by David Clark
“What did he say?”, asked William as he turned back toward Cristobal for guidance.
“From here.”
“No. Not that. What did he say to make it stop?”
Cristobal chuckled before responding, “ Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May. And summer’s lease hath all too short a date. It’s Shakespeare’s Sonnet #18.”
If the feeling of embarrassment wasn’t enough before, it was boiling over now. The cardinal had upstaged him by reading a poem. William knew it could have been worse, he could have just read his favorite recipe.
“William. Remember what we have talked about. Remember the other night in the road, and what we talked about then.”
He turned back to the spirit and taking Cristobal’s reminder to heart, he focused. Not on the words he would say, not on any thought of projecting something through his hand, but on believing. Believing he was there to help this soul. Believing this soul was being tormented here, and need to be freed to ascend to heaven. Believing he would be easing someone’s pain. As he thought about this and reaffirmed his belief, the ground around him began to glow. The glow was not large, just a small circle, as if William were holding a single candle. At the same time, the spirit moved closer to him and stopped in front of him.
The more he believed, the wider the glow grew along the ground around him. What happened next was beyond anything William could have expected. The glow contacted the ground below the spirit, and the blue flickering haze stopped and disappeared. The spirit was still there, but it was different now. It was alive. The blue haze disappeared, leaving a person of pink and white flesh. There was even a sparkle in his brown eyes, and the light breeze blew his mane of jet-black hair. It still hovered above the ground, but the eerie figure was almost, more than almost, human.
A peaceful calm inside William accompanied the transformation. The chill he felt when spirits were around was gone and replaced by a warm feeling. A feeling of purpose. Without even thinking about it, William whispered, “You are free.”
The spirit nodded and faded away into nothingness. William turned back to the group, with the hope of seeing approving and pleased looks. The ones he saw were not ones he would describe like that, though. Shocked looks were plastered across both the cardinal and Cristobal’s faces. Even the two monks had broken decorum and pushed their hoods off of their heads, and shared the same expression.
25
The party returned back to the Vatican in silence. William’s legs weren’t silent. The euphoria he felt from his moment of success was overshadowed by the protest of his legs. Their trek to the Coliseum earlier in the day, and now this adventure at night, had taken their toll. Even the short but wide steps up the front of the Vatican were a strain for his tired muscles. He looked forward to lying down in his bed and getting some rest as they crossed through the golden doors, but that rest would have to wait. The glowing orbs of light produced by the two lanterns did not follow the sparsely lit hallway toward his residence. They didn’t even turn in that direction. Instead, they continued to walk forward, through the great entryway and into a different room. William and Cristobal followed.
The sight of Cardinal Depeche descending down some stairs produced a groan inside William’s mind, but he made sure to not vocalize it. He followed, legs aching with each step, down the spiral staircase. The flicker of the lanterns played against the stone block walls of the narrow passage. A cool, damp, musky air greeted the group at the bottom. The finished walls, paintings, and marble floors that decorated the floors above were nonexistent here. Replaced by stacked stone block walls and simple cobblestoned floors. Some had a green and grey moss growing on them. The passageway was as narrow as the stairs, with a few plain wooden doors with large black hinges, much like William was used to back home.
Cristobal pressed himself against the walls and slid past the two monks. There was an eagerness and urgency to his movements, and a sternness to his expression. Once he reached the front, William heard the murmur of a conversation between Cristobal and Cardinal Depeche. He couldn’t hear any specific words, not that it would matter, as it was probably in Italian, but could tell one side of it was heated. The hand gestures made by Cristobal were rather animated, as was the rest of his body movements as he talked. In contrast, the Cardinal stayed a picture of calm and tranquility, as he continued to walk down the passage.
The discussion continued as the group stopped in front of one of the plain wooden doors. Cardinal Depeche turned to a large iron handle, and the clunk of the lock opening echoed up and down the passageway like a rumble of thunder. He entered the room, as did Cristobal, but both monks did not. They stepped to either side of the door, placed the lanterns they held down on the cobblestone floor, knelt, and bowed their heads. Each began praying, over and over. William watched the doorway for either Cristobal or the cardinal to return, but they didn’t. Only a flicker from the lighting of a lantern emerged through the door.
“William!”, commanded Cristobal from inside the room.
William entered. It was a small room, constructed with the same block walls and cobblestone floors as the passage. Wooden tables lined each wall. A cloth covered each of the tables, but they didn’t lay flat. There were objects underneath the cloths. It was obvious to William the objects were placed with care, the same amount of empty space between each. It was as if they were placed on display, but that didn’t make a lot of sense to him, since they were hidden from sight.
Cardinal Depeche and Cristobal were still amidst their conversation at the table opposite of where William stood. From there he could tell the cloth had been raised, exposing one of the items, but his view of the item was obscured by the cardinal. He wasn’t sure if it was something that was said, or the item itself, that caused the most vehement protest by Cristobal yet. Whatever was the cause, the Cardinal put it down with a single hand gesture, and a look William could not see.
