by Scott Bury
It was very satisfying.
He found Brother Theodor alone in the Abbott’s office, sitting on a comfortable couch. “What did you want?”
“That’s not a courteous way to start a conversation with an elder and superior,” said Brother Theodor. He gestured at a couch opposite him. “Please, sit.”
Javor looked at Brother Theodor, who as always, still had his hood over his head. Something about his face was so familiar. Well of course, I’ve seen him here. I’ve been here for months.
But still. It’s like I’ve seen that face on someone else ... no. That’s crazy. This place is making me crazy.
“Javor, how do you feel here?” Brother Theodor asked.
The voice, too. Where else have I heard it?
“Fine, I guess.” What is he getting at? No one at the Abbey ever says what they really mean.
“Do you feel that you fit in here?”
Javor thought about that for a long time. “No. Why? Do you want me to leave?”
“No, no, of course not!” Brother Theodor protested. “Far from it! This is an Abbey of God, and open to all men!” He smoothed his habit and chose his words carefully. “Do you feel you have friends here?”
“Sure. Flaccus and Ammon and Sandulf are my friends.”
“That’s all? What about the other novices? Or the monks? The priests?”
“No, no other friends. Lepidus doesn’t like me, which means that none of his friends like me, either. I really hate Fuscus. He’s mean.”
“Javor, Our Lord commands us not to hate.”
He has such green eyes. Like Danisa, almost.
“Sorry. But he is mean, and I do not like him. But I will try to love him. Is that all?”
Brother Theodor paused again. “Javor, do you ever feel that you are different from others? Not just because you’re from a different country. But back home—did you feel different from the other boys?”
“Yes! Yes I did!” What is he getting at here?
“Do you find it hard to understand what other people really mean when they talk to you? Do you find it confusing when their faces don’t always match their words?”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been watching you.”
“Why?”
Brother Theodor reached forward and touched Javor’s knee. “Javor, there is something different about you. I cannot say exactly what that is, and I am certain that sometimes it may feel like a curse. I notice that you do not understand Greek humour very well—your own sense of humour is much more straightforward. And you have trouble making friends and participating in group conversations.
“But at the same time, I sense that you have a great many gifts. Your intelligence, for instance. You learned to read faster than I have ever seen anyone. That makes others jealous of you. Jealousy is a sin, yes, but it is something that happens even here in the Abbey.
“I know you have been through a lot in the past year: losing your parents, travelling a long way, losing Photius, your friend ... I want you to know that if you ever feel the need to talk to someone, even if there are things you feel you cannot tell your confessor, you can come to me. I can’t promise I can solve every problem, but it does help to talk about it.
“That’s all. You may go now.”
Javor left, more puzzled than when he went in. But strangely, comforted as well.
Every few days, usually in the afternoons, Brother Theodor would send Javor a note asking him to come to the Abbott’s study. He always found the mysteriously familiar monk alone, comfortable on the couch, very much at home. Theodor would ask him how he was doing at the Abbey, how he was fitting in, whether he had made any new friends. Javor would usually just say he was doing fine, felt well, did not have any new friends but was happy with the friends he already had.
One day, Brother Theodor surprised him. “You know, Javor, you do not read people very well.”
Javor had no idea what he meant. “You know, often what people say is not the same as what they really mean.”
“I know. It’s stupid. Why don’t they just say what they mean?”
Theodor smiled strangely, and Javor wondered what that meant. “Well, sometimes they’re making a joke—that’s called sarcasm or irony. And sometimes, it’s a way of telling you whether you are part of their group of friends. And other times, they may be afraid of saying something directly, for fear of hurting your feelings.”
Javor thought about that. “Or maybe, they are afraid of hurting their own feelings,” he said.
That surprised Brother Theodor. “I have never thought of that before. But it’s true—sometimes people say things that disguise what they are afraid to admit, even to themselves.
“And sometimes, people are just out and out lying.”
