Livingstone Saga, Book One: Birth

by Janell Rhiannon

  *

  Pale dawn greeted the Fathers of Compostela, as they moved around the grounds, all headed for early Morning Prayer. Father Avriel walked among a small group across the church yard. As they headed to the entrance of the south transept wing, Father Avriel caught sight of Father Antony weaving quickly around a set of small shrubs.

  “Excuse me, Brothers,” Father Avriel said. They nodded acknowledgement and continued without their newest member. Father Avriel turned to follow the object of his curiosity. Ahead, a door leading into the back of the kitchen closed. Once inside, Father Avriel heard voices whispering. He turned a corner to see the long hem of a dark cloak slide away.

  “What is so important that you must leave before Morning Prayer?” Father Avriel asked. The elder priest spun so quickly, he spilled the contents of the little leather pouch he had in his hands. Father Antony gasped as the gold coins wheeled across the floor. “Ah. Gold,” Father Avriel said.

  Father Antony bent awkwardly to scoop the coins back into the pouch. “You do not know what you are talking about.”

  Father Avriel stepped onto one of the coins just as Father Antony reached for it. “I believe I do.”

  “Remove your foot from my coin.”

  “Your coin? Do you not mean the church’s, or at least God’s coin?”

  Father Antony looked up at his tormentor and narrowed his eyes. “I mean mine. And if I have to tip you on end to get that gold piece, I will.”

  Father Avriel lifted his foot, freeing the gold. “Brother, I believe you owe explanation for your behavior.”

  “I owe no one an explanation.”

  “A confession if you will.”

  “Confession?! For what?”

  “Whatever secret you are...keeping secret.”

  “I keep no secrets!”

  “The gold?”

  “That is no secret. You startled me. That is all.”

  “You have yet to spill the truth.”

  “It is my business.”

  “I am my Brother’s keeper.”

  Father Antony scraped the last few coins into the pouch and stood up to face Father Avriel. “You are not my keeper, Brother!” Then, he stuffed the little pouch into his belt. “Get out of my way.”

  “I am afraid that is not possible.”

  Father Antony gave a great heave at the priest blocking his exit, and the man did not budge. He shoved him again, and yet there was not the slightest tremor of movement. “What?” he exclaimed in frustration. He shoved Father Avriel again. “Muévete! You are made of rock!

  “No, that would be someone else.”

  “What?! Tonto! You fool!” He spun and clumsily tried for the door across the room. When he reached it, Father Avriel was already waiting for him. “How?!” He shook his head in disbelief. “What is going on? What devilry is this?”

  “I assure you, Father Antony, the only devilry in this kitchen stems from your hand. Tell me, who was leaving the kitchen, when I entered?” Father Avriel pressed his query.

  Father Antony ceased stammering. His eyes grew large. “What are you talking about?” The question lingered in the air. “I was the only one here.”

  “No. No you were not. I saw the tail of his cloak as he turned the corner. Is he the one who gave you the coin?” Father Avriel stepped closer to the other priest; close enough to cause sweat to bead on Father Antony’s forehead. He stepped in closer still. “Answer my questions, or…,” he let the silence linger.

  “Or...or what?” Father Antony’s body trembled involuntarily with fear.

  “You will take no pleasure in the alternative,” Father Avriel threatened with a smile so brilliant it forced Father Antony to close his eyes.

  “Why? Why do you have to know? Why can you not leave an old priest alone?”

  “It is my business to remind you, my Brother, that you are a priest and bound by vows to live a righteous life. These gold coins reek of avarice and evil.” He reached out and put a firm hand around Father Antony’s neck. “Tell me the purpose of the coin, or I will ring the truth through your throat.”

  Father Antony squeaked, “For land. A wife.” Father Avriel tightened his grip. “I want to be free of this place.” At that, Father Avriel eased his hold and set the priest down. Not until his feet touched the floor, did the old priest realize he was being held above the tile. He rubbed his neck. He could feel the rib of welts rising around his fat neck. “I will be black and blue with no way to explain,” he huffed.