He turned to William and motioned for him to join them at the table. When he walked forward, he saw an item that was uncovered on the table. It was a simple wooden cross. It looked old, and was chipped on some of the edges. The cardinal took William’s right hand and pressed it down on the cross. He was firm with the pressure as he pushed his hand on to the object.
“William,” Cristobal said, then he paused. His eyes glanced around the room and he swallowed hard. An awkward silence filled the room. The cardinal nodded to him, but Cristobal didn’t say or do anything. His discomfort with what he was being asked to do was almost palpable. The cardinal again gestured toward him, this time with a bit of emotion.
“Fine. Fine,” he said and then continued, “William, your hand is on a cross made from wood taken from the cross Christ himself was crucified on. It was retrieved and returned to Pope Urban II during the first crusade. The wood, stained with the blood of our lord and savior, was carefully pulled apart and then crafted into a series of crosses. One is in the possession of our Holy Father, and one is in possession of the priest assigned to each of the known spiritual centers around the world. It is believed to help focus your abilities when dealing with both spirits and demons of the highest abilities. Cardinal Depeche is assigning you this cross to assist you in your duties. What you showed tonight is an ability beyond what we expected. We thought you were what we call a sensitive. One that can sense and interact with the spiritual world, but you go far beyond that. You are what we call a keeper, the first non-priest keeper we have ever met. A keeper is responsible for keeping the world of the living safe from spirits and demons.”
William’s mind stopped hearing what was said after he was told his hand was pressed against a cross made of wood from the crucifix of Christ. When that realization hit him, he attempted to pull his hand back, but the cardinal’s grip was firm and steadfast. He didn’t feel worthy of touching it. This was one of the most religious items in the world, and he was just a simple farmer. Then the irony hit him. Jesu
s Christ is called a prince, but in his mortal life he was not. He was a common carpenter, who made tools for simple farmers, much like William.
Cardinal Depeche released William’s hand, which recoiled a few inches above the cross. He motioned with his hands for him to pick up the cross. William’s hands shook as he did so. At first glance, it was a simple aged wooden cross, but at a closer look it was something more, much more. It was constructed of four distinct pieces, morticed together in the center. The chips he saw on the edges were not from damage, but were the imperfect cuts of the axes and blades that had shaped the original cross Christ was mounted on. Each of the four pieces of wood used contained spots that were darker than the others, it wasn’t just darker aged wood, they were stained with something, something red, the blood of Christ.
“William,” Cristobal pleaded as he walked closer to him. “You can refuse this assignment. When we talked about demons, I told you only priests challenge them. It is extremely dangerous, and should only be attempted by the most faithful and pious among us. I must admit to you openly, I am against this. I agree you have a gift, a great gift, and you can use it to be a sensitive, but a priest who is a keeper should be assigned with you. That is how it is done.”
A hand emerged from under the red robe of the cardinal and he motioned for William to bend down to him. Instead, William knelt down on one knee, bringing him face to face with him. The weathered and wrinkled face of the cardinal took on a fatherly look. His eyes kind and calm as he said in English, through his thick accent, “You are the one. The one who can do this.” Before William could respond or ask a question, the cardinal leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, and then used the thumb of his left hand to draw a cross on the spot he kissed. Then the man walked out of the room, leaving him standing there with Cristobal.
“And if I choose to do this?”, asked William, not that he had chosen one way or the other. He didn’t know how to decide on something like this. It was not your typical, ‘What do you want for breakfast?’ or ‘In which plot does you plant what this season’? Which were some of the more difficult decisions he had made so far in his life. The only one more difficult had been to follow Bishop Emmanuel this far. He did so because he wanted an adventure, and an adventure he had found.
“Then I will train you, but you will have to accept a life more challenging than you could ever imagine.”
26
“That is what?”, exclaimed Ainslee as she retreated back to their bed. On their table sat a simple wooden cross, alongside a brown leather-bound book. When he explained what the cross was, what color existed in her fair complexion drained out of her face, her hand sprang up to her mouth, and she stumbled backwards to the bed.
“The wood is from the cross Christ was crucified on,” explained William, for a second time now.
“Why… Why? Did they give that to you?”, she asked. Her speech stuttering every syllable as she fanned herself with both hands.
William explained to her what Cristobal and Cardinal Depeche told him. He knew she would have questions when he completed the recollection. To try to head off any questions of the “This is so hard to believe” variety, he retold her about the night he watched Cardinal Depeche battle Morax. On the way back to his residence, Cristobal had told him that the relic the cardinal possessed was a piece of cloth from the burial shroud that was draped over Christ in his tomb. It was only a few inches square, but its ability to focus the cardinal’s capability was not limited by its physical size. Something William could attest to from what he saw that night. The creature they’d fought was over forty feet tall, yet that small piece of cloth had brought it howling to its knees.
“Come on over. This and the leather-bound book will be part of our lives. Don’t be scared of them.” William stood over the table and motioned for her to join him again, but she was hesitant. He motioned again and she got up off the bed and took several tentative steps with her lower body, toward the table. Ainslee’s upper body seemed less eager to approach the objects. It leaned back about as far as it could, without causing her body to fall backward. Balls of fabric from the skirt of her simple light blue dress her and Sister Francine had bought together the day earlier were kneaded by each fist.
