, continued imploring the aid of Heaven in the liberation of Andres’ soul. He recited the requisite exorcist psalm.
The demon spoke through Andres with a voice of a thousand winds. “I need not listen to you! Maker of evil!”
“I command you, unclean spirit, speak your name!” Father Tomas was relentless.
The demon laughed in his face. “Come to me idiot Maker. Idiot, stupid man. You think you can win this battle?”
“Your name!” Father Tomas’s voice deepened with urgency and conviction.
“So you can banish me? Never!”
“I command you by His holy name to reveal who you are!”
“Maker of the Morning Star’s shield in Hell!” the demon laughed hysterically. “You seek to command me? Go to Hell. See how your evil is glorified.”
“In God’s name, I command you give us your name! You filth who torments His creation without His consent.”
There it was. The slip the demon had waited for. It was entirely by God’s consent that evil should be allowed to penetrate humans. It was their right by heavenly warfare to take as many souls as they could procure to Hell. The very act of possession proved the necessity of God’s existence, therefore, God allowed it.
“You are wrong, stupid priest! I am not here without His consent.”
Father Tomas realized his mistake too late. The demon’s knowledge of his gravest of human failings caused a ripple in the ocean of his faith. Celestino felt the spiritual battle leaning in the demon’s favor.
“I command you to give your name!” Father Tomas persisted, sweat beading his brow. His arms shook as he held the silver cross to Andres’ head. Celestino was aware the soul of the man was caught in gray mist far from the battle being waged in this stifling small room. He knew Andres’ soul hovered between this world and Hell upon a precarious balance.
Urgency pushed through Celestino. He grabbed Andres by the neck. “I command you, as God’s warrior, to give me your name. Despised, unclean disease of Satan.”
Andres’ eyes bulged. Gasping for air, his face turned white, then red, and finally purple. “Tell me!” Celestino’s voice boomed like thunder.
Andres’ body flailed against the restraints. “No!” the demon squeaked.
“I will squeeze the life from this mortal and end your own if you do not, scourge of the earth! Should you refuse to reveal who you are, attacking this servant of God, I will press you into perpetual darkness.”
“He is no servant of God,” the demon croaked, as foam spilled from his lips.
Celestino eased his grip. “He is baptized and the sacraments of God fulfilled.” Celestino tested his theory.
“No! No!” the demon gasped for breath and laughed. “You can not save him, warrior. He is beyond even your reach. You smelled it already.”
Celestino’s training taught him that demons would twist reality. That they would speak, bending the truth to their own purpose. He felt the livingstone of his flesh fill with his purpose. His stature grew before the eyes of all in the room. Father Tomas stepped back in awe. “I have caught only the scent of your foulness wicked one. Deceiver!” Then, Celestino bent his head close to the possessed man and whispered, “You will have no victory here. Give up your name.”
The demon feared that this warrior would kill the host and end his existence forever. “I know what you are!” the demon spat out in surprise.
“You know I am not bound to Heaven or Hell, demon,” Celestino threatened.
The demon feared eradication more than facing Satan for failing to drag a soul to the fiery depths of Hell. Satan wanted to win the battle, but needed his foot soldiers to help him do so. Satan would not kill him; neither would Lucifer, God’s own Morning Star cast down millennia ago. They would send him back to torment and capture another weak human. But this warrior could hurl his essence into the oblivion of nothingness if his grip became any tighter. He coughed out his name. “Demetrix.”
“I command you to leave this child of God forever! Never return to torment him!” Celestino squeezed the demon once again. Father Tomas made the sign of the holy cross over Andres. Andres’s body slackened. The afflicted exhaled and it was over. The demon fled in terror, but Andres’s body was spent from the evil that had inhabited it for so long.
Father Tomas approached Andres. “Kiss the cross,” he commanded gently. Andres tried to lift his head to satisfy the request. His lips touched the silver and his head, too heavy to support itself, fell back onto the bed.
“Father, Father...bless me,” Andres whispered. “Por favor. I will not remain much longer on this earth.”
Before Father Tomas could speak, Celestino interrupted, “What did the demon mean? You are not a child of God?”
“I do not know. I do not...know,” Andres said, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes.
“Father, you must baptize him,” Celestino said.
“I beg pardon?”
“I believe he was not properly baptized. It is his missing sacrament. His weakness,” Celestino said. Father Tomas did not debate the point. He used the remaining holy water from his exorcism vial to baptize the man. No sooner had he completed the ritual, than Andres’ spirit released itself from the physical form. A gentle breeze filled the room as a butterfly with sapphire wings, the size of a man’s hand, flitted through the doorway, landing on the bedpost at Andres’ feet.
“I have never seen such a thing in all my years.” The priest crossed himself.
“What do you speak of? You have never been present when a soul exits a body?” Celestino inquired.
“It is the butterfly, Celestino. It is a sign that God is pleased.”
“How do you know this?”
“I have lived my entire life in this town and I have never seen such a delicate creature as flew in at the moment of cleansing. Ever. Surely, Andres has gone to Heaven.”
Chapter 14
The Maker and Midwife
“I trust your evening was spent in rest?” Father Tomas asked Celestino.
“My rest was complete.” Celestino had sought the comfort of Iseo’s chambers to sleep, as was his habit now. He found no rest when not in her presence.
“Bueno. We must speak of what happened yesterday with the peasant, Andres.”
“Sí, I believe we must.”
“Celestino, how did you know about Andres? That he was not properly baptized?”
“I smelled the stench of his soul’s decay.”
“You almost killed Andres with your bare hands. You almost...revealed your true nature.”
“I did what needed to be done.”
“You frightened Madia to death. I had to convince her that what she saw was a trick of the light and the Devil.”
“My purpose is to save human souls possessed by darkness. I can do no less.”
“I underst
and that fact entirely. But you, Celestino, must understand that your powers must be carefully guarded. You cannot have the townsfolk thinking you are as frightening as the demons possessing their loved ones.”
“Very well, Father,” Celestino acquiesced. “I am troubled by this exorcism.”
“How so?”
“His baptism was unholy, it is why the demon worked so quickly. Andres had no spiritual defense. And the demon knew this.”
“I have never heard of such a thing happening before.” Father Tomas stood up from his chair. The idea of unclean baptisms occurring troubled him. “We have no proof…,” his voice trailed off as he looked out the window.
“There is something else I must ask you, Father.” Celestino continued, “What did the demon mean when he spoke of you being the Maker of the Morning Star’s shield?”
Father Tomas turned around and looked Celestino directly in the eye. “You are not the first gargoyle of Santiago de Compostela.”
“It is your turn to explain, Father. For I sense no other of my kind here,” Celestino asked.
“It is a long story.”
“I believe we have time...for a long story.”
Father Tomas sighed and slumped heavily back into his chair. “It is the most glorious, and most dishonorable, experience of my life. I was a Maker...like Iseo. It was how I came to the church in the first place. As a young man, I was plagued by strange, nightmarish visions of clawed beasts with talons and beaks. I was certain I had some stain of sin on my soul, resisting all my prayers for absolution. Believe me, I prayed for deliverance of these visions until my fingers ached. The priest from my birth village suggested a pilgrimage…a pilgrimage to Saint James. So, I came.” Father Tomas stopped to pour some wine. “Would you like some?” He pushed the decanter toward Celestino.
“No. Do not be offended, Father. I do not care for wine, although Iseo insists I should.”
Livingstone Saga, Book One: Birth Page 11