  “You must tell me what you do for these Judas pieces.”

  “It is nothing so heinous as you might think. I simply give the midwives pieces of jasper to ease the suffering of the women folk during childbirth. There is no harm in that.”

  Father Avriel judged no malice from the old priest. “Who is the shadow providing you with coin?”

  “I do not know. I have never seen his face.”

  “You must cease doing this stranger’s bidding at once. Serving your own lust for riches stains all your Brothers.”

  “I am afraid of him. Afraid to stop.”

  “You should fear me more, Brother. For if you do not stop, your life, as you know it will cease.”

  “Por favor, let me keep the gold. I...I will not take anymore. I swear it,” Father Antony begged.

  “You truly are a fool. Hand the gold over to the Monsignor. Explain the error of your ways. Accept your punishment.”

  Father Antony hung his head in defeat and acquiescence. His desire for a different life drained with the color from his face. “I will see the Monsignor this afternoon.”

  “Bueno. See that you do. You have food to prepare and I have somewhere else to be presently.” He immediately headed for Father Tomas’s chamber. This information was vital to piecing together the reason and source of all the lost souls from Compostela flying through the Gates of Hell.

  *

  As Iseo packed the last of her things into the small chest, she thought about Celestino. Each day without him passed as an eternity. The pain of missing him made her realize Father Tomas was right. She loved Celestino and it was a hopeless situation. Love should bring joy, not defilement of a being, soul or no soul. Loving him was sinful. She had no idea how to reconcile what she knew to be the truth in her heart, because the truth only tore it asunder.

  She was grateful the week was over and she was returning to the cathedral. She had assisted in over a dozen births side by side with Madia. Iseo believed she had uncovered as much as she could about the town’s midwives. She would take that knowledge straight to Father Tomas and let him sort through it. And, if she acknowledged complete honesty of emotion, the thought of seeing her Celestino again made returning to Compostela that much more desirable.

  Iseo entered the little kitchen where Madia stood at the hearth stirring a pot of fish stew. “Are you certain you wish to leave so soon?” Madia asked.

  “I must return. Father Tomas has requested me,” she said, as she held out the letter that had arrived yesterday.

  “Put that away, child. I cannot read.”

  It never occurred to Iseo that someone with such obvious healing talents did not read. “I apologize. I meant no offense by—”

  “You have no reason to misspeak,” Madia answered before Iseo could finish. “You held the most promise I have seen in a long goodly while. Most do not make it through the first year. Exhaustion they claim. Look at me! I am an old woman.” Madia tapped the wooden spoon on the black pot’s edge. She set the spoon on the table. “What are you waiting for? Come here!” She held her arms open for Iseo. It had been so long since anyone had embraced her with motherly affection that she melted into Madia’s strong arms and tears sprang unexpectedly. “Oh, mija, my daughter,” she said and stroked Iseo’s long dark hair. Iseo’s tears turned to sobs. Her shoulders heaved and shook.

  “What burdens you, Iseo? Surely it is not leaving this humble house.”

  Iseo tried to answer, but her tongue refused to release the words. r />
  An intuition flashed in Madia’s mind. “What happened to your mother mija?”

  The question opened the flood gates and Iseo wept. She wept for all the heart-pain she never had opportunity to express, when her mother died. First, because her father forbade it. Secondly, she was kept too busy by the sisters, and then by her work on Celestino, to give much thought to how much she desperately missed her mother.

  “Mija. Lo siento,” Madia said. She kissed the top of Iseo’s head.

  Iseo finally choked out a response to Madia. “I have not thought of her in a long time. Gracías, Madia. I will miss you.”

  “If you ever wish to return, you are always welcome here.” Madia gave Iseo one final squeeze and released her. The elder woman wiped her own tears on the back of her hand. “I never had any children who survived. If I ever would have had a daughter such as you, I would never have let her go.”

  “She did not let me go, Madia. She died. God took her from me. And my father sent me away.” The ugly truth released itself. Iseo sighed as the burden lightened, leaving only bittersweet memories.

  “How did she die, mija?” Madia asked.