At the table, William picked up the cross and attempted to hand it to her, but she again recoiled. He took her hand, forcing it to release the fabric of her skirt, and placed it on it. He knew darn well what she was going through. It was the same thoughts he had experienced mere moments ago. His hand was forced on the cross, like hers was now. Thoughts flooded into his head of not being worthy of touching something so sacred. Expectations of some great feeling that would pulse through him, or an explosion of light that would radiate from it as if it were the sun high in the sky on a summer day, with a chorus of angels singing in unison but only in his head. What his hand felt was a simple wooden cross. It was nothing to be scared of. That is what he kept telling himself. The object was just an object, but its sanctified beginnings reflected the responsibility that was bestowed upon him, and that was what he was afraid of.
The resistance in her arm dissipated the longer he held her hand on it. Before long he was able to remove his hand and, she kept her hand on it before eventually picking it up and studying it. The delicate fingers of her right hand held it firmly, while the fingers of her left hand caressed every edge and surface. The fear that was on her face before had been replaced with the curiosity of a young child exploring the outside world for the first time.
“What are these darker stains?”, she asked, as she attempted to smell the odor of the wood.
William considered telling her what it was right away, but his mind played the image of her dropping the cross, sending it crashing to the floor in a heap of splinters. To avoid such a disaster, he suggested, “Why don’t you put it on the table before I tell you?”
The curiosity that was there was replaced by a set of perplexed eyebrows. He knew the pouty look would follow, it was predictable, and how she got her way so often.
“Ainslee, put it down and I will tell you,” William suggested again. This time his voice held an air of seriousness.
The suggestion worked this time. She placed the cross down on the table, next to a simple brown leather-bound book. William also managed to head off the pouty look, but the one that replaced it bothered him more so. The dropped shoulders and eyes reminded him of how she would look when her father scolded her. A look he never wanted to be the cause of, and from this day forward he swore to himself he would never do so again. The only way he could correct it was to answer her question, so she could realize, herself, why he wanted her to put it down first.
“Those stains are the blood of Christ.”
He was right to have had her put it down before he told her. Upon hearing what it was, she fell to the floor with a thud. She landed on her butt and sat there, with both arms outstretched. A look that was a mixture of fear and surprise filled her eyes as they scanned back and forth, from one hand to the other. Her lips mumbled, “I touched the blood of Christ.”
“Yes, you did,” William said as he extended a hand toward his bride, to help her up. No attempt was made on her end to take his hand, so William reached down and attempted to grab her right hand. It moved away from him before he was able to grasp it. The hand was spread wide, and held up toward her husband, to show him what was on it. In truth, there wasn’t anything on it. It was as clean as could be. The stains were part of the wood, and didn’t bleed off on your skin.
“There is nothing on your hand. Come on. Let’s get you up,” he said as he made another attempt to grab her hand. She avoided him again, but this time her husband outsmarted her and grabbed her left hand, pulling her to her feet. Once up, he pulled her close, but her eyes stayed on the table.
“What is the book? Is that his journal?”
“No, it’s my journal, and it’s empty.”
27
After the excitement of the new members of their family, both Willia
m and Ainslee gave in to the late hour of the night and fell asleep. Every night William fell asleep gazing at his wife, but not tonight. His eyes stared across the room at an object that sat flat on the table. Inside, he couldn’t shake the expectations his mind imagined. So much mysticism surrounded what it was, how could it just sit there and not emit a glow in the darkness of the room? Shouldn’t it hum, make some noise, or levitate above the ground like Jesus when he walked on the water in the book of Matthew? The fact was, it didn’t. It gave no sign outwardly that it was special, but then again, neither did William. What was there was a strong belief. Something he reminded himself of as his vision narrowed and his nose smelled the last wafts of the remnants of the jasmine bath Ainslee had taken just before bed. What William didn’t know was, his wife, who usually looked at him until she fell asleep, was looking across the room at the same object he was, with very similar thoughts, until exhaustion took her under.
The thoughts that had consumed William’s mind before he fell asleep dominated his dreams. Fields of flowers, under beautiful blue skies, that started light blue at the horizon and grew to a deep royal blue the higher you went up, provided him and Ainslee a paradise to explore. The warm glow of sunlight basked him in life-giving energy, while a babbling brook serenaded them in a relaxing chorus. Firmly in his hand was the cross. As he pointed it in a direction, it projected a white light so bright it was almost blinding. It did not burn or destroy anything it came in contact with, it purified them. The flowers were brighter and more fragrant. The sky more vivid.
They walked through the meadows toward the brook, the scent of each flower they passed was overwhelming to the senses. A horde of butterflies scattered as they walked through a grouping of white lilies that stood knee-high to each of them. On the other side of the lilies, they found themselves standing on the bank of the brook. It appeared shallow, very shallow. River rocks below the surface created a washboard current for as far as William could see. He took a step in, leading Ainslee with him. It was not cool as he expected. It was something he had never experienced before, it was warm. He found himself standing ankle-deep in warm water, and it was getting warmer, and deeper.