On the night of the winter solstice, Javor went to bed especially depressed. Has it really been half a year since everything went wrong? Since I lost everybody?
He felt like his had just closed his eyes when Nikos shook him awake. His face yellowed by the flickering candlelight, Nikos said “Tonight is the Winter Solstice.”
“I know,” said Javor. “The longest night.”
“Dress in your cleanest robe and bring your dagger,” Nikos said, as if that explained why he had woken Javor in the middle of the night.
Carrying his dagger in its sheath, Javor followed Nikos through the twisting corridors. He had done this several times already, but realized he still could not retrace the steps alone. “What time is it?” he whispered as they approached Austinus’ tower and council room.
“It’s almost sunrise,” Nikos murmured. He held out his hand. “You must give me your dagger now. Don’t worry,” he added, taking the dagger from Javor’s hand. “I’ll give it back after. You just can’t take a weapon into the council room. Not yet.”
He pushed the tall door open. Inside, the room was still dark except for a few scattered candles. The high windows in the eastern wall were grey. Austinus’ table was in the centre of the room, bare, and Javor realized it was actually an altar. Behind it, a long curtain shrouded half the room.
Austinus stood behind the table, dressed in his fine black and silver robes. In front of it was Mother Tiana. She wore a simple white gown, and a pearl hung in front of her forehead from a gold chain around her head. On the right side stood Philip in a plain white robe, holding a large jar. On the opposite side of the room in a simple, unadorned black robe was Malleus.
Nikos shut the door behind Javor, staying outside. Philip said, “Lie down, son, on your stomach and close your eyes.” Javor complied. Another ritual. The floor was cold.
Tiana stepped close and said, “Rise, aspirant, into the salvation of Sophia, the true wisdom of Gnosis.” As he rose, Tiana reached down and pulled the robe up over his head. Now it’s really cold! He was nude in front of robed Gnostics.
Nikos gave Tiana a candle. She held it over Javor’s head (standing on tip-toe and stretching as high as she could) and moved the candle in a circle in front of Javor. “As he is ready to come into the world of true knowledge, I anoint this aspirant in light,” she intoned. Nikos took the candle from her, and Philip came forward with the jar. He lifted it above Javor’s head and intoned “As he is ready to enter the world of true knowledge—”
Cold! Javor gasped as freezing water poured over his head.
“—I anoint this aspirant in salt and water,” Philip concluded.
Dripping and shivering, Javor could taste salt in the water that dripped from his upper lip. Nikos brought him a long, plain white cloak. “As this aspirant is bathed in water and light, I enrobe him in the colour of pure knowledge,” he said as he wrapped the cloak around Javor’s shoulders.
Austinus came around the table, took Javor’s hands in his own, and led him to the curtain. Tiana and Philip each pulled the curtain apart just as the sun rose and light streamed into the chamber. Blinking, Javor let Tiana lead him to the altar. Sitting on it were a large golden goblet filled with dark red wine, an
d a golden plate holding three small, round, white cakes. These aren’t like the communion bread.
Austinus and Philip stood on either side of Javor, while Tiana began a soft prayer. With the golden morning sunlight on her white robe and fair hair, she seemed almost to be glowing. This must be what an angel looks like. No, an Aeon. Murmuring a prayer in a language Javor had never heard before, she picked up the goblet, raised it high toward the sun and sipped. She raised it again, then held it to Austinus’ lips for him to drink. Finally, she lifted it a third time and held the goblet to Javor’s mouth.
“Drink the blood of the earth, brought to life by the Eternal Light of the Pleroma,” she said. Javor sipped. This is the best wine I’ve ever had! Tiana broke a cake in half and put a piece in her mouth. She broke a second and put half of it in Austinus’ mouth, then broke the third and gave half to Javor. “The fruit of the earth, brought to life by the Eternal Light of the Pleroma,” she repeated. It was more like bread than cake, Javor realized: dry, chewy, and a little salty. When he swallowed, Tiana and Austinus bowed to the sunlight; Javor followed suit.