  “If you had attended her, she would still be here, Madia. So, too my innocent brother. In a single day, my father lost his doting wife and son, the long awaited heir to his land and title. Their deaths left behind a skinny little girl whose worth was insignificant to him. But for me, on that day, I lost everything.”

  Madia nodded. “Our destiny at times weaves a thin blanket for our comfort.”

  “I believe so,” Iseo responded, thinking of Celestino. God took something precious from her and gave her something extraordinary in return. If her mother had survived, she would be married by now, and never would have been initiated into the secret world of God and gargoyles. “I will be fine, Madia.”

  “Bueno.”

  A frantic knock at the door caught both their attention. “Madia! Are you en casa? The babe is coming. My mother is calling for you!” cried the young boy on the other side.

  “You see? I must go about my business. And so should you,” the midwife said, as she started packing bottles of oil into her basket. “Before you go, swing the pot away from the fire. I do not wish it to be burnt to the bottom when I return.” With that parting sentiment, Madia slipped out the door.

  Iseo walked over to the hearth and stared into the flames, before finally moving the simmering stew off the main heat. She took a final visual sweep of the room and left Madia’s house.

  *

  Once back at Compostela, Iseo felt relieved. A young priest set her trunk down on the floor, as she directed, and dismissed himself to his chores. She walked to the window, which looked down onto the church’s central garden and the cloisters. A few of the Fathers were taking their daily exercise around the verge. Her thoughts drifted between her mother and Celestino. Is it possible that he returns my love? What if she had never died? What then? Maybe I should leave the church...leave Compostela forever...leave Celestino forever. She tried conjuring up an image of him in stone. It was not that long ago, when she spent many a long night chiseling and carving to set him free.

  A solid knock at the door drew her attention. “Mi señora? Father Tomas has sent for you.”

  “I will be there presently,” she answered. She went to her trunk and felt for the small bundle she stowed in the corner wrapped in a piece of cloth. She unfolded the corners, revealing two reddish-orange stones. She rolled them in the palm of her hand and wrapped them back up. “I hope these bring some answers,” she said aloud to the empty room.

  *

  “Not too long ago, we all sat here discussing the fate of uncertain souls. Let us hope we are close to an answer,” Father Tomas said, taking charge of the gathering. “What news from the midwives?” he asked Iseo.

  “I am not certain if this brings light to the matter at hand.” She took the neatly wrapped bundle and placed it on the table. Father Tomas unwrapped the stones.

  “What are these?” he asked.

  “The orange colored one is sard. The brown one is jasper.”

  Father Tomas looked confused by Iseo’s offering. “What do colorful stones have to do with midwives and souls?”

  “Judging from my limited experience, perhaps much.”

  “Go on,” Father Tomas encouraged her.

  “The sard is used to cut the mother’s pain. The jasper is used during the baptism, if the birth was difficult and the child’s health may go suddenly ill. I saw Madia use a sard stone, and the jasper, on every occasion.”

  “Did she properly baptize the children?” Father Tomas inquired.

  “Sí. I believe so. Nothing sounded out of the ordinary.”

  “Tell me about these stones,” Father Avriel asked. “I’m curious how they are used. Did she invoke God? Or some other source when using them?”

  Iseo blushed at the thought of explaining exactly how they were used. “The sard is held over the mother’s stomach during labor. Madia says a secret prayer. And the mother holds the jasper over the child when it is being baptized with holy water.”

  “What secret prayer?”

  “Whatever she intones, she says with a whisper. When I asked directly, she told me when I was no longer an apprentice, I would be taught the proper words.”

  “Proper words?” Father Tomas looked horrified. He turned to Father Avriel. “Do you think this is magic or superstition?”

  “I believe it is not by God.”

  Father Tomas sat down hard in his chair. “Where would the midwives even get these stones? Or know how to use them? Could this be the reason souls are being lost to Hell?”

  “The way to Hell need not be conspicuous,” Father Avriel offered. “Unclean by degree is a convention created by man himself.” He turned his attention to Iseo. “Tell me exactly why the jasper is used with the rite of baptism.”

  “To ward off evil,” Iseo replied.

  “Where do the midwives get the holy water from?” the younger priest asked.

  “Madia was very clear. It comes from Compostela,” Iseo answered.

  Father Avriel asked his superior, “Who dispenses the holy water to the midwives?”

  “That would be Father Antony. Do you think he has anything to do with this?!”

  “Whatever is happening, it comes from within. That much is clear, and I mean to get to the root of the evil within these walls. And strike it down! Cut the head from the snake Satan and Lucifer have set upon us!” Father Avriel’s voice grew more menacing as he spoke. When he finished, he was looking into two sets of enormous eyes. Both Iseo and Father Tomas sat stunned by the brilliance of Father Avriel.

  “Who are you?” Father Tomas asked.

  “All revelations have their appointed hour. Now is not the time,” he replied. “Excuse me. I am required elsewhere.” With that pronouncement, the priest left the chamber.

  “Where do you think he is going?” Iseo asked.

  “I truly have no idea. But I am guessing he knows more than we do. Perhaps he is close to solving this mystery...still...there is something about him…,” Father Tomas lingered on his thoughts.

  “He seems a bit arrogant to me.”

  Chapter 17

  Flesh and Revelation

  Iseo waited until midnight to seek Celestino in his chamber. The glow from the flaming rush illuminated only a few steps in front of her feet. She thought it odd none of the wall sconces were lit. As she made her way through the stone corridors, into the secret passages. Rambling questions involuntarily raced through her mind. She wanted to know everything that happened to him while he served his price of stone. She acknowledged to herself that she was nervous about seeing him after her conversation with Father Tomas. Too quickly she stood at the threshold of Celestino’s door, her hand raised in hesitation. The door opened, as if on its own accord.

  “I knew you were standing there,” Celestino said. “Por favor, enter.”

  Iseo walked past him without
saying anything, because she was afraid of blurting out everything she had been thinking on her way there. She stood in the center of the chamber in the dark and shivered. Celestino’s outline clearly visible in the moonlight filtering through the windows.

  “You are cold, my Iseo. Shall I make the fire?”

  “If it makes you comfortable.”

  “I am comfortable with or without it.”

  She shivered again. “Perhaps, you should,” she laughed. “A draft has found its way in. It is colder in here than usual.”

  Celestino put wood in the small hearth opening and took the lit rush from Iseo’s hand, using it to kindle the fire. He blew on the delicate embers, until they crackled with bright orange flames. Turning to face Iseo, he could not help but notice how the fire’s glow, framing her in amber and gold, made her appear more beautiful than he remembered.

  “Do you recall our conversation?” he asked.

  “Which one?”

  “In the woods, when I spoke of the pain inside my chest.”

  Iseo felt the heat rushing up her neck. “Sí,” she choked out. “I do not think we should—”

  “We should not what?”

  “I think it is best if we just…let it…remain. As it is. We do not need to explain it to ourselves…speak about it.” Iseo crossed the room to stand in front of the fireplace.

  “I know what I am feeling,” Celestino said, as he lit the candles in his chamber. Iseo watched as he moved with his particular demi-mortal grace. Over the last few weeks, Iseo had observed him closely. All traces of the awkward newborn gargoyle had faded into slivers of memory. He was no longer innocent about life or his purpose, and somehow that afforded him an inner strength she was not privy to, except when he moved. Every step he took, every flick of his wrist was perfect. From every angle she observed him in, from every light she had seen him in, he remained flawless. She also sensed his increasing independence from her.

  “What do you feel?” Iseo asked. Her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Love,” he paused without looking up, “and it is wrong.”

  “There is nothing wrong with love, Celestino.”

  “To be in love is wrong. I am in love with you.”

  She could feel his eyes on her now, as he moved close enough that she could almost feel each breath he took. She swallowed hard. Her throat threatened to tighten and choke her right there, choke her right to the floor. She coughed. Her breath came more rapidly. “You cannot be in love with me. You are confusing gratefulness and friendship with love.”