Her prayer done, Tiana took Javor to an ornate chair. He sat facing the high window under the sunlight, hot and bright. “The glory of the Pleroma, imperfectly reflected in the sun,” Tiana said. “Yet brighter than the eye of man can behold.” She began to sing, and Austinus, Philip and Malleus joined her in singing praise, their voices rising in joy. Their song ended with the word “rapture!”
There was a long pause during which the four Gnostics looked at each other, then at Javor. He started to get uncomfortably hot.
“You have now been sealed five times in the light of the water, that death may not have power over you,” Tiana said. “You are qualified to experience the True Glory that is higher than any glory. You have been stripped of the garments of ignorance and put on a shining cloak of knowledge. You may now partake of the mystery of knowledge and become a light in light.”
“Welcome, Javor,” said Austinus. “You are now an Initiate to the Secret Knowledge. Guard it well.” He pointed back to the main part of the chamber, so Javor stood and followed the Comes back to the table in the centre of the room. Someone closed the curtain while Nikos opened the main door and stepped back inside. Someone else must have opened a window, for a cool draft was refreshing Javor. Other young men, initiates all, brought chairs, small tables and trays of food. Austinus served Javor water, wine, fruit and cheese, while the others helped themselves. More young men bustled in and out of the chamber, carrying food, books, scrolls and other items for Austinus and Tiana. Nikos gave Javor back his dagger and then faded away. Two monks stacked up scrolls and heavy books on the table.
When they were done with breakfast, Austinus sat in his beautiful chair and said “Now that you have been admitted to the secret mysteries, we may talk more freely. Please, will you show us your dagger again?”
Javor drew it from its sheath; it glittered in the sunlight. Everyone in the room gathered closer and peered at the blade.
“Yes, these markings are very curious,” Austinus said. “I recognized some of them the first time I saw it, when you came here and had your duel with Malleus. I have done much study since, reading in some of our oldest sources, and I think I have found more information.” He pointed carefully along the blade. “These markings are ideograms, a type of writing from Cathay in the far east. This script dates back thousands of years, and comes from people who moved from a country that is at the top of the highest mountains in the world.
“I recognized these characters initially,” he pointed to a series of boxes and squiggles near the handle of the knife. “And after consulting some ancient texts, I think that they are the name of the maker of the blade. And these here are an invocation for good fortune to the … I think it means the rightful bearer of the blade.” He reached for a scroll, opened it, peered at it with a furrowed brow, discarded it and picked up another, then dropped it and picked up a third to study it just as carefully. “Yes, it seems that the blade is intended to be used only by a member of a select group.” He put down the scroll and picked up a codex, brushed dust off the cover and opened it up. He carefully turned crumbling pages until his eyes lit up as he found what he was looking for. “Ah, yes, that character is a warning of ill fortune to he who attempts to wield the dagger without … something. Hmm. I don’t know what that something is, exactly.” He put down the text and sorted through more scrolls.
Tiana pointed to another character on the blade, then to something similar on a scroll. “It means something like ‘friend’ or ‘companion,” she said. Then she carefully turned the blade over. “What about these markings on the other side?”
Everyone, even Malleus, drew closer to look at the markings that curved along the blade. Philip, Tiana and Austinus spread scrolls on the table, searching for some kind of translation.
“This one means ‘blade,’” said Philip.
“And this one means ‘earth,” said Austinus.
“This one here, halfway down the length of the blade, signifies ‘protection,’” said Tiana. “And this one here means ‘bone.’ Or perhaps ‘bones.’ The writer of these characters is saying the blade is made of the ‘bones of the earth.’”
“So he went to all this trouble to say it comes from ore mined deep in the earth?” Philip wondered.
“Maybe he was just being poetic,” suggested Malleus, the first time he had spoken that morning. “Steel comes from iron, which is mined underground. We liken ore to veins in the earth. Perhaps these ancient people thought it was more like bones.”
“Perhaps,” said Tiana, staring intently at the blade.
They spent hours looking at the dagger, turning it over again and again. Philip made drawings of the blade, the handle and the writing on it. Austinus and Tiana read scrolls and books. Javor tried to remember everything that Photius had said about the knife. He had mostly spoken about the amulet, but Javor wanted to stay quiet about that. Austinus had seen it, but seemed to have dismissed it as a bit of pagan costume.
Finally, the group was tired. “Well, as far as we can tell, the writings seem to be an attempt to cast a spell,” said Philip, summing up what they had decided. “The dagger is meant to be carried and used only by certain people. In the hands of the select few, it is an unbeatable weapon that cannot be destroyed in combat. It was made from the bones of the earth, whatever those are. And … well, that’s all we know.”
Austinus stood and sighed. “Yes, that’s as much as we are going to determine today. I suggest we all rest. Let’s rejoin the brotherhood of the Abbey for the midday meal and then get back to our regular chores for the rest of the day. Apparently, we have more research to do. I suggest we reconvene in three days.
“Javor, you are an Initiate now, and not a Novice. We have to keep the Initiation secret from your fellow novices, but you do deserve better quarters. Remind me in a month or so to have you granted the Orthodox rites, promote you and get you better living quarters than a cell. But don’t tell anyone about it, just yet.” And with that, he dismissed Javor again.
Javor returned to his cell and lay quietly the rest of the day, trying to think about what had happened and what it might mean.
The next evening, Philip took Javor to another room in the Initiate-only part of the Abbey. It was the first time he had ever seen a library, and he marvelled at the shelves along three walls, bearing countless scrolls and codices, or books.
Philips pulled one codex down and put it on a table in the middle of the room.
“This is a very special, secret testament, and you must never even breathe a word of its existence outside this room,” he said with his hand protectively over the cover. “There are only two copies of this in the whole world, and no one else even knows this one exists. There are officers of the churches of Rome and of Constantinople who are searching for these kinds of texts to destroy them. If they were to find it with you, they would burn you at the stake as a heretic, and probably everyone else
in this Abbey to protect against the slightest chance that anyone would know of it.”
As soon as he put his hands on the cover, Javor felt his amulet tremble.“What is it?” Javor whispered.
Philip opened the cover. Inside, in a beautiful and simple script, was written “The Sophia of Jesus Christ.”
“Sophia of Jesus?” Javor asked, not daring to turn the page.
“Wisdom. This is the truest account of the words of the Savior, Jesus, the Christ, the embodiment of the Logos,” breathed Philip, fearful and reverent.
Philip turned the page. The top was shadowed in the poor light of the tower room, but Javor’s eye fell on one passage: “the Savior appeared—not in his previous form, but in the invisible spirit. And his likeness resembles a great angel of light. But his resemblance I must not describe. No mortal flesh could endure it, but only pure, perfect flesh.”
Javor’s throat felt dry. “Is this true?” he asked, his head swimming and his heart pounding.
“This is the truest of all the gospels, and the most secret.” Philip let Javor read a few pages, then gently closed the book and sent Javor to bed.
Austinus’ words about a “deeper knowledge,” and his Gnostic initiation changed Javor's view of his Christian education. At first, he tried hard to memorize every detail of the Creation, Abraham, the Exodus, the Passion. The unquestioning faith of Fathers Peter and Albertus now was impossible for Javor.
Maybe I can think of the Bible as a way to explain the universe to children. The concept of the Pleroma emanating aeons that were still fully part of itself was hard to understand, but by simplifying it to a Father and a Son, the Church made religion easy to grasp. Still—why no Great Mother? There is a Mother of Jesus, but who made the Father?
The Christians look up to heaven, as if it’s in the sky. But they call the earth hell.
